Let's begin.
Find a position that feels supported and comfortable. You can close your eyes or let your gaze rest gently on something in front of you. Change that whenever you need to.
First, just notice your breath. Don't fix it. Don't force it. Let it be just as it is.
Now take a quick inventory. How is your mood today? Is your head heavy, like a dark room with no lights? Or restless, like a flickering light that cannot decide whether it is on or off?
Whatever you see, just observe. This is the soil we are going to work with.
Imagine you are a warm beam of light, and you can turn it to any part of your body.
This, right here, is the power you have: the ability to decide what you will focus on.
Now bring your attention to the breath. Notice the inhale filling your lungs. Your belly rising... then falling. Cool air in, warm air out.
Begin to count: "One" as you breathe in. "Two" as you breathe out. Go on until you reach ten, then start again at one.
When your mind wanders, and it will, just notice where it has gone, say lightly "not now," and lead it back to the breath.
This is the horse-and-rider dance: the horse runs to the edge of the trail, curious about the bushes. The rider, steady and calm, simply brings it back. No whip. No fight. Just guidance.
Here we stay for ten minutes, or for the length you chose, tending this inner soil. Sit in silence.
Halfway through, remember: it does not matter if your attention wandered a hundred times. A hundred times you came back, and every return is a seed in the field.
Let go of the breath. Release your hold on it gradually, the way you would set a well-used instrument back on its stand.
Take two or three deep, natural breaths.
Before opening your eyes, check in again:
When you are ready, open your eyes slowly, letting the outside world back in, bit by bit.
What we have just done may not seem like much, but like water dripping into a jar, it fills faster than you expect. You are building something stronger than attention: the power to decide where your mind is, each time you realize you have strayed and returned.
Today you have plowed the ground a little deeper. It is not perfect, it is not "done," but it is ready for the next seeds we will plant together. Keep showing up. The field will change. The horse will grow more attentive. And the way ahead will clear, bit by bit.
This practice is one of seventeen in the book.
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