Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how noisy the inner world can get. There’s so much happening out there—globally, collectively, personally—that by the time we sit down, the mind is already in motion. Buzzing. Planning. Replaying. Solving. Trying to help, even if it sometimes feels like too much help.

In this week’s guided practice, I wanted to focus on something simple and powerful: the quality of our thinking mind and how breath becomes the anchor that steadies the whole system. When life gets fast, we forget that our breath is right there—always available, always adjusting, always influencing our nervous system.

So I opened the practice by inviting listeners to watch the breath, not just observe it passively. We worked with coherent breathing—matching the inhale and the exhale—which is one of the quickest ways to remind the body that it’s safe. I see this all the time in real life:

* When I’m stuck in traffic, trying not to escalate with the guy who cuts me off,

* When a tense conversation with a partner brings heat into the chest,

* When a work deadline starts tightening my shoulders,

* or even when parenting demands stack up, and the breath feels shallow and rushed.

Coherent breathing is a reset button. Not for the world, but for your body’s ability to meet the world.

Then we turned toward the thoughts themselves. Not to stop them or fix them, but to notice their tone. Were they helpful? Judgmental? Anxious? Hopeful? Time traveling to the past or sprinting to the future?

I think about this often when my mind leaps ahead to all the things I still need to do, or replays something I should’ve handled differently. Meditation reminds me that both are just mental places—useful sometimes, unhelpful other times, and definitely not the moment happening right now.

We moved from thoughts into the body, noticing how thinking lands physically—tightness, temperature, pressure. Because thoughts aren’t just ideas; they’re sensations that ripple through space. The moment you feel your chest soften or your jaw unclench, you realize the body has been carrying the story the mind was telling.

And then, maybe my favorite part of this practice: spaciousness.

Not the dramatic, cosmic kind. Just the simple space that’s always already here—between inhale and exhale, between thoughts, between sensations. The space that reminds you you’re allowed to step back from whatever feels overwhelming.

It’s like when stress builds up at work, or a relationship feels tight; the moment you widen your perspective even a little, the pressure changes. You remember what’s possible.

We closed the session by gently transitioning back into the world—because meditation isn’t an escape. It’s training. It’s practice for re-entering your life with a little more clarity, a little more grounding, and a lot more compassion for yourself.

If anything stood out for you during the session, I encourage you to explore it. Sometimes the smallest moment becomes the most important insight.

Until next time—may you be well, may your breath be steady, and may your mind feel just a little more spacious.

Let’s Reflect Together

* What kind of thoughts showed up most often during the practice—supportive, anxious, critical, hopeful?

* Where did you notice spaciousness in your experience: the breath, the silence, the body, or somewhere unexpected?

* How do you usually respond when you get distracted—can you practice “starting over” with compassion?

Share your reflections in the comments—I’d love to hear how impermance is alive in your practice.

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