Tree yoga

I took a teacher training this weekend with Street Yoga, and today I did yoga on the street. Coincidence? Definitely not.

In fact, it’s the second time I’ve done spontaneous public yoga since training ended, the first being in a park last night. (Turns out sun salutations feel pretty good even when there is no sun.) But today was the first time I practiced casually, in street clothes, and also the first time I practiced with a tree.

Do tree with a tree–that’s one of the assignments given to some students of Street Yoga. I love the idea of reinforcing the connections between our bodies and nature, but that isn’t why I ended up still on the sidewalk today. No, that happened because my heart was hurting, and the tree helped.

I learned about a lot of trauma this weekend, and while we didn’t delve too deeply into our personal struggles, they were silent shadows in the background: No one shows up at a training that promotes healing unless they understand the need firsthand.

On top of confronting my familiar fears and insecurities, I’ve also been coping with the theft of personal property and the resulting emotions–vulnerability, frustration, confusion. I’ve been as positive as possible, downplaying the impact of the loss, even suggesting that it’s a blessing in disguise–maybe I don’t need a phone at all.

But I do need a phone. I crave connection, not just technologically but with my whole body. It was my stomach that was knotted today on my way home from work, when I noticed the tree. I was aware of the tension in my gut but unsure of its origins. Logically, I could think of no reason for my feeling uneasy.

But logic is an optional part of yoga. Breath is what buoys me. So instead of further analysis, I started breathing, slow and steady as I walked. And, as sometimes happens, the intensity of my emotion increased as I breathed. I wanted the twinge in my belly to disappear instead of grow, but I also knew better than to push the process–sometimes things get worse before they get better, that’s all.

I became aware of a distinct sense of loneliness, of loss and longing. The hurt spread to my heart. I desired comfort. I wanted a hug. And then I took notice of the trees that lined the sidewalk, and a sarcastic thought– “Go hug a tree”–came into my mind. And then chasing it, a recalled snippet of dialogue from the weekend’s training, an exchange that followed the lesson on pairing tree pose with the real thing.

“But there are no trees in the Bronx,” someone said.

“Yes there are!” I responded before I could stop myself.

I didn’t even know if I was right, I just knew that I wanted to be. Of course people have access to nature! I couldn’t bear to think otherwise. But I know it’s true that not everyone can touch trees. And today on the sidewalk, I knew that I could.

I’m glad I had the courage to risk being perceived as a weirdo, because standing with that tree gave me strength in the space of a few breaths, and though I didn’t challenge my balance too much–I kept my foot on my calve, not on my thigh–I felt pretty darn balanced by the time I was finished. I knew people were walking by, but I don’t know if they stared. I kept my eyes closed, honing my focus and care.

I’ve noted before that practicing yoga can be considered community service. And after working with Mark Lilly and other members of the Street Yoga family, I understand the concept even more clearly: When I do yoga, I nourish myself. When I am nourished, I create abundance. And I when I have abundance, I have something to give.