The Things I Think When I Close My Eyes (During Savasana)…
“Blinding ignorance does mislead us. O! Wretched mortals, open your eyes!”
~Leonardo da Vinci
One of the things that I feel like I’ve become known for in my classes is my encouragement for students to open their eyes (and conversely to avoid closing their eyes) during asana practice, including during savasana. For me, as a coach for mental strength and fitness, this seems pretty straightforward, but apparently for many people, it’s a pretty controversial hot take. Within a 26&2 practice, my rationale is that opening the eyes during savasana is a physical manifestation of the mental practice, meaning that we are practicing mental presence, so like, be present, you know?
I admit that as in all things, words MATTER (a topic that’s worth exploring at another time because I have THOUGHTS) and this is sometimes taken far too far. I’m not suggesting that people bring toothpicks in to hold their eyelids open during yoga practice, but merely to consider that they are in a place and time that should be acknowledged. Just as we encourage students who mindfully need to take savasana as a physical pause in the practice, if you need a mental pause, by all means, close your eyes! I often openly say in class that savasana is available to you. So is closing your eyes, if you need to close your eyes. BUT!!!! If you don’t, it may be an illuminating bit of growth in your yoga practice. After all, practical considerations of practicing presence requires you to acknowledge where you are physically, even as you “look within”.
(Before I go any further and have loads of you come at me, I’m limiting the scope of this discussion to the asana practice of the 26&2. I mean, when you are practicing alone at home, by all means, close your eyes and look within as much as you like. Do your thing.)
Now, a little background on myself. I maintain a regular yoga practice and I also maintain an even more regular meditation practice. There are loads of different sorts of meditation. I’ve taught classes and workshops in mindful meditation as well as walking meditations and of course, there are some lucky and impressive souls (not me because some part of my body always goes painfully numb) who are able to sit for a couple hours in stillness and meditation. In 1993, I learned a practice called Transcendental Meditation, popularized in the West in large part by its high profile practitioners starting with The Beatles in the 1960s. The practice is 20 minutes a day, twice a day. That doesn’t sound like much (and in many ways, it really isn’t and that’s the point), but I’ve been doing that as my daily jam almost every day since I was 19 years old—so it’s been 27 years of more or less consistent meditation practice.
As a social scientist and “Very Experienced Meditator” (there are no air quotes big enough for the dripping sarcasm in using that label), I decided to do a very unofficial experiment and close my eyes during the first savasana between standing and floor series in my 26&2 practice. Immediately after my practice, I took notes on my phone detailing what was going through my head. I present for you my raw data illuminating my “mental presence” with my eyes closed:
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Day 1
OMG, it feels really good to close my eyes. This is pure luxury. Maybe I’m kinda mean for telling everyone to open their eyes? Am I THAT teacher? Am I an asshole?? I hope this is a full two minute savasana… Uh-oh, I’m gonna fall asleep in a minute. This needs to end. When are we doing wind removing pose? [Me opening my eyes to peek to see whether wind removing pose is going on and I just missed the cues and then closing them again because it didn’t.] Oh man, I played myself. This is hard. Did I go to sleep? Okay okay okay okayokayokay I’m fine.
Day 2
Okay, close your eyes. Yaaassssss. I’m so hungry. Should I have had a sip of my coffee before lying down? If I teach music class this Friday, what theme am I going to with? Is this the time to pull out the opera list? I want Chinese food for lunch. No, I can’t. Why did I say publicly that I wasn’t going to eat rice this month? Carbs are delicious. Carbs are my friend. I have a headache. No, you don’t you’re fine. That’s not a headache. Don’t whine. Calm down. STAY IN THE ROOM.
Day 3
Stay present. Like what does that even really mean anyway? I’m present because I’m here. Okay, be quiet. Stop moving. What is that hair poking into my eyelid? Is it a hair from my head or is it an eyelash? Don’t touch it. You’re fine. Why is this so hard for me? I hate this experiment. It’s not even controlled. Or measurable. I wonder how one could operationalize a study on savasana? No. Stop. Stay present. Staypresentstaypresentstaypresentstaypresentfortheloveofgodstaypresent
Day 4
I give up. I’m opening my eyes and looking at the fan until my eyes are sort of fuzzy looking at the fan.
When I did, I felt… nothing much, actually. I was just there, which for me, is perfect. I didn’t feel any inner enlightenment nor anything philosophical nor anything spectacular. I felt like I was staying still on the floor and I knew where I was. End.
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So. What did I discover in this experiment? Basically, that for myself personally, the second I close my eyes even for a second, my mind is off and running—I’m sometimes still thinking about yoga things sort of sometimes, but yoga things is my job, so I don’t see this as any different from someone thinking about the groceries or a meeting coming up.
Is this or should this be a deeply serious yogic consideration to your practice? Perhaps not. However, it might be worth considering to what degree you give effort to your mental presence in class relative to your physical efforts. Although we are essentially engaged in a physically-driven practice, we are playing the game of yoga and that requires at minimum some acknowledgement of our minds also being a part of the thing. For me, that can be as easy as opening your eyes when it would be far easier to close them and check out. Or refocusing on your breath when you feel yourself making a mental to do list. Mental strength is not profound. But it is something that we can learn how to control over time in the same way that we learn to control anything else that we adopt into our regular practices.
Food for thought. Consider what’s best for you and your mind (but please try opening your eyes sometimes, please thank you I love you).
Maryam Bakht is a fitness coach and yoga teacher specializing in purposeful movement and mental strength and clarity. Maryam holds a PhD in Linguistics from NYU and in her time as a college professor has developed methods for practicing calmness and rest as a way to become more efficient and effective in work.