A few years ago, a parent asked me to teach meditation to a group of mothers and their kids. I agreed, confident that I could replicate the children’s class I taught at the monastery where I lived. My plan was simple: I’d give this group of twenty or so kids and their parents abbreviated, age-appropriate instructions, and together we’d sit quietly for three minutes. (I normally do five minutes with young kids, but they were brand new to meditation, so I didn’t want to push it.) Everyone would be silent and still, they’d enjoy sitting, and afterward the mothers would ask for tips to continue practicing at home. No problem.
Except that’s not what happened. I gave my instruction, and together we began sitting. Almost immediately, a few of the kids started wiggling, and after about half a minute of barely contained excitement, a cluster of them jumped up from their seats and began chasing each other around the room. One boy claimed the monkey bars tucked away in a corner, swinging with abandon and making loud monkey sounds, and other kids followed. The mothers did their best to contain the kids, grabbing flailing limbs where they could or shushing the rowdiest children. But they couldn’t even pretend to meditate, and the kids certainly didn’t want to. I spent those three minutes—which felt like three hours—willing the timer to go off, my jaw clenched, wondering whether I should just give up. Still, when we were done, one of the mothers came up to me with tears in her eyes.
“Whether we’re four years old or forty, slowing down and getting quiet can help normalize our experience and make room for it.”
“That’s the most quiet I’ve had since my son was born,” she said. Then I was the one who wanted to cry—for her and for all of us whose harried lives have turned silence into a luxury. What a shame, I thought, when we all have the ability to be still and quiet. How unfortunate, when it’s a necessary skill to keep our minds clear, our bodies grounded. Meditation creates space so we can think what we think and feel what we feel without judgment or resistance. It helps us to cultivate self-confidence and acceptance. And most importantly, it reveals that we have agency over our own lives. Although we’re not able to control what happens to us, meditation shows us that we can always choose how to respond.
There are different kinds of meditation, and each one has its own focus and style. Some meditations are guided, while others are silent. Some require us to concentrate on the breath, or a question, or awareness itself. Some use visualization, others the repetition of a mantra. But regardless of their focus, all types of meditation have something in common: paying attention. In its most basic form, this is what meditation is—paying close attention to what’s happening inside and around us. That’s why it’s so important to be still and quiet. We need to let our body and mind settle enough so we can see what’s going on in them.
Think of the mind as a lake. When the water is calm, we can see all the way to the bottom. Every plant, every insect, every pebble is clearly visible to the naked eye. But when difficult thoughts disturb the surface of the water, when big emotions churn our mind like wind whipping up waves, all we can do is hold on for dear life and hope the waves won’t overwhelm us. And yet, difficult thoughts and big emotions happen to everyone. Whether we’re four years old or forty, slowing down and getting quiet can help normalize our experience and make room for it. Then we can begin to decide how to respond, instead of just react out of habit.
If you’d like to teach your children meditation, I suggest you start by setting time aside to sit together, maybe just before bedtime. Following the instructions below, begin sitting quietly for one minute and work your way up to five (more if your children are older), adding a minute every few weeks as you both get comfortable with silence and stillness. Remember that the key to meditation is consistency. It’s better to practice a little every day than to try to sit a lot every few days or weeks.
Here are a few simple steps to follow:
Sit comfortably on the floor.
You can sit either cross-legged or kneeling on a rug, yoga mat, or folded blanket. If you need support, place a cushion under you and rest your knees on the floor. You can sit side by side or facing each other, depending on which position you think will make it easier for your child to follow your lead.
Lengthen your spine.
Imagine that you’re pushing up against the ceiling with the crown of your head, then release your shoulders. Tuck your chin very slightly to keep your head directly over your spine. Now visualize yourself tall and firm like a mountain, but also supple and relaxed like a tree swaying in a gentle breeze.
Breathe through your nose.
Close your mouth and touch the tip of your tongue lightly against the roof of your mouth. Breathe quietly and normally. Whether your breath is shallow or deep, short or long, there’s no need to change or fix it. Gently pay attention and just let it be as it is.
Stay in your spot.
Remind each other that it’s fine to move a little if you need to, but you should do so in place and try, as much as possible, to let your body settle down, so that your mind can also settle. Stillness is hard for many people, but it’s such a powerful skill to have under your belt that it’s worth practicing.
Close your eyes.
Although the formal zazen (Zen meditation) instruction calls for open eyes, for some kids it’s easier to sit with their eyes closed, at least in the beginning, since it keeps them from getting distracted. Alternatively, you can lower your gaze and let it rest on a spot on the floor about three feet in front of you.
Place your attention on your belly.
Follow your breath by paying attention to your belly expanding and contracting as you breathe. Silently say, “In,” as you inhale and “Out,” as you exhale. If you catch yourself thinking, gently bring your attention back to your breath. It doesn’t matter how many times you have to come back to your breath—every time you do, you build concentration.
I’ve found that children as young as three can learn to meditate, and with the right setup, will do so fairly still for up to five minutes. To encourage them, get them involved in the process by giving them the role of timekeeper. They can use a small bell to mark the beginning and end of the meditation, starting the period with three slow chings and ending it with two.
Finally, remind your kids—and yourself—that there’s no such thing as “good” or “bad” meditation. Thoughts are not a problem, and the point of meditation is not to get rid of them. The point, once again, is to pay attention—to notice that we have thoughts, and feelings, and to give them space so we can understand and work with them better. The point is to be present from moment to moment with what is, just as it is.
Five minutes of meditation a day may not seem like much, but my own decades of practice have shown me that it only takes a moment to transform our way of seeing. But don’t take my word for it. Try it and see for yourself.