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I’m not religious. But I’m going to use Lent as an excuse to challenge myself.

I considered giving up rubbish (as I’m eating more since I moved in with my sweet-toothed boyfriend). Then, I remembered what I heard in my Non-duality class last night.

Most of us spend our lives trying to increase pleasure and avoid pain. We’re constantly distracting ourselves.

We lie back on the couch and switch on Netflix. Then we get up to make ourselves a cup of tea before pulling open the biscuits. Then we pick up our phone.

This all keeps us from getting to know who we really are.

Yesterday evening, I was feeling anxious. I silenced my phone and sat in stillness for twenty minutes.

As I sat, many things passed through my mind – to do lists, memories, imaginations. My leg became uncomfortable.

Eventually all of that, including the anxiety, softened, melted. I don’t know if it went away or if I just dropped deeper. To a place within where none of it mattered.

So I’ve decided, instead of denying myself lots of things, I’m going to give myself something much greater. The gift of my presence.

If I choose to eat something, I’ll eat it. I won’t stuff it in my gob while numbing out in front of the TV.

I’ll take up the phone when I want to do something with it. Not out of habit. Not just to have something, anything, to do.

In between appointments this morning, I take myself for coffee and a scone. I leave the book I’m reading in my handbag. My phone lies idle on the table.

I notice as I’m eating that I’m lifting more scone to my face before I’ve finished chewing the last mouthful. I think about texting my parents.

I start composing an Instastory in my mind. I have the urge to leave the café and share all of this with my followers.

I am aware of this need to speed up, to get to the next thing and the next and the next. So I remain where I am.

I finish the scone slowly. I look at fellow customers as they pass by. A few of them smile at me.

I decide to write all this down instead of trying to squash my musings into a story. I don’t want to speak rapidly to fit it all in before Instagram cuts me off. Social media forces us to be quick and then wipes it all away.

I realise that if I live this way, one thing at a time, pausing, breathing, aware- that is meditation. It’s a learning of who I am.

Initially, that includes my thoughts and fears, my issues and insecurities. My ego.

And then comes a stillness. Or the I comes to stillness.

Nowhere else to go. Nothing to do.

Nothing I have to fix, change or get. I already am everything.

I’m woken early by the gentle sounds of a housemate rising. I’m working the late shift today so I don’t have to get up. I decide to seize the day.

I’m the only person on the Curragh plains. The sun blesses me with light. Dew drops glitter in the grass.

Sheep belch and wail. A lamb lies in the crook of its mother’s wool.

Birds whistle. Yellow furze smiles coconut.

The backstory to this early morning rising and exercising is as follows:

I started practicing the Wim Hof breathing technique less than a month ago and I’m already enjoying amazing benefits.

In Charles Duhigg’s fascinating book The Power of Habit, he reports that changing one habit has a positive knock-on effect in other areas of a person’s life.

I’m doing about 10 minutes’ deep breathing per day and I’m experiencing more energy, enthusiasm, creativity and motivation.

A week into the practice, I stopped biting my lips and fingers (a habit I’ve had since I was a very small child).

I’m getting up earlier. I want to move my body more. I’m taking a cold shower a day. And I’ve started writing and running again.

I’d tried running before but it was more about weight control and I kept getting injured. I couldn’t get a handle on my breathing. And I needed music to make it bearable.

This morning, I run to the sounds of nature and my own steady breath. Instead of tensing my body and fearing injury, I do what feels good. I notice where I’m tight and I soften accordingly.

I put myself under no pressure. I alternate between walking and jogging.

When I reach the hills, I’m inspired to run up them. I want to challenge myself.

I feel that comes from the part of the Wim Hof breathing exercise where I hold my breath for longer than I think I can. And the cold showers are making me braver, stronger, more resilient.

I’m proving to myself that I can. And I want to.

I feel happy and proud. My world shimmers with flow and possibility.

Until I’m about to pay for groceries in the supermarket and realise that I’ve lost my bank card and driving license somewhere back there on the plains.

I trip into a few moments’ resistance. And I notice that.

I remember what’s important. I relax into grace.

I retrace my steps. I go to the Garda station and the bank. I cancel the bank card and order a new one. I take out cash and retrieve the shopping.

Then I treat myself to coffee and a scone, which I thoroughly enjoy.

I feel relaxed and accepting whereas before I would have become panicked and irritated.

I just breathe.

Images: Author’s Own

The cavity in my chest fizzes. Jaw is clenched.

I’m bracing against this feeling. Not accepting how I am in this moment.

All I want is to be better. If I allow it, I’ll feel it. And I’ve been telling myself that this is not okay.

With a jolt of insight, I realise that I can be present to this. Witnessing it will enable whatever this is to pass through.

I’ll finally see it, know what it is.

I won’t have to unwittingly hold on to it or store it for a later date like a saved Facebook video. I could free up that space.

Regurgitate. Spit. It. Out.

Tongue out. Shout. Punching. Screaming. Tears.

Let it rise. Mouth widens as cobwebs stretch.

Something is forming. It’s dark. It’s panic. It’s feathers and claws.

I dislike how messy it is. It’s unclear and I don’t understand it.

It sticks to my throat and cuts me as it flaps and it scraws.

I cough and choke and splutter until it emerges.

Its feathers are slick. It’s still, frozen, wide-eyed.

Then it shakes its head, ruffles its feathers, spreads its wings and flies. It soars.

It spikes into the night, claiming its space in the sky.

Now there’s an empty place in the cage of my chest. This is an unfamiliar feeling.

I’m pale and I’m shook and I’m lighter than before. But I know that there are more birds and reptiles lurking.

They’re hidden, afraid to venture forwards. It will have to be me to have the courage to give birth to these twisted, deformed thoughts and beliefs.

Animals of suppression, being held captive by the expectations of others. Ones that I willingly purchased and am now the shamefaced owner.

I’ve paid the highest price- my freedom, my peace, my happiness. My true beaming authentic self.

But if I can release one ebony, hard-beaked entity, I can growl out more.

I breathe. I open. I’m ready.