Hi ,
Years ago, I lived for a time on a working farm in New Mexico, part of what you might describe as a Gurdjieff-style intentional community*.
It was intense. By desgin.
The work was hard—physically, emotionally, spiritually—and the point of all that effort was to push us to the edge of what it meant to be fully human and awake in the body.
For the record, I don’t recommend this path. It was, in many ways, extreme.
Too extreme.
But I learned a lot—lessons that have stayed with me, sometimes in surprising ways.
One of those lessons came in a moment that, at the time, felt very small.
I was walking from one part of the farm to another, lost in my thoughts. Thinking about what had just happened, what someone said, what I wish I had said, what I had to do next, how tired I was—the never-ending list. You know the drill. Even in this environment, the pattern at times was the same as anywhere—just like walking down a crowded sidewalk in Manhattan, head full of noise.
Then, from across the yard, one of the teachers shouted out to me:
“Brett—look up.”
That was it.
I realized that I had been looking down the whole time, lost in thought.
So I did. I looked up.
The sky stretched wide above me, brilliant and open.
The mountains rang out along the horizon, the trees waved in the wind.
The fields we’d worked so hard to cultivate were green and alive.
And in that instant, I realized this wasn’t just a casual suggestion.
It was a directive—a practice.
Look up.
See the world you’re in.
Interrupt the internal monologue.
Come back to now.
Let the world in.
I feel the impact of light, shape, shadow.
I let myself feel the place I’m in.
I let my body be in the world again.
And just like that, I’m not lost in the swirl anymore.
I’m connected to beauty, and the grace of the natural world.
As I am part of the world too.
Since then, this has become a regular part of my daily life.
When I walk through a parking lot to my car.
When I take a walk in the park.
And even from one room to another. That may sound strange, but in this community, we built houses where you could look out windows at key locations when you moved from one space to another to encourage us to “look up” while in motion. You may have places like that where you live or work. Seek them out and use them.
This small, simple shift is one of many ways I like to practice mindfulness throughout the day.
It’s not dramatic.
It doesn’t require special training.
And yet—it works.
It cuts through rumination, softens obsessive thoughts, and helps bring a little space back to the moment.
So that’s my invitation to you this week.
Try it. Just once today. Or maybe a few times.
When you’re walking somewhere—anywhere—pause and look up.
That’s it.
Notice what happens when you do.
In a world that’s always trying to pull you into the next thing, this is one moment that’s fully yours.
No app required.
Stay present,
Brett
PS.
Gurdjieff was an eccentric yet brilliant spiritual teacher in the early 1900s with controversial methods that involved intentional community. He is the author of Meetings With Remarkable Men, which is his most accessible writing. There is a great deal to say about his work and practices, but in general, his approach was that to learn something truly transformational requires a great deal of “heat” —which either comes into your life from the outside via an accident or illness, or by choice. So his work was sort of a spiritual bootcamp, where you are stretched in ways you wouldn’t normally encounter, because what you’re trying to achieve (transformation) you can’t do under normal circumstances. This was called “intentional suffering,” and raises eyebrows when it’s said that way—but is not that different than, say, the legendary stresses of training in military bootcamps or those of some monastic orders. I was very interested in this because all my life was intenstly drawn to find out what is the truth about who I am, who we are, and how it is all of this thing called life works.