Find a quiet place where you can sit comfortably—on a cushion, a chair, or even the floor. Let your spine be straight but not stiff, like a tree rooted gently in the earth. Rest your hands on your lap, palms up or down, whatever feels natural.
Close your eyes if you’d like, or soften your gaze to a point ahead. Take a moment to settle in. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to do—just this breath, this moment.
Close your eyes if you’d like, or soften your gaze to a point ahead. Take a moment to settle in. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to do—just this breath, this moment.
Now, bring your attention to your breath. Don’t change it—just listen. Notice the air moving in through your nose or mouth, cool and soft. Feel it travel down, filling your chest or belly, like a wave rising naturally. Then hear it leave, warm and quiet, flowing out without effort. In… and out.
There’s no need to force it. The breath knows its way, like a river finding its path. If your mind wanders—to thoughts, sounds, plans—that’s okay. Just gently return to listening, to this simple rhythm.
There’s no need to force it. The breath knows its way, like a river finding its path. If your mind wanders—to thoughts, sounds, plans—that’s okay. Just gently return to listening, to this simple rhythm.
As you listen, let the breath become your guide. Notice its texture—maybe it’s smooth, maybe it’s uneven. No judgment, just curiosity. Feel where it touches—your nostrils, your throat, your ribs expanding like the wings of a bird. With each inhale, sense a quiet filling, a softness spreading. With each exhale, a letting go, a sinking into stillness. You’re not chasing anything—no goals, no rush.
The Dao flows in this breath, pure and unforced. Thoughts may drift by like clouds in the sky—let them pass. Your anchor is here, in the sound, the feel, the natural pulse of breathing.
The Dao flows in this breath, pure and unforced. Thoughts may drift by like clouds in the sky—let them pass. Your anchor is here, in the sound, the feel, the natural pulse of breathing.
Now, rest deeper. Imagine your breath as a thread, connecting you to the world—the air outside flowing in, then back out, a gentle dance with all things. No separation, just flow. If tension lingers—in your shoulders, your jaw—let the exhale carry it away, soft as a whisper. You’re not doing; you’re being. Listening to the breath, you touch stillness—not empty, but alive, like a clear pond reflecting the sky. Stay here, present, for these last moments.
Slowly, when you’re ready, deepen one breath—feel it fill you, then release. Bring your awareness back to your body—wiggle your fingers, your toes. Notice the space around you—the sounds, the air. Open your eyes if they’re closed, taking in this moment with fresh calm.
The breath stays with you, a quiet friend.
Carry this stillness as you go, naturally, without effort.
Carry this stillness as you go, naturally, without effort.