A small journal about meditation, breathwork, and the unglamorous business of sitting still. Written from a small apartment in Copenhagen by Iris.
Recent entries
For years I either meditated for thirty minutes or not at all. The fix was not to be more disciplined. The fix was to be more honest about what a morning can hold.
The hardest thing in the meditation is not the meditation. It is staying. A piece about the small voice that says get up, and what it actually wants.
A small correction to how breathwork is usually sold. The breath is not going to fix anything. It is going to do something more useful, more slowly, and with less drama.
For three years I counted my breaths in every meditation. I stopped. Here is what arrived in the space the counting used to occupy, which turned out to be most of the practice.