in pursuit... of surrender?

inspiration from a blind cat named Lucy

In 2021, I took a 200 hour yoga teacher training in the middle-of-nowhere in Northern Maine. When I say the ‘middle-of-nowhere’… I mean a 758 person population (according to a 2020 census.) I mean ‘middle-of-nowhere’ like… the mail gets delivered to your house via a resident’s personal vehicle… some time in between their grocery store run and his yard work. Of course, after he plops on the ‘official’ USPS magnet on his car (like he’s delivering Domino’s pizzas or something.)

The Sewall House was so remote, I felt a bit melancholy when I walked through town. It was a beautiful area, and of course, kind of nice that it didn’t sport the hundreds of tourists that other Maine towns seem to struggle with during the summer months. But this place was deserted. Old businesses shut down, forgotten… beautiful homes, completely empty. Signs of life, but nothing breathing. Like a movie set that forgot to get funding. I honestly even wondered if children who grew up there ever learned the whole ‘Stop, Look, Listen song’ (before you cross the street) because there was absolutely no reason they ever needed to give either direction a glance — no car seemed to be coming. The House was nearby an Amish village, and nearby the end of the Appalachian trail, so if we saw people, they were likely hikers, locals, Amish families on horse and buggy, or one of our own, us — the ‘crazy-chanting-yogis’ in the big white house on the corner.

The ‘big white house on the corner’ was called The Sewall House, and has quite a history. Theodore Roosevelt spent a lot of time there, and was good friends with Donna’s great (great?) ancestor of sorts. When Teddy Roosevelt wasn’t feeling well, he came to the Sewall House for some R & R. They have records saying Roosevelt said the air was healing up there. And honestly? He was probably right. Decades later, Donna carries on the healing power of the Sewall House, with a mix of ancient yogic philosophy, mobility and movement.

The 200 hour was a month long intensive program, so I was in Island Falls for a good chunk of my summer.

The experience changed my life.

Although the town wasn’t full of life, Donna’s Sewall House beamed energy and life. I learned a ton about yoga and yogic philosophy. I learned immensely from the individuals I shared the retreat with — 8 or so people with different insights, stories, experiences and joys. And most importantly, I learned so much about myself and my love of nature.

Every morning, I spent my time writing on the rocking chair outside, drinking coffee. Here was my favorite journal entry from that month spent out there. It is about Donna’s cat, Lucy.

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Most days at the Sewall House, I sit on the front porch awaiting the morning to greet me. Today, Lucy joined to keep me company.

Lucy is a cat.

Lucy is a blind cat.

As I write this, I feel sorry that 'blind' was my first description of her. She is very sweet, very strong, and very loving. But -- that fact is true; she did not have sight at birth.

As I sat, I watched Lucy maneuver across the porch with careful, intentional steps. Every few moments moving her head around to feel her environment with her whiskers. She relies on her remaining four senses to get through each day; and moves through the world in her own special way.

After observing Lucy for a while, I decided to match my senses with hers, so I closed my eyes.

I closed my eyes and listened; I listened to her purr, the birds, creaks of the tired porch.

I closed my eyes, and felt; I felt the slight wind in the air, lingering, irritating mosquito bites from the night before.

A few minutes passed -- my eyes still closed -- and it seemed as though Lucy had left. I had some sort of inner Knowing she had wandered to another part of the deck. I opened my eyes, and sure enough, Lucy was gone.

I realized Lucy relies on this 'Knowing' most of her days. She relies on a trust that her next step won't be a fall to her death, or maybe rather a contentment of where she is presently, and that if she did fall, everything would be okay.

You know -- I felt bad for Lucy when I first met her. I was sad that she couldn't see our beautiful world... the trees, the birds, our sky. But, after thinking about it, I think Lucy might feel bad for us.

Now... I realize Lucy is a cat and probably not an all-knowing being. But, if she was omniscient, I'd imagine she'd pity us. Us humans: with full vision of this world... with an ability to see a full spectrum of colors... but still blind. Blind to our inner Knowings. Blind to powers deep within us, that guide us in transcendent ways towards our destiny.

Sitting on the deck, I realized I'd like to be more like Lucy -- and immediately it feels strange looking up to a blind, old cat. But... having a complete openness?... a release of control? ...having a trust in the connection of self and the universe? That's pretty amazing. And I realize many humans live lifetimes without that same surrender.

I think all humans can live more like Lucy... tapping into that Knowing, that power within... surrendering to the trust of our intuitions... and starting to live with the same courage that she comes to the world with.... every... single... day.

It is no mistake that yoga and meditation are performed with eyes closed; I believe our practice is a vehicle to our inner Knowings.

Just. Like. Lucy.

forever in pursuit,

T