Iain Atkinson

May my body be brought to an easy stillness.

May my mind be gently quiet.

May I take a few good deep breaths.

Although I move my hands to type, and you, reader, shuffle here and there, let there be an easy stillness approaching. Let it approach by brief pauses in movement. I want to type – let me wait another second before doing so. I want to shuffle – let me take another deep breath before doing so.

I feel the vibration of my breath through my nasal cavity. May my breath be gentle against the body. May there be nothing anxious or aggressive in my breath.

After a tremendous and deep inhale, may my exhale be a little less forceful than previously. May my attention be loving on my breath, and on its vibration through my nasal cavity.

What is a nasal cavity? What exactly do I feel when I feel this vibration? Let me lovingly investigate. What minute differences of feeling can I create with my tongue’s position and my diaphragm’s movement?

May my body be still, my inhale deep, my exhale gentle and kind.

Imagine this: a fire burns in a beautiful stone fireplace in a small and humble home. Outside, there is the remnants of a storm, and the rain still pummels against the windows. The wind stirs through the two-storey chimney, caressing the stones, humming in the empty spaces.

My windpipe is that chimney, my breath is the wind, and my heart is the fire. As I enter the peace of meditation, may I draw near the hearth within.

Here I am, inside. This is me. This is how I feel right now. The storm may rage on outside, but I’m taking a moment of peace within, allowing my body to settle. The wind may blow violently over the top of the chimney, but its swirling has softened in the descent, and it now only lifts the ash gently from the logs. With breaths gentle or anxious, soft or firm, I stoke the flames of my heart.

May I be open to the feelings that this stoking arouses. May I be wise to the fact that sitting to meditate may arouse in me the latent feelings of the day, week, or year: the grief, anger, guilt, disappointment, lust, or fear.

In what ways do these emotions manifest with bodily twitches and anxious breaths? While meeting the emotions with compassion and grace, can I guide them to comfort through deeper inhales and softer exhales? Can I breathe through the grief? Can I breathe deep into my hips to lean into the lust? Can the fearful and anxious breaths be met with just a slightly softer exhale?

The latent fear has arisen. It sat beneath the surface for weeks, but I meet again my fear of failure, rejection, and death. If it sat there without changing significantly for weeks, can I let it sit there again as I breathe? Can I calmly acknowledge that the fear is here. It is as if this fear wants to make me anxious, to make me leave my meditation, to make me breathe in a more hurried way. In that case, is it possible that a slightly calmer breath will counter the effect of the fear? Can calmly acknowledging the existence of the fear, without running from it, lead to calming and healing it?

Some emotion having arisen and subsided, here I sit. Here I am, breathing. What to do?

Is this peaceful? Is this moment well and good? I’m grateful. Let me study it lovingly. Let me lead my body in deeper gratitude, stillness, calmness, and peace. How does it feel to be a calm and happy person? What stands in the way of my being a calm and happy person?

How can I promote wellbeing throughout my body? How does a lack of wellbeing feel exactly? Where do I feel it within my body? What exactly does it feel like? Is it a pain that is effectively tension? Can I relax that tension or encourage such relaxation?

Where are the limits of my pain? Where are the limits of my compassion and feeling? Where are the limits of my body?

May my body come to easy stillness.

May my mind be gently quiet.

May I take a few good deep breaths.