The workshop

“Turn to your neighbor sitting next to you. I want you to stare into each others eyes.”

My neighbor’s wearing a white baseball cap, tilted at an angle. Dark-skinned, Indian descent. There’s no way he’s going to be able to keep up with me. I’m more spiritually in-tune than him. He looks like he’s going to a Jay Z rap show. I’m shirtless having finished morning Kundalini yoga. He’s going to break, yes. He’s going to crack a smile.

I stare through his corrective lenses and into his eyes. A surprise. He stares back, emotionless. Like an ancient statue. I think again, maybe he won’t break. Maybe I’ll break. What happens if I smile first? A minuscule muscle near my mouth twinges that could easily spread into a cheerful grin, therefore, I quickly send it into a deadening scowl. I think I need to stop thinking.

The staring continues for whole seconds. I count my breaths. Then entire minutes. My gaze becomes transfixed on his left eye. Then right eye. Then back again.

“Don’t get trance-y with this. Focus on the eyes of the person in front of you.”

I widen my focus. I see both eyes peering back into me.

“I want you to think. What is it that’s holding you back from connecting more deeply with this person?”

I lessen the intensity of my stare. I open my eyes to his.

The looking continues for 30 minutes. Finally, we are allowed the opportunity to speak.

My spiritual rival, my spiritual equal. What could I ask you?

“Why did you come to Lightning in a Bottle?”

“To be honest,” he shrugs as he looks into the distance then faces me again, “I came to do drugs.”