There's a tree in my backyard that I was convinced I should take down. It was a scrawny thing with angry spikes coming from its trunk. I think it might be a young honey locust, but I'm not a botanist. (If someone can identify this tree, please let me know.) All I know is that in the winter, all the branches fall off, and all that remains is a tuft of dead stuff on its crown (See the photo in the header.). It's messy and it's armed. What does any of this have to do with yoga? You'll see.

A tree on the chopping block

I don't make killing living things my business. That's partly an ethical tenet I've adopted from practicing yoga (Ahimsa/ non-harming is one of the yamas (moral restraints.), but it goes deeper than that. I can't speak for all indigenous people, but in my upbringing, everything is a relative. Every living thing is part of a nation. There's a Grass Nation and a Deer Nation, and so on.

Clearly, under such conditions, this tree would also be part of a nation. Even so, I thought it should go. It wasn't a classic like a towering oak. It didn't have the character of my beloved and fallen crooked poplar.

The flowering

As the heat of the summer wore on, I noticed this thorny beanpole of a tree doing strange things. It put out shade-giving branches, and I started to thank it whenever I had to mow the backyard in the July heat. Then, the awkward tuft on its head came alive with flowers. Interesting... And I'll admit, I wasn't blown away by the scent wafting from these flowers, but it wasn't bad either. It was the smell of a plant alive and beckoning more life to it.

Do you know who was a huge fan of the flowers on top of that tree? Bees. Tons of them. To my amazement, the butterflies also swarmed the flowers of this tree. There were more butterflies and bees per square foot on this tree than I had seen on anything I'd bothered to plant. The Gathering of Nations happening in the picture below was typical during the summer. Not having a chainsaw saved me from destroying this smorgasbord for my beloved pollinating friends.

I would have forgotten all about this marvelous display had I not gone for a walking meditation yesterday.

Walking Meditation 101

It was warm-ish, and I had a lot on my mind. I couldn't pass up the chance to feel the sun on my face. You can practice walking meditation in any condition, but these conditions were especially pleasant.

Why walk instead of sit? My energy was all over the place. If you find yourself feeling that way, movement can help. For those of you who find seated meditation to be challenging or triggering, walking meditation may your ticket in. You're still coming back to the present. You're still breathing mindfully. It's not "cheating."

There are plenty of proponents of walking meditation. (Thich Nhat Hanh may be the most famous of them all.) There are also as many ways to walk mindfully as there are stars in the sky. I'll tell you how I do it.

1. Pick a safe place to walk.

Gardens, parks, and trails are good choices. There are lots of pauses in walking meditation. Find a spot that isn't too crowded and where you are unlikely to run into hazards. The environment can change rapidly (especially in the city), so always put safety first.

I was able to practice walking meditation in Downtown San Diego in the mornings by moving along the Martin Luther King, Jr. Promenade. It has long stretches where you don't encounter traffic, and the quotations along the path can make good points of contemplation. I think the beach or even in Trolley Barn Park on the way to yoga class might be good candidates for locations too.

2. Stop moving and take a breath in.

You can say something (aloud or in your mind) like, "I can feel my in-breath," or "Breathing in, I am happy to be alive." You might have another mantra you've been working with that you could easily use here, or else the sound of your breath itself could be the call to the present.

For a while, I stuck with the old tried and true, "I am loving awareness," that I learned from Ram Dass. Anything will do as long as it brings you into the now.

3. Exhale and reaffirm the connection you made to the present.

"I can feel my out-breath," or "Breathing out, I am happy to be alive," are good choices. As long as you're following through with where you started on the inhalation, you're golden.

4. Take deliberate steps.
For me, the pattern looks like: Pause walking. Inhale. Exhale. Step. Step. Step. Pause walking.

Be aware of the ground beneath your feet. Your eyes are open to the world as it unfolds in front of you.

5. Begin again.
Over the course of your steps, things in your environment will draw your attention. The worries from your day may start to creep into your consciousness. They sure are quick to jump in there, aren't they? The great news is that you're about to go back to your inhalation and start all over again.

We're not just practicing being present. We're also practicing coming back to the present. As I encounter challenges, this coming back has been the thing that has helped me the most.

The tree in my periphery

On my last walking meditation, I was working through my own stuff and practicing coming back. I saw the tree I almost killed, and I remembered the history I shared with it. I thought of how sad and dead it looked now, and how alive it will be in the spring.

This period of sleeping is necessary for the life and growth that is to come. It was also a good reminder that not everything is put here for me. Some things are meant to be buffets for butterflies. Through my meditation, in the space of three steps, I saw this tree with eyes of love, and now I can't unsee it. It's a teacher in thorny bark that I almost cut down. It's a testament to the infinite wisdom of things bigger than me that I am a part of and that I am.

May you walk beautifully, my friends. And if you can't walk, may you travel in the manner that suits you best. May you make your way home to the present.