Get Some Headspace: 10 minutes can make all the difference by Andy Puddicombe

react with excitement and wonder, others approach it with a sense of anxiety or trepidation. The same is true when it comes to watching the mind.
    My own modus operandi when I started was one of bullishness. I was not really that interested in what happened along the way, I just wanted to experience the ultimate fruit of meditation – that of enlightenment. I guess you could call it an ‘enlightenment or bust’ kind of attitude, where I was always focusing on a future goal rather than resting in the moment and enjoying all that life had to offer. It’s a common mistake to make in meditation, to search for some kind of experience or want to be rewarded with some sign of progress or fruition, but peace of mind or insight will always be illusive if we are trying too hard to find it.
    When it comes to meditation, though, the goal and the journey are the same thing. So my approach to meditation was probably the equivalent of leaving home on a driving holiday, not stopping at any of the places on the way, driving through the night without a break and refusing to look out of the windows during the hours of daylight. It kind of defeats the purpose!
    The qualities you bring to your own approach will always reflect your upbringing and your character. Some of these qualities you might like and find helpful, others may feel uncomfortable and decidedly unhelpful. But if you can bring a sense of genuine intrigue and curiosity to your meditation, then it doesn’t really matter what those qualities are. That’s because they become part of the meditation, part of that which is observed. One of my teachers always used to describe this quality as gentle curiosity . When this becomes part of your approach to meditation you’ll notice that the mind feels very open. For example, you may well think, much like myself at the time, that if you’ve seen one breath then you’ve seen them all. And if this is your attitude to following the breath, then you’ll undoubtedly lose interest very quickly. But if you take the time to look a little more closely, you’ll notice that each and every breath is actually quite unique. The same can be said of the thoughts that pass through the mind (even if sometimes it feels as though it’s the same one coming back time and again), and even physical sensations that arise in the body.
    The idea of approaching meditation with a gentle curiosity seemed to me to imply a sense of soft, open and patient interest. It’s perhaps the way in which you might quietly crouch behind a tree while watching a wild animal. Because you’re so captivated and engaged, you’re 100 per cent focused on what you’re watching. You are aware of the immediacy of the moment, free from impatience, not wanting the animal to do something, but content to watch it just as it is. Or perhaps it’s like watching an insect on the floor. At first you may look at it and think ‘Oh, it’s a bug.’ But then you look a little closer and see all the legs. So you look a little closer again and see the features on the face. Each time you notice something new about this ‘bug’. If you can apply this sense of gentle curiosity, to your meditation and even everyday life, it will add something that is every bit as beneficial as it is unexpected.
    The hot soup
    By way of contrast, I’d like to leave you with one final story before we move on to the topic of the practice itself. It involves my lack of gentle curiosity, a very strict monastery and some very hot soup.
    Like many monasteries in the West, this place frequently opened its doors to visitors so that they could take part in short meditation retreats. During these periods we were expected to look after them as guests of the monastery. As part of their daily schedule they had breakfast and lunch delivered to their room. Although room service in a monastery may sound a little luxurious, it was to give the retreat participants the opportunity to practise ‘eating meditation’ (details of