Home • Tai Chi Chuan • Acupressure/Tui Na • Natural Mind Meditation
Other Taoist Arts • About Us • Announcements • More About Bonsai • New Classes/Holidays
Tao In Tiny Trees
by Nick Carouba
I grew up in San Francisco, where the climate was temperate and the four seasons indistinct. No snow, no brutal inland heat; maybe an occasional whiff of salt air. Besides rain, there was nothing in my world that would signal anything other than constant, mild summer, year after year. As a kid, I would visit Golden Gate Park and Ocean beach, enjoying the scenic aspects of nature, within an urban environment. Looking back, I was somewhat disconnected from a direct experience of nature. I could have been viewing a painted backdrop in a diorama. It wasn't until years later (as an adult) that an interest in gardening changed my perspective. I began to appreciate the nuances in nature and how the seasons changed plants. I was especially drawn to little trees in pots: bonsai.
This was before "The Karate Kid" introduced an entire generation to the connections between bonsai and martial arts. Mr. Miyagi's dual disciplines take their rightful places among the other Taoist arts: music, poetry, landscape painting, calligraphy, geomancy and divination. Each has its purpose and special aspects. But what is bonsai? A specialized form of gardening? A slavish attempt to copy nature? Can it be thought of as a living expression of the Tao? I don't know, but I do know that the direct experience of viewing bonsai in a gentle Spring rain, on a hot windy afternoon, or under full moonlight is more than just visually striking—it touches something deeper in the psyche.
As the seasons turn, one can observe energy expressed in a tree's growth. A seed contains information, and energetic conditions of light, air, water and soil will certainly create something unique and spontaneous. There is nothing theoretical here, no self-imposed rules. There is growth, stasis, metamorphosis, resurrection in death ... all occurring naturally, without comment. A pattern is always emerging: always moving away and always returning. Everything is different, yet the same. The air absorbed by Bristlecone pines five thousand years ago, or pre-historic redwoods and ginko trees millions of years ago is the same air that rustles through the tiny trees in my backyard right now.
Trees are reminders of energy. You can feel chi coursing through roots, branches and leaves, breathing through the push and pull of the seasons. When a tree dies, it provides the conditions for new life, and the next generation. As a tree grows, it is shaped by unseen forces. In nature, a seed may take root in a rock wall or crevice and be starved, struggling to survive. Lack of water and nutrients will result in a stunted specimen or death; either way, scars will show. On the other hand, if a seed finds its way into a low, open meadow and grows to its limit, a tree will develop with a thick, straight trunk and highly ramified branches. Like the human body, trees reflect inner ease or disease outwardly, within their life spans. As photographer Henri Cartier Bresson observed, "You get the face you deserve." And like faces, bonsai take on an endless variety of forms. A myriad of species has resulted in dramatic and fascinating differences. Every tree has its own special character.
Like humans, different bonsai require different things. It is natural to give each what it wants, what it needs: a sandy soil for pines, a rich loam for maples, etc. Water "just enough." Wire a branch to the point of cracking, but not breaking. Be sure to fertilize, but don't burn the roots. Cut rootball and branches to keep scale, but don't overdo it. Don't trim a branch just because you want to. The tree, in its authentic connection to the cosmos, has its own fate and form. See with primal vision, letting this concept override your own. The workings of nature have rarely been improved upon by the hand of man; therefore, be less of a gardener, striving for original spontaneity by following nature.
To nurture a living thing is a basic human experience, and being the caretaker for something that may outlive you by several hundred years is humbling. It is a glimpse into immortality: everything dies while everything is reborn. The transition is seamless, transparent and happening at the same time, right now. There is really nothing new, nothing to discover, conquer or even understand. One doesn't even "do" bonsai. The art of Bonsai, of "creating" bonsai, is experienced, simply, in its contemplative aspect. One is absorbed in a state of active meditation (much like Tai Chi.) This is the creative process: moving moment to moment, arranging trees and placing rocks, anticipating nothing, doing what needs to be done with a light heart, and then forgetting what you did. The tree grows by itself, it is not necessary to pull on the trunk to make it grow!
As I walk through the park, or along the ocean's edge today, I keep the child I used to be close to my heart. The trees and rocks of San Francisco appear the way they did back then, but they're changed also, I see them with different eyes. Taoist studies have guided my understanding of the natural world as a manifestation of the Tao. So all those trees in my backyard that used to be acquisitions, part of a collection that used to be "mine," really don't belong to me at all. They belong to the Tao. They are in my care, but only briefly.
©2007 by Nick Carouba
To learn more about the history of bonsai and "penjing," the Chinese art of miniature landscapes, see venuscomm.com.