Come Back

Come back to yourself. Not later. Not when the schedule clears. Not when you’ve meditated long enough to feel “ready.” Now. This breath. This moment. This version of you. Not the ideal one. Not the improved one. The one reading this sentence. Come back. We drift. That’s what minds do. We plan, regret, react, compare. We check our phones, check our likes, check out. Then one small thing invites us home: The breeze. The ache in our chest. The sound of our own name. A pause. That’s the bell. That’s the moment to return. Not to perfection. Not to peace. Just to presence. You don’t need to be calm to come back. You don’t need to feel spiritual. You don’t need to light a candle, burn incense, or change your clothes. You just stop. Breathe. And say, silently: I am here. That is the Dharma. That is the practice. Returning without judgment. Noticing without shame. Being without performing. Come back to the body. The tightness in your throat. The bend in your knees. The pulse in your wrist. Come back to the breath. You don’t have to control it. You only have to feel it. Come back to the moment. Even if it’s messy. Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts. You don’t have to chase clarity. You don’t have to fix your thoughts. You don’t have to figure anything out. You just have to stop running from yourself. The practice is not about changing what’s here. It’s about being with it. Being with the tiredness. Being with the doubt. Being with the joy you almost missed. Come back to yourself. Even for one breath. Even for ten seconds. The emails can wait. The answers can wait. The noise will still be there. But your life—this quiet, beating, breathing life—is happening now. Come back. Breathe. Look around. This is it. This is your altar. This is your practice. This is your Dharma.