A moment for the tree pose

It is as easy to start standing on one leg as it is to fall back down to two feet. The real problem arises when you try to stay standing on one leg. Physically, you know you can stand on one leg as long as you stack your hips and torso over your new central line. A jenga tower placed on only a single block can remain upright if structural integrity has been considered every step of the way, and your body can as well. The difference between your body and a jenga tower is that you only have to care about one block at a time, and even then, only when it is your turn. Your body requires significantly more attention. You have to think about your foot and how it is in contact with the ground, each metatarsal tilting and twisting ever so minisculely. You engage both legs, making sure one isn’t dead weight that will catch you off guard and topple you over. You need to engage you core in an active manner, rather than just clenching, by tilting your pelvis back and angling you chest upwards. You press your hands together while pushing your shoulders back and away from your ears. Your neck should be straight, but your gaze softened. And most importantly, you need to do all of this simultaneously and continuously to properly hold the tree pose.

Very quickly yoga becomes just as much about your consciousness as your body. The ability to focus on so much and do so for a significant period of time, is a feat of the mind. This is the part I struggle with the most. I can get into the pose, but after 10-15 seconds I start to daydream or make up fictitious conversations in my head. Within another few seconds, I am wobbling and standing on both feet before I even understand what distracted me. As I have been practicing the tree pose as often as I have been doing yoga, I have found myself reminiscing onto the days long gone by when I was a ballet dancer. Holding in tree pose is not all that different then holding a posse, so I have sometimes been subconsciously been applying the advice I once learned from my ballet teacher. She told us the secret to holding a posse was to not think about all the different things you needed to be doing, but rather just one thing that would ensure the others would follow. She shared that she imagined all of the energy around us coursing through her along her central line. Energy lowing into and out of the top of your head would hold you up, while the energy puncturing straight down through your leg and foot would keep you upright and stable. She believed that if you focused on this “energy” you needn’t worry about anything else. One thing to focus on is simpler than many right? For some of my peers this was absolutely true, but for me I would get caught up in this metaphysical metaphor. I would involuntarily close my eyes. My foot would float away from my standing leg. Without even noticing I was no longer holding my posse, I would end up right back on two feet, waking up from my energetic connection confused why it hadn’t worked. Now, when I am trying to hold, the arguably easier, tree pose, I find a similar issue. When I try to shift my consciousness away from my body, the physical outcome seems out of my control.

I have found that the ability to hold the tree pose in many ways mirrors the ability to balance the three components of my being that can lead to fulfillment and bring my attention to the moments of joy that become happiness. If I were to solely focus on my body, no thoughts, no connected ness, I would likely live like a robot. Moving through the days as routines with no interpretation means there is no meaning. A life with no meaning seems like the antithesis of a fulfilling life. Similarly, if my body took absolute control, it would probably be able to hold the tree pose for eternity, but there would be no reason to. No acknowledgement of accomplishment, no foresight into what this brings to my life. Seems like a waste of time and effort. When all of my time and effort is spent in my consciousness, my focus actually ends up spread to thin to create any meaning that is significant. The mind has many thoughts and interpretations of said thoughts. So much so that the mind could probably spend the rest of time thinking only of itself, and I doubt it would even notice. Look at the great philosophers as an example. Not to say that all philosophers are unhappy, but I have yet to learn of one that believes everything is going to be okay and that life has meaning regardless of how you live it. If you are aware of such a person, please share! I would be eager to be proven wrong because right now if I were to but all my energy into my mind while holding the tree pose, I would never actually hold a pose of any kind. So, the obvious next step would be to split my focus between my mind and my body. With this option I will be able to feel when I am teetering off balance and I can assess the situation with my mind in order to adjust correctly and continue holding it longer.

The question that then arises when applied to my entire life is: Can I live my life physically and meaningfully by doing so? Yes, but I will be tired and frustrated. Why? Because I have this intuition that there is a way to be more efficient, to achieve more physically while being able to create more significant meaning. For me, this is where a sense of connectedness comes into play. The connected part of my being has this sense about life and belief, and I can utilize this connection to immerse myself into the universe and all of it’s potentials to assist in all this living I am trying to do. In the same way that holding the tree pose is made easier by utilizing the imagery of something all around me to allow my focus to simplify, considering the existence of things beyond and bigger than myself can help to lessen the strain on the mind and give more attention to the bodily experience.

However, it is all about balance. I can give all of myself over to the immenseness of everything and feel this connection surging through me, but it is rarely every sustainable. Eventually, I return to my body and mind and feel empty, like I lost something. This connected part of me can help or hurt depending on how it is relied on and how often. There are many testimonies from students who travel to Indian Ashrams or Burning Man psychedelic journeys, who feel amazing and ascended when they are there and like absolute shit when they return back to their lives. But, you also hear stories of monks and buddhists that reach this ascension everyday and are continually fulfilled by it even after they are done with their meditations. The difference seems to lie in if you are using it to escape from the body and the mind or if you are using it to observe and assist the body and mind. Intention is fundamental, and action is essential.

I have come to realize that the goals I had for myself and the routines I have created approached this topic of balance differently than I expected. I assumed that by doing yoga or going on walks I would be giving time and effort to my body. The time spent writing in my journal or drinking tea would be time set aside for my mind. Lastly, the time spent meditating and focusing on gratitude or compassion would be beneficial for the connected part of my being. In the beginning this was true. Each activity seemed to fulfill its exact purpose and I thought I had achieved balance…yay! However, the benefits of these activities have compounded upon themselves. There is not a single activity that now feels like it is only meant for and enjoyed by one part of myself. When I drink my tea, I sit in silence, listening to all the amazing sounds around me, feeling connected to the world. I let the warm water spread through my chest and body, and I have time to think about my intentions for the day and the meaning I want to give to it. When I practice my yoga asanas, as the tree pose has taught me, I am challenging and engaging every part of myself, not just my body. In journaling and meditations, I have found that I have somatic responses to emotions and the connected parts of myself have the power to address and alleviate them. All this is to say, balance of the three parts of my being is not like a simple tower of three blocks stacked on top of each other. There are no distinct lines drawn between the body and the mind and the connection when it comes to practicing and assessing my balance. Rather, like a jenga tower made of many block of three different colors, balance is dependent on all parts interacting in different ways, but equitably.

I hope this made sense. It feels a little bit up in the air, but hopefully it gives a bit more concreteness to the idea of the three parts of being and what I realized thus far.