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.
