Find a posture that is both comfortable and steady, like a mountain resting on the ground.
Close your eyes, or let your gaze rest softly in front of you. Let the world fall away for a while.
Begin to count your breaths:
Your thoughts will roam. They always do. An idea will come up. A feeling will pull at you. A sensation in your body will call for attention.
When this happens, do not struggle with it. Simply notice: "Ah, my attention has moved." Then, as gently as setting a feather back on a table, return to your breath.
When a thought, feeling or sensation catches your attention, ask: did this arrive on its own, or was I deliberately thinking about it?
Sometimes something appears before you notice it. Sometimes you intentionally bring something to mind. You can observe both. Then return to the breath, or to the anchor you have chosen. This is not a struggle with the mind. It is a drill: learning how to come back.
Sit in silence for ten minutes, counting your breaths and returning whenever you notice you have wandered.
Settle in. Find a place where your body can rest without needing your attention. Let your eyes close or soften, and take a few slow breaths to arrive.
Now greet your mind. Not as a force to conquer, but as a partner you will learn to work with. Imagine you have met a good horse, a stubborn one, that you will lead with steady hands, not with force.
Bring your attention to your breath. At once, your mind starts feeding you details: the coolness of air coming in... the warmth going out... the rise and fall of your belly. This is what your mind does best: gather information.
Something else will soon arrive: thoughts, feelings, sensations. When they do, pause and ask: did this arrive on its own, or did I bring it here?
Often you will find it simply showed up. That is the autopilot of the mind. Sometimes you will find you called it. Notice which one it was, without forcing an answer.
Having seen that, come back to your breath, softly. Not to punish yourself for straying, but because this is the simple business of putting your mind back where you decided to place it. This is manual control, and you are training it with every return.
Breathe and observe for the next five minutes. Notice how effortlessly thoughts arise, and how much effort it takes to come back. This is where the skill is built: every return is one repetition, like lifting a weight, for the mind.
Sit in silence for five minutes.
Continue. Your mind may offer you exits: "This is boring," "We have done enough." Note them as more automatic material. See the autopilot at work, and return to your chosen focus.
Sit in silence for five more minutes.
Let go of your focus on the breath. Thank your mind, yes, really, thank it, before you open your eyes: for showing up, for revealing itself. This partnership is only beginning. When you are ready, open your eyes slowly, carrying that awareness with you.
This practice is one of seventeen in the book.
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