The Japanese practice of Shinrin-yoku, literally translated as “forest bath,” means full sensory immersion in the beauty and wonder of nature and trees. I happened upon a short book on the subject and realized that I’ve been doing it all my life, without giving it a name.
Shinrin-yoku is practiced widely in Japan, as a way of reducing stress and overwork, so endemic in our crowded concrete cities (Americans spend 90 percent of their time indoors). Our modern anxieties have been made infinitely worse by a global pandemic that acts like a weekend guest that never leaves.
Shinrin-yoku is based on the ancient Japanese reverence for nature and trees. From the time I was a little girl, I’ve adored trees. As a confirmed introvert, I think they understand me, too. I’m quiet around them. I stand and breathe under them and tend them if needed.
My own lifetime is dwarfed by the longevity of trees, which can be in the hundreds and even thousands of years. I think they know that I’m a transient creature that means well.
An extended family
I’ve even turned a portion of my garden into a mini fruit orchard, adding to the four majestic, mature friends that were already here—the weeping willow, valley oak and two olive trees.
My meditation space is underneath the pendulant, leafy branches of the giant willow, a secret world that sways in the breeze. I close my eyes, listing to the lilting sound of touching leaves and sleepy bees, somewhere far up in the canopy.
My trees are my extended family, with none of the prejudices of my human one. There’s so much to know about these magical giants—how they live, breathe and even communicate; how they survive the hardest winters; what’s really going on beneath their bark; how they fight back against invading insect hoards. I’ve found out they live in communities just like us. An ancient forest is a very social space.
My trees are my extended family, with none of the prejudices of my human one.
There are more trees on this planet than stars in our galaxy, but as I write this, so many of our trees are on fire around the world, and we humans are to blame.
Time spent with trees, whether in a garden, park, woods or forest, is green medicine. Many cultures have long recognized the importance of the natural world to human health; namely, its power to add to the healing of major diseases and mental illnesses, including depression, rage and despair. Even 15 minutes of forest bathing lowers blood pressure, reduces the stress hormone cortisol, improves mental clarity and aids with a good night’s sleep.
Crisp, clean forest air is perhaps the most powerful. Breathing in phytoncides, the aromatic oils released by trees, can increase the number of the body’s natural killer cells (a type of white blood cell, crucial to the immune system, that can limit the spread of microbial infections and tumours).
Shinrin-yoku isn’t jogging, hiking, dog-walking, exercising, group activity or an outing with friends. There is no prescribed ritual or religious text. Your age and fitness level don’t matter, and this practice is accessible for those with disabilities.
Let the forest in
How do I prepare? A simple start. I find paths and places where I’m likely to be alone (or, at least, unlikely to run into many folks). I put my phone on “do not disturb” and eliminate any other distractions, so that I’m fully present. I give myself at least 15 minutes, sometimes a few hours.
What do I leave behind? My goals, fears and the expectations of others.
Here are some ideas, based upon my Shinrin-yoku experiences:
Find a place that suits you, maybe a place in the countryside that reminds you of a special, joyful place in your past. Wander aimlessly, allowing your body to take you wherever it wants. Breathe deeply. Remember, it doesn’t matter if you get anywhere. Walk very slowly, pausing from time to time to look more closely at a leaf, to listen to the song of a bird or to notice the sensation of the path beneath your feet. See how the behaviour of birds and other animals changes when you stop and they become used to your presence.
Let the forest in. Set all your senses free, letting nature enter through your ears, eyes, nose, mouth, hands and feet. Taste the freshness of the air as you take deep breaths. Place your hands on the trunk of a tree. Dip your fingers or toes in a stream.
Sit down and lie down if you can, and then let nature’s patterns stop the endless turmoil spinning in your head. Notice as you look up that there are infinite gradients of green and blue around you, of texture and foliage. Your sixth sense, your state of mind, will connect with nature and you’ll have crossed the bridge to a calmer life.
Experience the wonders of the seasons, each holding a special cast of plants and animals that make their miraculous appearance in the time appropriate for them to grow, thrive, reproduce, sleep and die. Each time will be different, with new discoveries, as you’re able to notice more around you and your senses sharpen.
Make this a part of your life, not something you flee to in dire straits. Carve out the superfluous and you will find the time. Listen to the wind, taste the air. Fifteen minutes can help, 10 hours a month is even better.
For three years, I wrote and rewrote my memoir while walking and pausing among trees, breathing deeply, letting Shinrin-yoku find the way back to the path I once led, including its stories, companions and hard times. In the process, it healed the wounds still open, while my mind found the right words.
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image 1 Free-Photos from Pixabay 2 image by Franck Barske from Pixabay
