Eye to Eye

Today in yoga class my teacher had us practice with our eyes closed.

In our first downward dog, when he instructed us to turn our gaze inward, I could sense the apprehension from the students. Our minds trying to understand, oscillating between thinking he is crazy to intense curiosity as to what this is going to be like.

I adhere to the new rule and close my eyes. Immediately, I connect deeper to my body. Now, I am not afforded to opportunity to physically look at my alignment. Now, I must feel my alignment. I must allow my body's intelligence to work without using my visual sense.

I must trust.

We move through sun salutations and I perceive where my body is in space. I take my time, move slowly, more gracefully. I am careful to ground my toes into the mat. Instead of rushing through movements in a robotic, mechanical way, I practice with augmented grace; I feel like water flowing. Practicing with eyes closed requires intense concentration. Not for one moment can I lose focus. In the moments I do, I lose balance, tip over, feel the wobbling muscles seeking security.

I must remain present.

Sometimes, I can't help myself and peak. I try to fight the urge to look but there are times when my eyes pop open. These are moments I feel disorientated, wondering where I am on my mat, where my body is in the room. Am I invading my neighbor's space? Which direction I am facing? When can we open our eyes? None of this seems to matter much and I feel disappointed with my quick glimpses.

I must surrender more.

When we are given permission to look, it is as though I am seeing life for the first time. I scan the room and appreciate the glowing faces, drenched in sweat, born anew. We are all wide-eyed in amazement; we survived. My teacher acknowledges that we practice better when the ability to see is taken away. He swears it is one of the most beautiful sights.

The most profound lesson from practicing with eyes closed is the suspension of judgments. Because I cannot see what I am doing, my mind cannot decide if it is good, bad or worthy of acceptance. I am only able to feel how it feels not think how it feels. This is a HUGE difference. I also notice that it stops judgments towards others. I am unable to compare myself to the flexibility of my classmates. I am not given the opportunity to be impressed by someone else's abilities or empowered because I was able to achieve a difficult pose. By lacking all the typical distraction of class, it causes my practice to be much more personal, deep, non-attaching and honest.

Moreover, it reminded me to maintain an appreciation for eyesight. So many times, I take this extraordinary sense for granted. I wake up expecting to see. It is a gift to watch sunsets, admire art, make eye contact, read books, drive a car. To stare at something beautiful is inspiring. How lucky I am t be given such a gift. Next time I see a blind person walking on the street, I will be reminded of their darkness. For a moment, I will understand and send some extra light their way.

I am always amazed and thankful that yoga extends beyond physical poses. Something as simple as closing eyes has a profound effect on the practice, deepening to a level often untouched.

A Religious Revival

In the most unlikely of circumstances, I found myself back in a Catholic Church after a ten year hiatus.

Born and raised as a Catholic, I developed an aversion towards it around the age of seventeen. After years of parochial school, weekly Mass and a handful of sacraments, I wanted nothing to do with it. The dogma, services and overall attitude bothered me. The lack of passion frustrated me. I remember feeling so disconnected that I started visiting numerous nondenominational churches and Buddhist centers in search for religious truth.

The past ten years have been largely influenced by this quest. I had to do my own investigating into what I believe is true. I explored meditation techniques, spiritual scripts and Hindu gods. I prayed, chanted and sang. I sat in quiet stillness and danced my heart out. I read the Bible and the Yoga sutras. Prayed to Jesus and Ganesh. And ultimately, I have found all these religions contain the same universal truths. Truths of love, peace and light, respect of self and others, kindness and compassion. The roads are different, yes. The books and songs, statues and prayers all vary. Human beings vary. But at the core, all religious paths merge to ONE. To the divine, the source of happiness and peace.

So as I sat in Midnight Mass, the most magical service in Catholicism, I was reminded of my once deep love for this religion. The smell of incense so familiar yet mysterious. The Christmas hymns I sang as a child. The special decorations that enhance the Church's architectural beauty. The overwhelming warmth. I was so moved to remember the responses and words of prayers. In a way, I felt like I was home, a safe and secure place. It reminded me of Sunday Mass with my parents, the guiding principles it served and all the good it has added to my life. The belief and conviction of a higher power. Whatever once bothered me, no longer existed. I was coming to it from a different place.

Now that I know and feel confident in my beliefs and what I stand for, I can sit comfortably in a Catholic Church, knowing my truth is embedded within it. The words may be different, the story changes, but I know we share the same intentions. In this place of God, I feel the connection.

Since that special moment, I have gone back to church, not for a service but rather just to sit. I sit in the quiet room, hear the echos of my footsteps. I close my eyes and pray. Empty space helps me focus, speak to God intensely. No distractions. To be in a sacred, silent place enables a deeper dialogue. I pour my heart out.

I foolishly assumed that because I feel God within me always, I didn't need to visit a physical location. I thought one excluded the other. But being back in church shows me that I can enjoy both, and each to the benefit of the others. They work together to strengthen my relationship with God. What a gift to start off the new year.