Drishti: Pointing the Boat



I went to yoga class last Sunday and almost left before class even started. I wasn't feeling it, so I sat there arguing with myself: the teacher isn't here yet, there's still time, you can just roll up your mat and go.

I toughed it out and the class ended up being one of the most challenging I've taken. Not because the poses felt intimidating or because anything particularly dramatic had happened—I just felt completely at odds with myself. Heavy. Creaky. Stiff. Emotionally resistant. Resistant to being there. As practice started, I felt resistant to moving, even resistant to breathing deeply.

And I noticed my eyes were everywhere.

I was looking around the room, checking out the woman's pedicure next to me while we were in forward fold, searching for where the teacher was, noticing what everyone else was doing, comparing, distracting myself. My attention felt completely scattered. And then the judgment started layering in: why can't I focus? this feels terrible. maybe I should have just stayed home.

Usually when that happens, breath is the thing I return to. But honestly, even the breath felt inaccessible that day. Trying to deepen it almost frustrated me more.

What did feel possible, surprisingly, was my gaze. I started trying to bring some awareness to finding a steady place for my eyes to rest. Not rigidly. Not forcing concentration. Just returning my attention to one place whenever I noticed myself scattering.

This is drishti.

In modern yoga traditions, drishti refers to a focal point or intentional gaze within a posture. The word itself comes from a Sanskrit root meaning “to see” or “to perceive.” And while the specific system of assigning gaze points to poses largely comes through modern Ashtanga yoga (it's not laid out in the sutras or the Hatha Yoga Pradipika), the deeper idea of focusing attention is very present in older yogic teachings: where we place our attention shapes our experience.

You can feel this physically in practice. When the arms lift and the gaze follows upward, the energy often feels lighter or more expansive. In Warrior III, if the gaze drops heavily toward the floor, balance can feel shaky, almost like the energy is pouring downward. In Chair Pose, even slightly lifting the gaze can subtly shift the feeling of the pose, not because it becomes easy, but because the energy reorganizes.

The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali talk so much about the movement of attention and the tendency of the mind to scatter outward. And that’s part of what drishti is offers us—not just a place to look, but a way to practice returning. A way of gathering ourselves gently when we feel dispersed.

I'll confess, I close my eyes a lot in practice. This helps me turn inward, away from distractions and comparisons. I find this very helpful and in reading more about drishti, I think- for me- it's a bit of stepping stone.... Because there’s something surprisingly difficult about keeping the eyes open and steady. About staying present without constantly checking elsewhere, comparing, or looking for distraction and I think that's something I could practice more.

It's helpful to think of drishti not just as a technical instruction, but as a relationship—to attention, to energy, and to the practice of gently returning.  When our attention is scattered, we often feel scattered too. And sometimes when we gently gather our focus—even in a small way—our energy begins to reorganize.

There are moments in life where motivation feels absent, like there’s no wind in the sails. But even then, we can point the boat. And then, we can lift the sail. Sometimes the practice is remembering what direction we want to move and quietly drawing our attention there.