Gazing as a Spiritual Practice

I am an active person. I tend to be physically on the move or making plans for movement or activity. I can sit in stillness and silence, but even in those states, my brain draws connections, recalls events, troubleshoots, and ponders ideas. It surprised me to find deep goodness in the simple act of gazing.

In my twenties, I had a roommate who was a master of the art of gazing. While I would be bustling around the house, she would sit, cozied up with a blanket and a coffee, and stare out the window for what seemed like hours. I noticed it, but I didn’t get it.

I process and reflect actively. My spiritual practices include walking, yoga, writing, reading (with a pen in hand), and talking things through with friends. I first discovered gazing as a spiritual practice when our family lived in Nepal. On weekend mornings, after a tiring week of navigating a foreign city with little kids, I would go for long walks through the villages and pray (rant) about my frustrations, fears, and hurts. My prayers were cathartic: “here is all the junk I’m feeling and stuff I am dealing with….” Eventually, I would make my way to a concrete pad in the middle of the rice fields. After getting everything off my chest, I hoped God would speak, solve my problems, and give me answers. A somewhat transactional approach, but this was what I thought I needed.

I would sit on the concrete and gaze at the expansive view. Sometimes a person would walk by with their goat or cow, carrying something unwieldy, and I would consider their life in Nepal as they passed. But mostly, I would watch the egrets forage and rice leaves sway in the wind. I was captivated by the immense fields of various shades of green. Eventually, I would feel “done” (or hungry or stiff) and get up and walk home. It was rare that I received a tangible response from God. More often, it just seemed that something good had happened, as though the view itself had given me what I needed.

As with so many insights, they easily get forgotten, and I have only intentionally engaged in the “practice of gazing” a few times over the years. Yet, a couple of weeks ago, I was sitting by the river and realized I wasn’t planning or problem-solving; I was gazing. It was a welcome rest to my usually active mind to simply watch the wind and water.

Spiritual practices take practice. Perhaps more often, I will take my bustling self to the water, hills, or forest. Over time, this may become a regular proclamation, “See you later— I’m off to gaze!”