The Forest Was There All Along

Mindfulness, Presence, and Learning to Notice What’s Already Here

Photo by Shanna Haight, British Columbia

Several years ago, I decided to take a yoga teacher training from a woman based in Vancouver, British Columbia. It would require several mutli-day trips to Vancouver over the 5-month duration of the training program, which was a significant decision considering I lived on the East coast of the US, I was in the process of getting a divorce after 20 years of marriage, juggling the early days of single parenthood, and needed to move to a different city. Once I committed, though, my excitement was barely containable and I knew I’d made the right decision. Not only was I finally taking a yoga teacher training—something I’d wanted to do for several years and had been unable to within the confines of my marriage—but I was going to visit the west coast of North America for the first time.

I’d dreamed of visiting the west coast for many years because of my deep-rooted love of trees I’ve had since some of my earliest memories. Wandering parks and examining the patterns in tree bark and watching the sun shining through the leaves when I was little. Sharing my grief with weeping willows and talking to the roots of trees with my fingers dug into the earth as a young teen. Touching and speaking to trees in my adulthood.

And this was an opportunity to see trees of a magnitude I’d daydreamed about for decades.

Not that the east coast isn’t beautiful and doesn’t have breathtaking forest-covered mountains—it does. No, the reason was because of seeing for the first time truly virgin forest.

Forest that has never been clearcut.

Forest that hasn’t been damaged by modern forestry practices.

Forest that is ancient in a way that simply doesn’t exist in the place I’ve always called home—or many other parts of the world, either.

My excitement was well-founded; the trees there were ancient and enormous and the energy of the land was something I’d never experienced before. Palpably different. Energy that called to mind images of elders of indeterminate age who are more wrinkles than anything else with piercing eyes and lifetimes of wisdom. I wandered this sacred place, my head craned back, marveling at the height of the trees, searching for their canopies as I walked, taking photos of the magnificent forest.

During my training program, I developed a close friendship with a woman who is now a dear friend of mine and I flew to Vancouver to visit her the following summer. On a day she was working, I headed over to the same forest I’d visited before for a day of meandering the paths again. Slowly, intentionally, unrushed just as before. My senses full. I stopped often, studying whatever could be seen high or low, listening, smelling, feeling. Letting the energy sink into my bones as I had before. And, of course, taking photos again.

Whenever I am getting to know someone, I love to have them show me photos they’ve taken. Why? Because we take photos of what matters to us, what captures our attention, what we want to remember. I’m not talking about planned family photos (though I do enjoy perusing those as well) or photos intentionally taken for social media purposes, but the photos someone took just for themselves. Spontaneous, with no purpose other than capturing a cherished moment.

These types of photos reveal a lot about who we are deep down, how we move through the world, what’s important to us, our state of mind at the time. And, likewise, looking back at our own photos can reveal much to ourselves as well. If you’ve never tried it, I recommend doing so at some point… you’ll be surprised how much you learn about yourself.

When I go back through the photos I took during those visits to Pacific Spirit Park, I can see what I was newly processing and learning in yet a new way… a lesson I’ve revisited many times in life and has become a deep part of who I am and how I move through this world and this life.

My cameral roll from my second trip contains photo after photo after photo of mosses and lichens on fallen tree trunks.

Saplings sprouting from the roots of stumps of trees dead for some time.

Ferns and other small plants growing from the partially decomposed trunks of fallen giants.

I was humbled, inspired, reminded of the interconnectedness of life by witnessing the astounding breadth of new life that wasn’t only growing, but whose entire existence was enabled by the death of the ancient. This demonstration of the interconnectedness of life, of the circle of life, of life’s interdependence was at once unignorable and easy to miss.

In fact, I had missed those exact things the year before, even though they were there, after all, my photo album from that trip full of photos of tall tree trunks and canopies. How had I missed all the other richness that was there right in front of me?

Can you recall a time when you were walking or driving or riding somewhere and once you arrived, had no recollection of the trip there?

What about a time when you were so excited for something and wanted to make sure you experienced all of it, and so rushed to do so, maybe through a zoo or museum or even a meal, and afterwards it’s kind of a blur? You can’t recall the flavors, or individual pieces of art, or what animals you saw?

Or maybe a time when you were so focused on something, like looking at a curve in the road or trail ahead, that you missed what was in front of you and hit a pothole or tripped over a stone?

There are infinite examples, but they all have some origins in common: not being focused on the present moment. The why behind that is where the roots diverge, but the lack or presence is shared. We are lost in thoughts that are related to some other period in time: replaying something from the past, worrying about something that may occur in the future… anywhere but the right here, right now… the present. We get so caught up in the various stories in our minds we forget that life is actually unfolding right now… not before and not later, but right now.

And now.

And now.

So the question becomes: what can we do about it? And, luckily, regardless of where your deeper roots lead, there are certain practices that can help. A cure-all? Not so much. No single thing is. But finding the right combination for you can feel like one.

Over the course of the year that unfolded between those two visits to Pacific Spirit Park in Vancouver, something had shifted in me. Slowly, day by day, through effort and practice, I became more mindful, which quieted the internal noise and helped me become a more present person. And I did this in a variety of ways.

I meditated, practiced yoga and other mindful movement, practiced pranayama (breathwork) and journaled, I worked with intention setting and affirmations, and I studied. Nothing groundbreaking. Some of this I was already doing, some of it was new. All of it, whenever it began, began slowly in a way that fit into my schedule, and over time those practices grew to a balance that works for me.

Also during that year, I had a teacher, a kind of mentor and life guide I could go to with questions and seeking guidance, from whom I could receive wisdom and teachings, who guided and supported me wherever I was, physically and metaphorically.

Is having a mentor or guide necessary? No, of course not. The information is out there to be found in today’s age of technology, and finding information on my own was what I did for many years.

But having someone with the benefit of experience can ease that burden of searching for things when you aren’t sure what to search for and trying to comb through the information to find what’s relevant and helpful for you. Having a guide can make it less daunting and scary, and also allows for the transfer of wisdom that cannot be found on any webpage.

Working with a guide isn’t the right journey for everyone, and not every guide is going to be a good fit for every person seeking one, but if this sounds like a path you’d like to be on, we can have a conversation to explore that further and see if we’re a good fit for helping you along your journey.