Ten Minutes Before Anything Else

I have kept a morning sit through several kinds of life.

Through years based in Fort Lauderdale, where the season did not end. Through years based in Genoa, where the yard periods were meant to be a rest and were not. Through a bad stretch in my early thirties. Through the pandemic when the day had no shape. Through rotation now, where the shape is being remade.

Ten minutes is the version that survived. Not because ten minutes is enough — nothing is enough — but because ten minutes is what fits the morning I actually have. On mornings that allow more, I do more. On mornings that do not, I do ten and I do not apologise for the ten.

Nothing below is my invention. It is a common ordering of common elements. I write it out because the specific sequence held for me and because the shape is not obvious from any single book.

Two minutes: posture

Sit upright, spine straight, weight on the sit bones. Palms on the thighs or in whatever mudra your teacher has shown you.

Three breaths. Long inhale, slower exhale, mouth slightly open on the exhale to let out the residue of the night. Then breathe normally through the nose.

The body sets the tone. A body sitting sloppily meditates sloppily. It is not more complicated than that.

Two minutes: the four reflections

Very briefly. Not as study. As a reset of the day’s motivation.

This human birth is rare and precious. Everything within it is impermanent. Whatever I do today will ripen — in me and in others. Ordinary existence, however arranged, does not by itself carry a mind past its own difficulties.

Feel each of them lightly. Do not linger. The point is not to depress the day. The point is to prevent the day from being spent on the shallow parts of life. Patrul Rinpoche gives the classical treatment; one paragraph before the sit is enough on the days you want a longer version.

Three minutes: breath

Return the attention to the breath. Do not manipulate it. Notice where you feel it most clearly — nostrils, chest, abdomen — and let the attention rest there.

Thoughts arrive. Notice them, do not follow them, return to the breath. When you notice you have followed one, do not scold — the noticing is the practice. Return, again, to the breath.

This is ānāpānasati. Every Buddhist tradition has a version. It is not exciting. Done every morning it changes what a mind is capable of.

Two minutes: intention for the day

Bring to mind, briefly, honestly, the wish that whatever benefit arises from this practice extend to every being. Start with someone specific if the general phrasing feels vague. Extend outward. Rest for a breath in the wish itself.

This is the piece most easily skipped and most consequential to skip. Without it the sit becomes another private optimisation. With it the sit is pointed the direction the tradition wants it pointed.

One minute: dedication

Dedicate whatever merit has arisen. Any short formula from a text your teacher has given you will do. Śāntideva’s Bodhicaryāvatāra closes with dedication verses that are easy to memorise; one line is enough.

Rise slowly. Carry the flavour of the sit into whatever comes next.

Why ten and not more

Because ten minutes every morning for a year will change more than an hour done sporadically.

This is the least controversial practical advice in the whole tradition, and every teacher I have listened to says it in some version. My own experience confirms it. The morning that begins with a small, correct, uneventful sit is a different morning from the one that does not.

On mornings that allow more I sit longer. Twenty minutes, thirty, forty. The elements do not change; the structure holds and the middle expands. On mornings that do not — night watch just handed off, or an early start alongside — the ten is enough. I do not apologise for it.

What this is not

It is not a retreat. It is not enough on its own. It does not replace direct instruction from a qualified teacher. It is what I have found to inhabit the ground of the day.

Tomorrow morning will do.

— Оргьен Йентен Дордже