Rooted Strength

ॐ

सत्संगत्वे निस्संगत्वं, निस्संगत्वे निर्मोहत्वं।

निर्मोहत्वे निश्चलतत्त्वं, निश्चलतत्त्वे जीवन्मुक्तिः॥

 भज गोविन्दं भज गोविन्दं भज गोविन्दं मूढमते।

Om, satsangatve nissangatvam, nissangatve nirmohatvam

nirmohatve nishchalatattvam, nishchalattve jivanmuktih

Bhaja govindam, bhaja govindam, bhaja govindam, mudha-mate

~ Bhaja Govindam by Shankaracarya

Good and virtuous company gives rise to non-attachment. From non-attachment comes freedom from delusion. With freedom from delusion, one feels the changeless reality. Experiencing that changeless reality, one attains liberation in this life. I-AM is the ocean of awareness. Realizing this, one feels, ‘I am not the body and mind, although I have a body and mind.’ Realize Govinda, realize Govinda in your heart, O wise one!

~ Translation & Commentary by Shri Brahmananda Sarasvati

When a seed germinates, the first thing it does is not send up shoots but send down roots. This movement toward the center of the Earth reminds us that, in nature, stability precedes expansion. The young sprout seeks the Earth’s core, anchoring itself before it ever reaches for light. In a similar way Patañjali tells us that spiritual progress depends on practice that is firmly grounded, dṛḍha-bhūmi, practice that, like a tree, roots deeply before it reaches toward the blue sky.

Spiritual practice follows a similar principle as a germinating seed sending out roots. Our asana, meditation, and mantra may one day blossom into clarity or insight, but without roots; discipline, consistency, and devotion, not much will grow. The stronger the roots, the more resilient the tree; the deeper our foundation, the more adaptable and steadfast our practice becomes. A shallow system may survive for a season, but one storm can uproot it. A rooted practice, however, bends with the wind, nourishes itself from deep within the soil of experience, and continues to grow even in hardship.

Roots, though unseen, hold the Earth together. Humanity has learned this through painful experience; by cutting down forests and removing root systems, we invite erosion, landslides, and the collapse of entire landscapes. What we cannot see often supports everything we can. In the same way, our unseen spiritual work, daily meditation, quiet moments of study, compassion offered without witness, keeps our inner world intact. Without those invisible anchors, the mind begins to erode, shaped by the constant tides of opinion, distraction, and desire.

To “put down roots” also means to commit, to a place, to a community, to a way of life. In yoga, this commitment takes the form of satsang, good company, the shared field of practitioners who encourage and support one another. Science mirrors this truth in the study of what biologists call the mycorrhizal network, sometimes known as the “wood wide web.” This underground fungal web connects the roots of trees and plants across great distances. Through it, forests share both warning and nourishment: when a tree is attacked by pests, nearby trees increase their defensive chemicals; when a neighboring sapling grows in poor soil, mature trees send it extra nutrients through the fungal filaments. Even dying trees have been shown to release their remaining carbon and minerals into the network to feed others.

This mycorrhizal web offers a striking metaphor for satsang. Through our shared practice we, too, exchange nourishment, wisdom, compassion, and care. When one practitioner suffers, others can help sustain them; when one thrives, that growth enriches the whole. The stronger and deeper our roots, both individual and collective, the greater our resilience as a community.

There are times, however, when we feel uprooted: disconnected from our practice, our teachers, or our sense of belonging. Loss, grief, or doubt can leave us feeling adrift, as if the soil has been stripped away. Yet the instinct to return home, to root again, is powerful. Sometimes it takes years of effort to re-establish that grounding; other times it happens the moment we step onto the mat, sit on the meditation cushion, or remember to breathe with awareness. Meditation, like the steady deepening of a root system, draws us downward into stillness. It anchors the restless mind and allows us to be nourished by the practices we’ve cultivated. It allows us to “return to our roots.”

Our spiritual life is a living ecosystem. Each mantra recited, each act of service, each moment of silence strengthens the network beneath us and between us. To nurture our roots is to care for the unseen ground of practice, returning to it again and again until stability becomes our nature. From that rootedness, growth, strength and expansion arise naturally. With firm roots, the tree of yoga can weather any storm.

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