As you read this, I ask you to read not with a mind that hunts for information. If you do that, you’re reading with a view to creating a better, future you, however that masquerades.
Instead, I ask you to read slowly and feel what happens in your body as you do.
Let’s call it a reading meditation, a moment of being present without the need for reward or knowledge.
You may acquire tools to improve your wellbeing, but let that not be the aim.
Reading this way, something may emerge that wouldn’t have, had you been searching for it.
Maybe what you’re looking for isn’t in the text, but in you already.
Unnoticed.
It’s already here.
Maybe something has made itself know already?
Maybe not.
Don’t chase a new experience, just sit back.
The mind is constantly trading.
Expect nothing and if nothing comes great.
If something comes, also great.
How can I put this?
Like this:
“The greatest use of time is to do with it what the world calls waste.”
On with the post.
There’s a hush that settles over the world in winter, as if the earth itself remembers the necessity of rest.
I’m still in bed, writing this on my phone, on a cold winter’s morning.
I try to make writing into a living process, the same way that I am asking you to read, fully alive.
Right now, I look outside to see bare branches stretch against a pale grey sky, the trees no longer busy with leaves or fruit but content in their starkness.
I used to think that they were waiting for spring.
Almost as if they, like we, couldn’t bear the moment.
As if they had their own version of “Friyay.”
I don’t think that anymore because I’ve got to know them better.
They are perfectly fine with being naked and frozen to their very core.
In their stillness, I feel an invitation, a reminder that rest is not simply a luxury but a profound rhythm of life.
Yet, as I lie here propped up by my pillow, trying to meet my own moments of stillness, I notice a subtle resistance in my body. A tightness in my shoulders. A small hum of agitation in my chest. A nudging sensation that’s trying to lure me into what it feels is an escape.
It’s as if some deeper part of me is reluctant to stop, conditioned by a culture that whispers, “Keep going, keep achieving, keep producing.”
But when I pause and truly listen, I hear another voice, quieter but ancient. It comes from within the body itself, a primal wisdom that knows rest is as essential as breath.
A wisdom that tells me I can collapse into a heap of perfect peace in any moment.
This wisdom isn’t just spiritual poetry; it’s biological fact.
Rest is the foundation upon which our health, creativity, and emotional resilience are built. Studies from the National Institutes of Health show that sleep and periods of non-striving help the brain process information, consolidate memory, and clear out toxins.
Researchers at the University of California, Berkeley, have even found that adequate rest improves problem-solving and creativity, activating parts of the brain that remain dormant in states of fatigue.
But rest is not just about sleep. Neuroscientists have discovered something they call the default mode network, a set of brain regions that light up when we’re not actively focused on tasks. This network is vital for introspection, imagination, and integrating experiences into meaningful narratives. In other words, rest helps us make sense of life.
When I think about this, it reminds me of the spaces between notes in music. Without the pauses, there would be no melody.
So, what does it mean to rest in a mindful way?
For me, it starts with paying attention to the body.
Right now, I bring my awareness to the soles of my feet. Until I just did this I was completely oblivious to the fact that my legs were crossed at the ankles. It creates a subtle tension, as I uncross them now, I settle deeper into the bed.
I notice the subtle rise and fall of my breath. Again, oblivious to the belt of my dressing gown being tied a little too tightly. I undo it and the previously unnoticed tension it was creating dissolves.
I notice my teeth clenching the inside of my lower lip, I let go.
I could go on describing everything happening here and now, but you get the picture.
Whenever I open up to the body there are always subtle tensions held in by my own doing.
Constantly seeing these micro-tensions and letting them go elicits a profound purification.
It is astonishing how quickly this simple act of presence begins to soothe the mind.
Can you notice yourself doing anything at all, right now, which is actively gripping and caging tension with you?
In mindfulness practice, rest is not about switching off or zoning out; it’s about sinking into the present moment with an open heart. It’s a quiet rebellion against the pull of busyness, a way of saying to ourselves, “I am enough, even in stillness.”
Sometimes, I imagine myself as a winter tree, my roots deep in the earth, holding steady while the winds of life blow past.
Rest reminds me that I don’t need to bloom constantly.
There’s a spiritual dimension to rest that feels especially tender to me. In the quiet moments, I sense that life is holding me, not the other way around.
The heart softens.
The breath deepens.
And within the stillness, something sacred often stirs, something beyond words, yet intimately familiar.
Something that was with me before my eyes were made.
Something that may even be, my very core, the absolute truth of my being.
The poet Rumi once wrote, “When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn’t make any sense.”
This is what rest offers: a chance to lie down in that grass and remember our wholeness.
A Practice
1. Pause: Wherever you are, take a moment to stop. Sit down or lie down if possible.
2. Notice: Bring your attention to your breath. Don’t try to change it; just notice its rhythm. Feel the support of the ground beneath you.
3. Name: Gently name what you feel in your body. “Tired.” “Heavy.” “Restless.” Whatever arises, let it be there without judgment.
4. Soften: As you exhale, imagine softening around any tension you feel. Let your shoulders drop. Let your jaw unclench.
5. Be: For a few moments, let go of striving. There is nothing to fix, nothing to do. Simply be here, exactly as you are.
Rest is a gift we give ourselves, but it’s also a gift we give to the world. When we are rested, we show up more fully, more patient, more present, more alive.
So today, I invite you to listen to your body, to honour its rhythms, to embrace its need for pause. The earth knows how to rest. The trees know how to rest.
And so do you.
As a thank you to my paid subscribers, there are two Non Sleep Deep Rest guided audio meditations included in this post.
NSDR is a scientifically proven practice that will bring you to a very deep state of peace, so tune in, listen and let go.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Mindfulness Man to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.