Sit comfortably. A chair, a cushion, anywhere. Let your back be tall without being stiff. Close your eyes, or soften them toward the floor. Rest your attention on the breath, wherever you feel it most. When the mind wanders, and it will, notice, and come back.
That is it. Everything below is the same paragraph said more slowly, with the questions people usually have in between.
Where to sit
You can sit in a kitchen chair. The photographs are all of somebody cross-legged on a cushion, and that image has put people off something they could do at the table.
The standard is short: somewhere you can stay for the length you chose without having to manage it. If something aches, pulls or goes numb, move. None of this is worth pushing through pain for.
On a chair, feet on the floor. A very soft chair invites slouching and then sleep, which is the one thing people commonly mention. On the floor, a cushion raises the hips and makes crossed legs easier to stay in; a folded blanket does the same job for nothing, and kneeling or one leg forward are equally normal. Lying down is where people fall asleep.
A blanket over the legs is ordinary, by the way. Bodies get colder sitting still than people expect.
Before you start
Two decisions, both taken in advance so they are not available to argue about later.
How long. Pick a number now, so the question is settled before you need it. Five minutes is a perfectly good answer.
What sound, if any. Silence, or something underneath. Some people also set a chime partway through. None of it is required and none of it is cheating.
Then start it, and put the device somewhere you are not going to look at it. Hands go wherever they will stay put. Eyes closed is the common starting point, though several traditions prefer a soft, unfocused gaze at the floor a metre or two ahead, on the reasoning that closed eyes invite drifting off.
The first minute
Usually the busiest one, which surprises people who expected the quiet to arrive on cue.
What most people describe is the mind finishing its previous sentence. The email, the conversation, the thing you were about to do. Sitting down does not stop that. It means you are now watching it happen.
The common approach is to let the first minute be that, without counting it as the sitting failing to start. It settles on its own most of the time, and when it does not, the sitting is a busy one.
The middle
The middle is where the practice lives, and it consists of one small event repeated. Attention leaves. You notice. Attention comes back.
You do not need to catch it quickly, and nobody counts.
Sometimes one thought keeps arriving and will not be put down. There is more on that in when the mind wanders.
And if a sitting becomes distressing, stop. Open your eyes, put your feet on the floor, and leave it. Nothing is riding on finishing.
The end
Something tells you the time is up. A chime, a bell, a tap on the wrist.
Most people find it better not to stand up instantly. A few breaths between the sound and the rest of the day keeps the sitting from feeling like a task that was completed.
Then you get up, and the day is the same day. Nothing is supposed to have transformed. You sat for a while, and that was the entire proposition.
There is one thing commonly suggested afterwards: resist grading it. The pull to decide whether that was a good one or a waste is strong, and the grading is almost always about how pleasant the sitting was, which is a different question from what it was for.
Where the app comes in
Narrowly, on purpose. Nanea holds the length, makes the sounds, and stays quiet. Pick a number, press begin, put the phone down.
