Let the Breath Take You Back

There’s something holy about the moment before I begin — before the tea is poured, before the journal opens, before the thoughts start talking again.

That quiet threshold.

It's the doorway home. 

And I often miss it.

Because the mind loves motion, and the world feeds it. I wake, and before my soul even lands in my body, the machinery starts humming: “What do I need to do?”

But the invitation isn’t to do.

It isn't to do more.

Or really to do anything at all.

The invitation is to stop.

Not forever. Perhaps not even for very long. Just enough to let the breath return to its rightful place. To let it meet me exactly where I am.

And then to step back.

Like Michael Singer teaches — become the witness of the mind, not its employee. Watch it spin. Watch it tighten. And do nothing but watch. And then release. Over time, this letting go becomes a rhythm. You stop holding on to your thoughts like they’re real estate and start living as the sky they pass through.

Ram Dass would say — love that, too. Love the one who clings. Love the part who panics when she’s not needed. Love the part that wants to run or retreat. They’re all children at the feet of my deeper self, and my job is not to exile them — but to hold them lightly.

This is the work of The Quiet Hour.

Not a productivity hack. Not a manifestation ritual. A homecoming.

One minute is enough.

One breath is enough.

But let it be full.

A practice for today:
Make tea or warm water. Sit with it. Don’t write. Don’t scroll. Just sit.
Breathe slowly. Let the body soften.

And simply say, either out loud or silently:

“I am not my thoughts. I am the space they arise in.”
“I am not my fear. I am the one who sees it.”
“I am here. I am home.”

Then begin whatever comes next.

A closing mantra:

“The more I rest into being, the more I remember who I am.”

May grace & peace be yours today, and always.