I’m sitting comfortably, facing the horizon. I click “play,” and the breathwork begins. Twenty intense minutes lie ahead, and I’ve made the decision to stay with it all the way.

My “thinking mind” is still active – chattering, analyzing, solving. Breath in, hold, out, hold. The intensity builds, but it’s also becoming easier. The first few minutes are always the hardest, like getting out of bed. Now, a few minutes in, my breathing muscles are adjusting to the rhythm. The intensity remains, but there’s a growing comfort in it.

I’m present, mindful, aware of the vast blue sky, the ocean’s blues, and the birds gliding through. I recognize my awareness. Breath in, hold, out, hold. Then I notice – I’ve drifted. I’m no longer fully there with the blues. My mind has been carried away – thinking, chattering, planning, remembering, solving, hoping – an endless loop of mental occupation.

But I notice the noise. I observe the chatter. I bring my focus back, only for it to slip away again.

Then comes the breath hold. A deep inhale – a huge one. I hold it a little longer than the guided voice suggests and slowly release. I tune into what’s happening, fully attentive and aware.

And then – boom. It’s extraordinarily quiet. For a few precious seconds, everything stills. I find the silence between thoughts.

It doesn’t happen every time, not with every breath hold. But with practice, I’ve learned to create the conditions for it, to increase the chances of these moments appearing. And when they do, they’re profound.