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Patience is a choice we make, moment by moment, where we place our mind and heart. It’s deliberately turning toward a gentler, softer place within ourselves, a refuge we can return to when we feel ourselves being pulled by urgency, frustration and threats to our ego. The feeling of saying I don’t need to force this, I don’t need to win this moment, I can let it unfold. Patience frees us from the urge to be right, to be first, to be in control, instead we welcome spaciousness. This space is room for clarity, wisdom and kindness to surface that nothing is permanent and choosing this path is an act of self-trust. May we find that softer place today to welcome patience.

Patience: A Choice We Make, Mike Sansone

In moments tense, when tempers flare,
A crossroads forms, suspended air.
The heart may rush, the tongue may race,
But patience waits — a gentler place — 
A choice we’re free, each time, to take.

Impatience cries out, sharp and loud,
It builds a storm, it draws a crowd. It slams the door, it breaks the thread,
It ignores soft words unsaid — instead,
It sows regret we can’t unmake.

Yet patience, tender, steps between,
It cools the fire, it mends unseen.
It breathes and listens, it holds loving tight,
It trades the urge to win the fight
For love that stronger ties can weave.

Patience isn’t something sold,
Not running dry, nor growing old.
It’s not a gift some merely gain — 
It’s forged through choices, decisions through strain,
Through quiet strength we daily claim.

So when the pressure pulls you thin,
Remember — peace is born within.
You choose the bridge, you choose the break,
You choose the love you’ll give — or take — 
Patience, or pride: the power’s yours.

Guide: Noelle Lim

Image: Bofu Shaw, Unsplash

One of the attitudes we can bring into meditation is open curiosity, with gentleness and care, without judgement.

With each breath, each sensation and thought, embracing nature as each moment unfolds.

What does the breath actually feel like right now?
Where is it most vivid — at the nostrils, the chest, the belly?
What happens when a thought arises — can we notice how it forms, lingers, and dissolves?

This shift softens the mind’s tendency to control, resist or improve.

When Death Arrives, Mary Oliver (extract)

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

Guide: Noelle Lim

Image credit: Josh Porterfield, Unsplash

Forgiveness means releasing the grip that the past has on the present, or softening towards the pain that is felt. The painful sensation could be in the form of disappointment, shame, fear, confusion or hurt. Forgiveness may not come overnight. It’s a practice of letting go, again and again until what once clenched begins to loosen. In that space, we breathe and begin again.

The Rest, Margaret Atwood

The rest of us watch from beyond the fence
as the woman moves with her jagged stride
into her pain as if into a slow race.
We see her body in motion
but hear no sounds, or we hear
sounds but no language; or we know
it is not a language we know
yet. We can see her clearly
but for her it is running in black smoke.
The cluster of cells in her swelling
like porridge boiling, and bursting,
like grapes, we think. Or we think of
explosions in mud; but we know nothing.
All around us the trees
and the grasses light up with forgiveness,
so green and at this time
of the year healthy.
We would like to call something
out to her. Some form of cheering.
There is pain but no arrival at anything.

Guide: Noelle Lim

Image credit: Hale Tat

We often hear the phrase “seize the moment,” but in the rush of daily life, how often do we actually pause long enough to notice it?

This is a practice of giving ourselves permission to be in the moment, to embrace whatever that arises. It’s not about escaping life, but stepping into each moment with greater awareness, instead of going through the day on autopilot.

Rumi’s poetry The Breeze is a gentle call not to go into slumber when there’s so much to experience in each moment.

The Breeze At Dawn, by Rumi

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.

Guide: Noelle Lim

Image credit: Yannik Zimmermann, Unsplash

When all else fails, breathe.

When we feel not good enough, breathe.

When we’re unwell, breathe.

When we’re stretched,….breathe.

When we’re happy, breathe!

Breathe – Becky Hemsley 

She sat at the back

and they said she was shy,

she led from the front 

and they hated her pride.

They asked her advice 

and then questioned her guidance,

they branded her loud

then were shocked by her silence.

When she shared no ambition 

they said it was sad,

so she told them her dreams 

and they said she was mad.

They told her they’d listen

then covered their ears,

and gave her a hug while 

they laughed at her fears.

And she listened to all of it 

thinking she should,

be the girl they told her to be 

best as she could.

But one day she asked 

what was best for herself,

instead of trying 

to please everyone else.

So she walked to the forest 

and stood with the trees,

she heard the wind whisper 

and dance with the leaves.

She spoke to the willow, 

the elm and the pine,

and she told them what she’d 

been told time after time.

She told them she felt 

she was never enough,

she was either too little 

or far far too much.

Too loud or too quiet, 

too fierce or too weak,

too wise or too foolish, 

too bold or too meek.

Then she found a small clearing 

surrounded by firs,

and she stopped…and she heard 

what the trees said to her.

