When you feel steady, grow your branches. Grow them in any way you choose. Anyone who has taken a class with me involving Tree Pose has heard something along those lines. As a student, I crave the moments in practice when we are empowered to move intuitively, and when I teach, Vrksasana feels like a great place to tap into that intuition.
Learn what the mold is so you can break it
When I was initially taught Vrksasana, I learned the standard version. The basic form involves balancing on one leg while the arms reach overhead. Teachers cued different foot positions to account for balance, but in the beginning, it seemed like we were always aiming for trees that grew upright.
There’s nothing wrong with teaching and practicing Tree in that way. It can be such a freeing experience for students when we are able to find steadiness in breath and body while standing in the asymmetry of that posture. Figuring out the roots of a pose is just the beginning, though.
Outside the box
One of the aspects of Union Yoga that really sets it apart (in my opinion, of course) is an emphasis on self-expression. Teachers have a lot of creative control over what we teach and the way we teach it, and students are given space to grow a practice that is sustainable and all our own.
Something about the "come as you are" mindset that teachers and fellow students possessed made me feel safe enough to just be. Ever since I worked that feeling into my practice, I couldn't have it any other way. That’s why our branches go all over the place in my classes, and that’s why our Stars twinkle, glint, and refract in all directions.
A message from the trees
Last week, I thought of practicing Tree with my Union Yoga family because a storm tore through our area. After a several-week dry spell that turned the grass into brittle shards, the rains came. Five inches of downpour saturated the dusty landscape.
In the middle of the storm, a crash reverberated through the woods behind my house. I ran to the sliding glass door in my kitchen and looked toward the back of our property, where all the trees live. A blank spot in the treeline and the downed crown of overstory told me that we’d lost someone. I hope it’s not the crooked tree. The thought formed before I even had a chance to register something sensible like, I hope the shed didn’t get crushed.
Even though all the trees in the forest are special, the crooked tree was a masterpiece. This towering titan was so big that I couldn't get my arms around it when I went in for a tree-hug. The thing that made everyone stop to look, though, was its shape. By some fluke or injury early in its life, it did not grow tall right away. Instead, the massive trunk meandered several feet off-center before making its ascent.
The mighty one has fallen
After the rains abated, my suspicions were confirmed. The rainfall had loosened the soil at the roots so much that she’d toppled to one side. As this giant fell, she took several other trees with her. The solid trunk split under the force of the impact.
Back in the safety of my house, I sat with disappointment. Trees fall all the time. It’s the natural order of things, but this crooked tree was extra special. It defied logic, gravity, and most gardening standards. This is the sort of tree that, in its younger years, someone might have tried to straighten. When left to its own devices, though, it became an impressive “Mother Tree.”
(Nerd Note: Prof. Suzanne Simard describes Mother Trees far more eloquently than I can, but basically, a Mother Tree is a central node in an underground network of tree roots and fungi.)
When in doubt, turn to wonder
I considered why it should matter that this one individual fell. What was it about the crooked tree, aside from its clear status in the forest, that made it so much easier to admire?
This is where I thought about all of you. I thought about a whole grove of students in Vrksasana and how the instruction, “Grow your branches in any way you choose,” produced astonishing variation.
People grew their branches based on what felt good for them. They responded to what was happening in their practices by rendering totally unique trees. They moved according to their breath and their equanimity at that moment. Sometimes the branches slanted to one side, and sometimes they swayed in a breeze that only the practitioner could feel. It didn’t matter whether the students were in their first-ever yoga class, or if they’d become a thousand trees over the course of their lifetimes. All the trees were fantastic.
If we’d been doing plain old Tree Pose, the memory might not be so vivid. It was the focus and care that each person put into their own expression of Vrksasana that made the studio into an interconnected forest of practitioners. We were more than just a group of people standing on one leg.
Standing in freedom
There’s nothing better you can bring to your practice than yourself. Everybody and every body is different. Your breath, your movement, and your dedication give life to what would otherwise be a series of shapes.
It was the uniqueness of the crooked tree that gave it a special place in my heart. I think it’s the same with people. It’s the way you are that makes you a vital part of this community. Only you can practice (and teach) like you. You are the only one who can walk in the world as you do.
I hope you grow your branches. I hope you grow them any way you like. When you do, you give others a chance to do the same. When you do, the world becomes better because you (the real you) are in it.
Where do you find freedom in your practice?