When I sit down to meditate, I’m not trying to make anything happen.
I’m not aiming for a particular state, and I’m not looking for some special experience. There’s nothing I’m trying to fix or improve. Meditation, for me, is simply a willingness to be with what’s already here.
It’s an attention that turns toward the present moment. Not as an idea, but as it actually feels right now. The sounds in the room. The movement of thought. The quiet underneath it all. Whatever is showing up.
I sometimes think of meditation as letting a kind of fog lift. Not because anything new appears, but because I stop overlooking what’s been there all along. This sense of “is-ness”—of things simply being as they are—doesn’t come and go. It’s always present, whether I notice it or not.
There’s nothing I need to add to that, and nothing I could take away from it even if I wanted to. I wouldn’t know how. All that seems possible is to notice it more clearly, or to forget it for a while and then notice it again.
So meditation becomes very simple. It’s just an alignment with what’s already happening. No effort. No expectation. Just being here, as this moment unfolds.
