A yoga mat with a view
One of my favorite places to practice yoga is on the back porch of my parents’ house on Newfound Lake, New Hampshire. The house sits high on a ledge above the lake so the view of the water from the porch is through birch trees and evergreens along the slope. There is something about the angle from that spot that makes the water sparkle magically. Even though the view is entirely familiar, it has never lost its ability to captivate me.
Choosing what you focus on is easier when things are calm
When practicing yoga postures that ask you to balance on one foot, the rule of thumb is to gaze down at something in front of you that will not move.[1] I often say to students that if they look at their neighbor across the way, when that neighbor wobbles so will they. If they choose a spot on the floor instead, its immovability will make their own posture stable and still.
This is good advice when you’re practicing in the somewhat calm and controlled environment of a yoga studio. But it works less well “in the wild” – whether it is your yoga mat that is outdoors in the wild or whether you are trying to practice the lessons you have learned on that mat in the wilds of your life.
When things are not calm, instead of focusing harder, try focusing softer
With my own advice in mind, when I’m in tree pose (vrkasana) on the porch, I tend to shift my gaze from the lake to one of the birch trees. As much as I love the symmetry of gazing at a tree while in tree pose, my choice has more to do with the fact that trees don’t move nearly as much as water does. Even on the windiest day, when the leaves are fluttering and the branches are swaying, I can focus on the trunk and borrow some of its stability.
Last week, I did not look away from the water. It was a very windy day. Wave after wave rolled across the surface of the lake. Whitecaps added even more moving distractions to my view. As I stood there, one foot pressed into the inner thigh of the opposite leg, the other foot rooting into my mat, I felt my gaze soften.
Instead of seeing the waves and whitecaps, I saw the lake. It was filled with wild movement, yes. But it – the lake – was not moving. In fact, it has not moved in the 12,000 years since a glacier hollowed a lake-sized hole in the valley. I stood there, feeling my breath move in and out of my nose and my heart beating evenly in my chest, feeling like a reflection of my view. I, like the lake was still, and yet I was – and always am – filled with movement.
I held the posture a little longer than usual, gazing steadily and softly at the lake. I marveled that despite the waves and whitecaps rolling across its surface, the lake itself remained unchanged. All of the wild movement disturbed my stability only if I allowed my attention to be pulled to each wave as it crossed my field of vision. As long as I was looking at the lake, I remained still.
Life often gets churned up like a lake does on a windy day
“This is your life,” said something deep within me. My heart swelled in response. Life is filled with movement – endings, beginnings, losses, new discoveries, struggles and easy times. My life of late has been filled with more upheaval and change than I’d ever imagined possible. If I had to choose an image of a lake that looks like my life, it would be a lake churned to white caps by the wind – just like the one I was gazing at.
But it doesn’t have to be as dramatic as that. I remember when my oldest was in high school. He was totally overwhelmed by the details of his days – when he had to be where and where he had to be next. Trying to manage the “waves” of his days was dragging him under. We made a list of everything he “had to do.” While it was a long list, he found that many of the “waves” were things he loved. Stepping back to see the whole view helped free him from feeling pummeled by each individual wave. This broader perspective steadied him.
Steadiness is possible – even when everything is very disturbed
I’d like to tell you that this was all it took, but staying upright while being pummeled by waves – even if only visually – is rarely pretty or calm. In tree pose on the porch that day, it took me several tries to find stability. In life, it can be even messier. Sometimes, as my son found, staying above water is barely possible. But this is OK. Life, it turns out, is less calm and controlled than a yoga studio – or even a yoga mat on a porch overlooking a lake.
While it may feel more comfortable to “struggle” in a softly lit room, surrounded by soothing music, and guided by a wise and kind teacher, we rarely get that choice in the real world. Even when we are struggling in the wild waves of our lives, it is possible to find our way to calm. Sometimes, to do so, we’ll need to focus hard on exactly what is in front of us. Seeking stillness in the certainty of what we see.
Sometimes, however, when what is in front of us is too much or too complicated or has too many moving parts, focusing harder will not work. Then we need to soften our focus with the faith that there is a whole to see – a whole that is beautiful even if (or because!) it is filled with so much movement.
Hopefully, my son’s and my stories help you to trust in your own bigger picture; to trust that you, too, can soften your focus and find the steady calmness I felt when I stood in tree pose and softened my focus to gaze at the lake instead of the waves. Mostly, I hope you’ll remember that the same waves that threaten to pull you (and me and my son and …) under also make the lake sparkle magically.
In yoga sutra 1.13, Patanjali teaches that the practice requires both the steadiness of effort and the effort to be steady. With time, we become able to find steadiness even in times of great upheaval. In fact, we practice because times of upheaval are not an obstacle to a life well-lived, but an opportunity to live life well.
[1] In yoga, a gaze point is called a drishti.