In a previous reflection, I wrote about what it can feel like to hold identity more lightly, and to meet thoughts and emotions without becoming completely caught up in them.

This piece sits a little before that.

It’s less about what that awareness feels like, and more about one simple way it can begin to take shape.

Most people who try to meditate come to the conclusion that it simply doesn’t work, or that they’re just not very good at it.

“I can’t concentrate for long enough to quiet the mind, so the thoughts just keep coming.”

That’s because it’s the mind’s job to think.

If thoughts completely stopped, we wouldn’t be functioning in any meaningful way.

And yet, many of us were encouraged to approach meditation as if the goal is to eliminate thinking altogether.

This is where a lot of misunderstanding begins, especially in more westernised interpretations, which have gradually spread more widely.

Because when we really look at it, can we actually stop thoughts entirely?

And if we believe we’ve reached a point of transcending thought, how would we even know that… without thought being involved?

Think about that for a moment.

Did we really move beyond thinking, or did we just form a new thought about having done so?

There’s also something else worth noticing.

The more we try to stop thoughts, the more active the mind often becomes.

We can’t really trick the mind into thinking less by force. If anything, that effort tends to create more noise, not less.

But I’m going to say something now that might break your trust in me.

Even if it were possible to completely stop thoughts, I’m not sure I would tell you.

Because the moment we believe it’s something we need to achieve, we begin striving towards it, and the more we strive, the further away it can seem.

It’s a bit like trying to force ourselves to fall asleep. We tell ourselves we have to sleep now, because we need to get up early. And suddenly the mind becomes even more active, thinking about not sleeping… and sleep moves further away.

So if meditation isn’t about stopping thoughts, what is it?

First, it’s important to mention that meditation can, of course, mean different things to different people. There are many different approaches across traditions, each with their own intentions and practices.

Some people, myself included, practice different types of meditation at different times, for different reasons. Some are more focused on compassion, such as loving-kindness practices. Others can help with anxiety, relaxation, or even sleep. And some are about a more personal connection to something that may have slightly different meanings for each of us.

What I’m describing here is simply one approach, and one I’ve personally found helpful over time. Even within this, there’s flexibility, and different methods or points of focus may feel more natural for different people.

Some people focus on the breath, others on a candle, a sound, or even gentle ambient tones. Personally, I’ve found the breath to be the most helpful anchor.

So this isn’t about defining what meditation should be, but simply sharing something that may be worth exploring.

With that in mind, one approach that I’ve personally found helpful is this.

Rather than trying to stop or transcend thoughts, it’s closer to simply noticing them.

Noticing that thoughts are appearing, without needing to follow each one.

Noticing that they come and go on their own, even without our effort to control them.

In that sense, it isn’t so much about doing something to the mind, but about changing how we relate to what’s already happening.

Almost like sitting by a river, watching the water flow past, rather than trying to stop it with our hands.

A simple way to begin can be with a point of focus, such as the breath.

Just feeling it as it is.

Sometimes it can help to place a hand just below the chest, becoming aware of the gentle rise and fall of the breath.

Sometimes I lie down and do this, with a hand resting in the same place, noticing each breath as it came and went.

Occasionally, I would imagine my body as the ocean, with the breath like calm waves, gently rising and falling in the middle of a vast, quiet sea.

There’s no need to force anything.

Just noticing.

We can also count the breaths, perhaps from one to ten, and then gently begin again.

And at some point, thoughts will appear.

And when they do, we might notice that we’ve been carried away by one, like the tide quietly pulling us out.

Not as a failure, but simply as something to see.

And then, gently, we return to the breath, perhaps even returning to that image of the ocean if it feels helpful.

This may happen many times.

Sometimes it can feel like it’s happening constantly.

And it’s common to think that this means we’re “not doing it right”.

But this is the practice.

Each time we notice, and return, something subtle is happening.

Not through force, but through repetition.

A kind of quiet rewiring.

And like most things, this tends to unfold over time. Not all at once, and not always in ways we immediately notice. Which is why a certain consistency can be helpful. Not as something to perfect, but simply as something we return to, gently, again and again.

And sometimes, over time, with that kind of gentle noticing, the mind may become quieter on its own. Not because we forced it to, but because we stopped interfering with it.

Which is perhaps a little ironic.

The quiet we were trying to create through effort begins to appear when the effort softens.

Then, towards the end of the meditation, we can release that point of focus.

No longer needing to stay with the breath. Just allowing ourselves to be, as we are.

And at that point… something interesting may or may not happen.

Nothing we need to chase, just something we might begin to notice.

Or perhaps just a quiet moment of being, exactly as we are. 🍃