Nature Speaks

On my morning walk there is a bench by the path. It looks out over a quiet stretch of trees, where the light shifts hour by hour and the seasons make their slow transformations. I pass this bench every day, but I never sit on it.

I notice it, though. I let my eyes rest on its shape, its invitation. Sometimes I even imagine myself sitting there – feeling the coolness of the wood beneath me, hearing the faint stir of leaves, sensing how time itself might loosen if I stopped.

But then I keep walking. The bench remains empty, holding the possibility of stillness, but I carry on with my steps.

This is how life often feels. Stillness waits for us in plain sight. And yet we move past it, drawn into the momentum of tasks, plans, and the subtle hum of urgency.

The Simplicity of Just Sitting

Zen teachers call it shikantaza: just sitting. It is one of the simplest, most radical forms of meditation – an invitation not to achieve, not to fix, not to climb toward some higher state, but simply to be as we are.

At first, the idea seems almost impossible. The world is in turmoil, our lives are full, our minds restless. Why would we “do nothing” when there is so much to do?

And yet, to sit with no goal is to remember that our worth is not tied to our striving. As Dogen, the 13th-century Zen master, wrote: “When things are in their right place, they can rest.” That includes us.

When we sit – really sit, without trying to become calmer, wiser, or better – we begin to taste that rest. We feel life as it is, not as we want it to be. Breath comes and goes. Sounds arrive and fade. Thoughts wander in and out like weather. And through it all, a quiet recognition grows: nothing is missing.

How to Begin

You don’t need a special bench or cushion. You don’t need incense, or years of training. You only need the willingness to pause.

Find a place where you won’t be disturbed. Sit upright but relaxed. Rest your hands gently in your lap. Let your breath breathe itself. Notice what comes and what goes – sounds, feelings, sensations, memories.

When your attention drifts, as it surely will, simply return. The returning is the practice. No judgment, no scolding, just the tender reminder: here I am again.

This rhythm – wandering and returning – is as natural as the tide. It is how the practice polishes us, without our even trying.

The Jewel Already in Our Pocket

There is a story in the Buddhist tradition of a man who spends years searching for treasure, only to discover a priceless jewel had been sewn into his robe all along. He was never without it – he just never thought to look.

Just sitting is a way of looking into our own pocket. We discover that peace, clarity, and belonging are not far-off goals. They are already here, in the ordinariness of breath, in the gentle act of sitting down and not turning away from ourselves.

The jewel may be dusty, unpolished, or overlooked. But it is still here. With time, it begins to shine in how we live, how we speak to a friend, how we meet the world without so much resistance.

Sitting as an Act of Care

This practice is not about withdrawal or indifference. It is an act of care – for ourselves, for others, for the earth we share. When we learn to sit with our own restlessness, grief, or longing, we also learn to sit with the world’s. We become a little steadier, a little more compassionate.

There will always be moments for action, for protest, for helping. But there are also moments for stillness, when the most radical thing we can do is to stop moving and simply be.

Returning to the Bench

Tomorrow, I will pass that same bench. Perhaps I will stop. Perhaps I will sit. Or perhaps I will walk on, knowing the bench is always there, waiting, like the practice itself – open, ordinary, ready whenever we are.

Because in truth, we don’t sit to become something else. We sit because, underneath all our rushing and searching, we already are whole.

Just sitting. Nothing missing.