First Breath

There's nothing you have to do here. Nothing you have to feel. Nothing you have to become.

If you'd like, let your eyes close. Or rest them softly on something nearby.

Take one breath. Just one. Not a special breath. Not a deep breath. Just the next one that's already on its way.

Notice the air arriving. Not making it arrive. Just noticing.

And then leaving.

This is the whole practice. The smallest possible thing. Letting one breath in. Letting one breath out.

If your mind has already wandered somewhere else — to a thought, a worry, a list of things — that's okay. That's what minds do.

You don't have to push the thoughts away. You don't have to make them be quiet. You just come back. As many times as you need to. The coming back is the practice.

One more breath. In.

And out.

You came here for three minutes. That's enough. That's already something.

When you're ready, let your eyes open. Carry a little of this softness with you, into whatever's next.