Underground Work
An up-view of the trees in my side yard
I’ve made it 12 days into the new year, and - ready as I am to forge ahead into 2024 with a renewed sense of vigor and hope - in the past couple of weeks I’ve found it hard to get my footing to start that movement as strongly as I imagine in my kick-ass daydreams.
Back in Austin I see the ground covered in dry leaves that have fallen from the barren trees above. These skeleton sculptures in the sky are both shivering and beautiful to me. With this I’m reminded that nothing in nature is outwardly producing right now. Last year’s old, brown leaves are slowly decaying back into the Earth to re-disperse distilled value and leftover nutrients for the roots of trees to absorb. I imagine this underground network, covered and warmed by the earth, still steeping in its soil to find resources for the new green that is to come.
In the Spring, the Red Oak across the street never fails to shock me with its full head of green foliage grown virtually overnight from bald, bare branches. Or, like the womb of a new mother, a bump of baby does not appear on her abdomen until after many months of cells incubating, proliferating, and organizing into a young human. I’m comforted by the observation that processes in nature aren’t obvious or quick - but rather slow, cyclical, and unfazed by praise or torment. Knowing that all of this happens in nature, almost as if by magic, it feels OK now to percolate, rest, and allow transformation to take its place backstage with the roots of the trees or the cells of a fertilized egg. And so this is how I’ll be spending the remaining cold, short, winter days: moving slowly, intentionally, and gently filtering out what the important things are to help my root system grow stronger for the next cycle.
Just like in nature, the work of yoga is not obvious, fast, or straightforward. Often yoga takes place under the surface - not outwardly perceptible - as we establish roots for the bounty of green leaves on the horizon.