And she sat there for hours 

not wanting to leave,

for the forest said nothing

it just let her breathe.

Guide: Noelle Lim

Image credit: Summer Rune

In the rhythm of our breath, in the quiet between thoughts, there is something precious—something sacred.

Too often, we rush through our days, our minds still in the past or reaching for the future, forgetting that life is unfolding right here, right now. This meditation invites us to return—to notice the miracle of each moment.

With each breath, it is a reminder that we are alive. A chance to pause, to fully be here wholeheartedly.

Now is the time to know, by Hafiz

That all that you do is sacred.

Now, why not consider

A lasting truce with yourself and God.

Now is the time to understand

That all your ideas of right and wrong

Were just a child’s training wheels

To be laid aside

When you finally live

With veracity

And love.

My dear, please tell me

Why do you still

Throw sticks at your heart

And God?

What is it in that sweet voice inside

That incites you to fear?

Now is the time for the world to know

That every thought and action is sacred.

This is the time

For you to compute the impossibility

That there is anything

But Grace.

Now is the season to know

That everything you do

Is sacred.

Guide: Noelle Lim

Image credit: Oksana Zub, Unsplash

In life, we often encounter the ego—the persistent voice that judges, compares, and clings to identity or something. The ego could reveal itself in subtle ways: the urge to label experiences as “good” or “bad,” the impatience when the mind won’t settle, or even the desire to meditate correctly.

This meditation offers the opportunities to practice sitting with what we’re uncomfortable with or do not welcome, by firstly acknowledging it as just that, the ego at work.

Mindfulness is not about eliminating the ego but understanding the thoughts and feelings that arise in tandem are merely illusionary, not permanent like Robert Frost’s poetry about nature.

Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Guide: Noelle Lim

Image credit: Liwanu Sutter, Unsplash

In a world that constantly pulls us forward into the next task, the next goal, the next worry—what would it feel like to simply be here?

This mindfulness meditation practice invites us to step away from the rush and rest in presence.

Not trying to fix, solve, or change anything. Just breathing, noticing, and allowing ourselves to gently arrive into the present moment.

When we’re truly here, we soften our grip on judgment and feelings.

This moment—just as it is—is enough.

Stand Still (extract), by David Wagoner

Wherever you are is called Here, 
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, 
Must ask permission to know it and be known. 
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, 
I have made this place around you, 
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.

No two trees are the same to Raven. 
No two branches are the same to Wren. 
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you, 
You are surely lost. Stand still. 
The forest knows Where you are. 
You must let it find you.

Guide: Noelle Lim

Image credit: Andy Luo, Unsplash

This practice is about paying attending to the beginning and ending of the breath, or a thought, feeling or physical sensation.

Paying attention to the beginning, before the next moment fully forms, trains the mind to be open to different possibilities, and then the final exhale directs the mind to let go, to appreciate impermanence.

Beginnings and endings shape everything we do in life. The way we enter a conversation, start a project, or step into a new phase of life. The way we bring closure, let go, pause and transition to what’s next.

What if we practiced honoring these moments with presence? Not rushing past them, but truly noticing.

A Valley Life This, William Stafford

Sometimes you look at an empty valley like this,
and suddenly the air is filled with snow.
That is the way the whole world happened—
there was nothing, and then…

But maybe some time you will look out and even
the mountains are gone, the world become nothing
again. What can a person do to help
bring back the world?

We have to watch it and then look at each other.
Together we hold it close and carefully
save it, like a bubble that can disappear
if we don’t watch out.

Please think about this as you go on. Breath on the world.
Hold out your hands to it. When mornings and evenings
roll along, watch how they open and close, how they
invite you to the long party that your life is.

Guide: Noelle Lim

Image credit: Chen Ur, Unsplash

There comes a moment in mindfulness practice when we realize—deep in our heart—that we already have enough. Not because everything is perfect or because we have reached some final destination, but because we have stopped reaching beyond this moment for something else. We are after all human beings, not human doings.

David Whyte’s poem Enough speaks to this gentle revelation:

“Enough. These few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.”

In the rush of daily life, we are conditioned to believe that we need more—more time, more certainty, more success, more validation.

This mindfulness practice invites us to pause. To sit. To breathe. And in that stillness, to see what has been here all along, and allowing each moment to unfold as it is.

The act of returning to the breath teaches us sufficiency, shows us pureness.

Each inhale, each exhale—enough. Each moment of awareness—enough. And when we let go of striving, even the gaps and uncertainties in our lives soften into spaciousness rather than lack.

This is not to say we abandon ambition or desire, but rather that we hold them differently, lightly if you will. We move from a place of fullness in an intangible sense. From presence, not restless seeking.

What if, today, you let yourself rest in the knowing that right here, right now, you already have enough?

Guide: Noelle Lim

Image credit: Kit Sanoo, Unsplash