Circle Practice: The Art of Looking

When I lead circles, I always start by having each participant meet the eyes of every other participant. Slowly. Intentionally. One by one, locking in with each set of eyes.

It can be so uncomfortable. You might be squirming right now just at the thought of it.

But when was the last time you truly looked someone in the eyes? I mean really stopped and held that moment with another person?

We don't do it much. We're so busy creating noise and getting things done. We can sit across from someone in a meeting or over dinner and never really see them—never take the time to look and take in the whole energy of their being. We've been operating this way for so long that slowing down to look, to observe, feels unnatural.

But it isn't. It's uncomfortable not because it's wrong, but because we've forgotten how natural it is—and how much we need it.

So, what happens when we slow down, lock eyes, and truly see?

We allow ourselves to be vulnerable. To truly see another, we must also be seen—and that requires us to open up. To allow our true self to be witnessed, not just the version we show the world.

We see their suffering. In that moment of complete attention, we glimpse the suffering in another person. Maybe not the details, but we sense that it's there. We can acknowledge it—and allow our own suffering to be acknowledged in return.

We see their hope. Behind the suffering, we see that our partner—despite everything—hopes for something better. We feel their longing for a deeper, more honest way of being human. And we recognize that same longing in ourselves.

We see their light. If we look deeply enough, we recognize a light inside them—one that is not separate from, but continuous with, the light inside each of us. We awaken to a oneness that exists beneath our separate bodies, an essence that forms a connective bond between us all.

And in holding another's gaze, we realize: when we hurt another, we hurt ourselves. And that loving another is an act of self-love.

This is the gift of truly seeing and being seen. It quietly dissolves the illusion that we are separate—that what we do to others has no bearing on ourselves. It reminds us that we are, at our core, one.

In circle practice, to lock eyes is a moment of silent witnessing. We witness the struggle we all carry. We witness the hope we all share. We witness the light that connects us. And in that witnessing, we find the truth of our humanity, the fate of our humanity—and perhaps, the path forward for all of us.