Open Your Eyes
She flows across the shadowed studio floor as if she was moving through water. Her feet don’t make a sound. She’s been to India. She’s bathed in the sacred Ganges. You can smell the patchouli oil heavy on her skin. The music choices transport you to another world where they play instruments you’ve never heard of. The words that come out of her mouth are almost danced rather than spoken:
“They say that vision can be the most distracting of all the senses.”
(And then I threw up in my mouth a little bit.)
What kind of statement is that!? Who are “they”? Distracted from what? I almost titled this article “The Strange Shit You Hear at Yoga” but I think that could’ve very easily turned into a 5-page rant where my inner curmudgeon comes out on full display. So instead, I’ve decided to focus this piece on one very small and pretty harmless statement made in an otherwise beautiful class, that triggered me while I was supposed to be letting go.
I meditate with my eyes open. The meditation practice that I most often follow is called Zazen. It is literally just sitting upright, facing a wall with your eyes open.
No mantras or breathing patterns. Just sitting.
When I first came to meditation, I meditated with my eyes closed. Most practices tend to close the eyes as a way of turning inwards towards the Self. This seems pretty harmless and it’s a great way to stay in that non-reactive space that most practices preach.
My teacher describes it a different way. Basically we have five senses as humans that we all seem to agree upon. We can taste, we can smell, we can hear, we can touch, and we can see. Some of us may believe in other senses as well, but those are the standards. From these senses we receive input from our external surroundings that we are able to utilize to construct an accurate image of the world around us. These five senses are how we tune in and connect. So how does turning one of them off allow you to be more present?
Soul-gazing is a practice where you and another person simply stare into each other’s eyes. Sometimes we add other things on top of it, but at the base this is just an act of connecting with another person. I’ve practiced this with strangers, friends and lovers. It always seems to shed light on the person you are connecting with. One of my partners who I used to practice this with frequently pointed out my habit of looking away during deep and uncomfortable discussions.
“Don’t run away. Be here with me.”
That’s what she’d say to me to bring me back into my discomfort – to bring me back to the place where the work could be done. Even now when I teach yoga, I catch myself avoiding eye contact with students as I begin the class.
It’s probably the most uncomfortable that I get all week.
I think it’s because at that point, I have no idea why anyone is there. Some are there for a workout, some are there for spiritual awakening, some are there because they love me as a teacher, and some are there because this time slot fits into their lunch break. Not knowing their intentions makes it difficult for me to create a class that gets everybody what they want and need. And when I take classes, you can see that I can be pretty judgemental so in the back of my mind I’m always a bit insecure that a student is hating everything that I’m doing. But the only way I’m going to get better at this is by opening my eyes and looking them in the face.
That brings us all the way to the Buddha. Quick side note here, there is no “The Buddha.” When you hear that pronoun preceding Buddha, someone is probably referring to the historical Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama, but anyone can be a buddha. A buddha is just someone who has attained enlightenment. I’ve always appreciated that about Buddhism. It’s attainable. But anyway, back to Siddhartha. If you don’t know the story, he grew up a prince. His father shielded him from all the horrors and struggles of life in a splendid palace. Then one day while he was out with his driver, he saw poor people, sick people, dead people. He basically saw life for the first time and it destroyed him to know that he had not experienced it – that his upbringing had protected him from the realities of existence. So he leaves the palace and goes on all his adventures until he sits under the Bodhi tree and becomes enlightened. A common dialogue contributed to Siddhartha is that after he had reached his buddha-hood he was asked if he was a god or a man. He simply responded,
“I am awake.”
And it’s important to be awake for the good and the bad. It’s important to sit with the reality of your regular work schedule in the same way that it’s important to sit in the vast wonder and awe of the Grand Canyon.
You can’t just be awake for the good stuff and consider it enlightenment.
Sitting in class where this poor yoga teacher has unknowingly sent me into an intense and righteous inner monologue, I can see myself in the mirror. It occurs to me that this is how I feel about keeping your eyes open. And it might not be that way for someone else. And that’s ok. We can be different. Realizations are supposed to be personal, not boxes that fit all shapes and sizes.
As class wraps up and closes out, the other students pack their mats and shuffle out the doors. I always stay a bit longer. The Yoga Sutras begin by telling you that this is the yoga. Yoga is calming of the fluctuations of the mind and we really do that work right here in a seated position. All the other twists and turns and trees and frogs are just ways to calm the mind and sit up a little bit straighter. So I take my post-yoga seated meditation seriously.
Lately I’ve had the opportunity to take daytime classes. This one started at noon. The room is still dimly lit. The lights are out but a little bit of the midday sun is peeking through the closed blinds giving the room a certain aura that seems important the way that you try to hold onto that glow of sunset as long as you can. I’m about 3 feet from the floor to ceiling mirrors in front of me and the shadows are brilliant. My right side is lit in a beautiful gold so that I can make out every line of my face, every muscle of my torso. The left side is in full shadow. Nothing but a profile. It occurs to me that my left side is my much more heavily tattooed side. That was a conscious choice I made. To fill up one side while keeping the other clean. Something about dichotomy and balance. Half in shadow and half in light, but still completely me. I can be a being of light. I can be a being of shadow. I do good stuff sometimes and I do bad stuff sometimes. But neither defines me independently of the other. I am simply what I do in any given moment.
Wow…
I would’ve never thought that thought if my eyes were closed.
That’s just something I’ve been sitting with…