Five lines to carry

Jānnā

1. One thing near you; a flower, if there is one.
2. Its exact colour. Not “red”: this red. Its shape, its size, the light on it.
3. Its scent, if it has one. Its texture, under a fingertip.
4. Close your eyes and hold all of it at once.
5. Open them and look again. What you missed is only noticed.

Nikhārnā

1. Two things nearly the same: two leaves of one tree, two bells, two salts.
2. The first, on its own. Then the second, on its own.
3. Where do they differ? Not which is better: only where.
4. The first again, and the second again. Each is more itself now.
5. Add a third, and let all three be, each its own.

Nādamaya

1. The nearest sound. Listen until you hear it exactly.
2. Farther, and farther, to the farthest you can hear. Past it, silence. Stay.
3. Back the same way, sound by sound, to the nearest.
4. Inward: the breath at the nostrils, in the throat, the heart, its beat, the gap between two beats, a feeling, and in it, silence.
5. Back out through the beat, the throat, the nostrils. You are where you began.

Without a drone: a bell struck once, followed until it is gone, is the fading.

Sparshamaya

1. A fingertip on cloth, or on your own palm. Feel it exactly: its grain, its warmth or cool.
2. Lighter, barely there, not touching, only the memory of it.
3. Then wide: the clothes on the body, the ground under you, the air on your skin, the wind over the land, no edge. Stay in the silence.
4. Back the same way to the firm touch. Then inward: the breath cool at the nostrils, the chest rising, the pulse, a feeling.
5. Back out through the pulse, the chest, the nostrils. You are where you began.

If the body hurts to touch, a cloth or a stone in the hand is the whole practice.

Jyotirmaya

1. One thing close to you. See it exactly: its colour, its edge, where the light falls on it.
2. The far wall, the window, the horizon, the sky, the depth of the sky, no edge. Stay in the silence.
3. Back the same way to the thing close to you.
4. Close your eyes: the light that stays, the dark, between the brows, the heart, a light that is felt.
5. Back through the dark, and open your eyes on the thing close to you.

Never the sun itself.

Rasamaya

1. One small thing on the tongue: a grain of jaggery, of salt, a neem leaf, a sip of water. Know the taste exactly.
2. Follow it as it fades: the aftertaste, a trace, no taste at all.
3. A drop of water on the tongue, widened: the cup, the clay pot, the well, the rain, the sea, no edge. Stay in the silence.
4. Back through the waters to the drop. Then inward: the tongue at rest, the swallow, the warmth going down, the heart, a feeling.
5. Back out, and take a second taste of the same, whole.

Gandhamaya

1. A flower, a leaf or a drop of attar at the nose. Know the scent exactly.
2. Move it away: a hand, an arm's length, set down, until only a trace is in the air.
3. Then wide: the room, the courtyard, the village, the whole earth, no edge. Stay in the silence.
4. Back, closer and closer, to the scent at your nose. Then inward: the throat, the chest, the heart, a feeling.
5. Back out through the chest and the throat to the nostrils. You are where you began.

No smoke or incense if your chest is weak.

Pānchõ

1. What you hear, what touches you, what you see, the taste in your mouth, the smell of the air.
2. All five at once. When the mind fastens on one, bring the others back, gently.
3. Let them widen together: sound into space, touch into the air, sight into the light, taste into the waters, smell into the earth.
4. No edge, one silence. Stay.
5. Back together, the way you went, to the five near you.