At first, the “superpower” that comes from this is quite simple: becoming aware, recognizing what is happening at the level of the mind. Without awareness, I cannot reclaim these inner lands left fallow. With awareness, I can begin to realize how relentless the constant stream of thoughts is, and gradually, I can recover my free will—the capacity to choose rather than to be subjected to the erratic flow of thoughts.

I can redefine the contours of who I am: either remain caught in this conditioning, or step out of it and embody values that truly matter to me.

At first, these small steps simply allow me to see a little more clearly and to become familiar with this conditioning. I can only step aside from it once I have discerned and made conscious what moves through me.

I often say in sessions: awareness is an action—and even the mother of all future actions. It is therefore a first, decisive action, one that allows us to step out of determinism.

The path of meditation offers a kind of “black market” of consciousness: by doing nothing, I realize that a great deal is happening within me. By stopping the feeding of distraction and inner agitation, I offer my mind a pause, a gap, a possibility to relax, to release habitual tensions, and to create new patterns.

At the beginning, progress is not easy. First, there is the need to establish discipline—something that serves as a foundation to sit without distraction for 20 minutes to an hour, according to your own rhythm.

The first realization is that meditation does not calm my mind at all—on the contrary, I come into even closer contact with the chaos within. Far from being discouraging, this is actually the first sign of mental health: recognizing the extent of the clearing that needs to be done. And as one of my teachers says, every journey begins with a first step.

So instead of becoming a source of discouragement, it becomes a source of inspiration—a direct encounter with reality. This is a first instruction.

Beyond the mind, there is also the world of the body to become familiar with—and here things become more complex. All the tensions accumulated over a lifetime rise to the surface. Usually, movement, distraction, and agitation “allowed” me to avoid feeling these bodily tensions. Now, stillness offers an opportunity for encounter. If I do not take care of the tensions within me, who will?

Thus, the body reveals how much it has been neglected. I can now begin to reclaim this territory, no longer leaving it abandoned. I come to see how intimately connected body and mind are: the tensions of the mind are reflected in the body, and the tensions of the body correlate with those of the mind.

As practice continues, the body begins to soften. The absence of new tensions allows old ones to be digested and integrated. The posture stabilizes, the spine regains its verticality, and an intrinsic dignity re-emerges. Simply being here and now, standing or sitting on the surface of this planet, can be appreciated for what it truly is.

Little by little, something begins to emerge: the practice of silent sitting meditation is a mental hygiene, a hygiene of consciousness. Like taking a shower or brushing your teeth, what begins as discipline becomes a way of life. And just as one enjoys the feeling of well-being after a good shower, the body begins to call for meditation—for the physical and mental peace it brings.

Of course, at first, it requires a bit of effort to get going.