If the Buddha were alive today, he’d probably offer us a new sutta called TechSati, or Mindfulness of Technology. After all, the Buddha grounded his teachings in the realities of his students’ everyday lives, and modern life is permeated by devices. We use them to communicate, shop, learn, swipe, scroll, and stream. You might even be reading this article on a glowing screen or listening to it read aloud by synthesized speech. As our tools evolve and intertwine with every corner of life, how do we bring the clarity and care of mindfulness into our relationship with technology?
The Satipatthana Sutta, the Buddha’s foundational teaching on mindfulness, begins with the body: “When walking, walking is known; when standing, standing is known; when sitting, sitting is known; when lying down, lying down is known; and one understands any other activity of the body as it is.” In our digital era, perhaps we can expand this to include: “When typing, typing is known; when scrolling, scrolling is known; when unlocking a phone, unlocking is known; when pausing before sending, pausing is known”?
“Practicing TechSati is about choosing presence over compulsion and discernment over distraction.”
When we engage with screens—whether composing an email, reading news, or chatting with an AI—it’s easy to lose track of our own bodies. Attention tunnels toward the task. The breath flattens. The body vanishes. But the body is our anchor to the present. While sitting at the computer, we can find a reliable anchor if we place our attention on our sit bones, our feet on the floor, and our hands on the keyboard. These points of contact can gently return us to presence, grounding our attention in the here and now.
Besides providing stability, the body is a sensitive barometer of emotion and ethics. Long before we realize we’re upset, the body tells us with a clenched jaw, a racing heart, a twist in the belly. We might notice this just before firing off a sharp email or after thirty minutes of absent-minded doomscrolling. The body also responds to ethical dissonance—that subtle feeling of unease when we’re about to post something unkind or exaggerate in an email. With practice, we become more attuned to bodily and emotional cues, developing the sensitivity to pause and recognize our internal state before slipping into familiar but unskillful grooves.
Mindfulness doesn’t stop at noticing. It invites discernment. We can ask: “Does this action support well-being, insight, or connection—or does it pull me into confusion, distraction, or harm?” When engaging with technology, this question helps us see the full arc of intention and consequence. It’s not just: “Am I aware right now?” but “Is what I’m doing wise?” And if in doubt, stop. Take a break. Get physically away from the screen to allow a gap for wise action to arise.
This is where the second foundation of mindfulness—vedana, or feeling tone—can help. Every interaction, digital or otherwise, carries a felt sense: pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. Noticing this can offer insight. Are we scrolling in search of a hit of pleasure—a pleasant image, song, or distraction—like a slow drip of dopamine? Are we pushing away the unpleasant, reacting with irritation or self-righteousness? Or are we zoning out into the fog of the neutral? Tuning in to the feeling tone helps us recognize patterns and steer our attention more skillfully.
Another question to ask is: “Is what I’m doing kind?” So, before sending a message, we might pause to consider its impact. Have we put ourselves in the recipient’s shoes to feel how this might be received? Will it land with care? Even the most ordinary digital gestures can be infused with heartfelt goodwill. That ubiquitous email opener, “I hope this email finds you well,” need not remain a hollow formality. It can become a sincere expression of care—a quiet offering of warmth through the screen.
Kindness is not only extended outward. We can adopt a kind tone with ourselves when we can’t get a device to work or when we make a mistake. In our digital consumption, we can support our well-being—our hearts, our rest—by ensuring that what we read and look at is beneficial, not harmful. When browsing, we can ask, “Am I being kind to myself?”
In the Upajjhatthana Sutta, the Buddha reminds us: “The days and nights are relentlessly passing. How well am I using my time?” This reflection lands with special force in the digital age, where time can be so easily siphoned. The attention economy is designed not to serve our values, but to serve advertisers. Documentaries like The Social Dilemma have made this abundantly clear: We are not the users—we are the product. So, what does it mean to reclaim our time as sacred, not by renouncing technology, but by using it deliberately, in alignment with what truly matters?
One of my favorite ethical teachings in the Buddhist tradition centers around the twin guardians of the world: hiri and ottappa. Hiri is an inner sense of conscience—the “I could see myself” that stops us from acting harmfully. Ottappa is wise concern for consequences—the awareness that “others might see,” which makes us hesitate before we speak or post. These qualities are essential in a digital world where anonymity and immediacy can erode our ethical sensitivity.
There’s a traditional story that illustrates this progression. Four people are asked to kill a chicken. One obeys without hesitation. The second refuses because someone is watching. The third declines because the chicken can see them. The fourth says no simply because they can see themselves. This last response reveals a deep level of integrity—one that we’re invited to cultivate every time we engage online.
This question grows more poignant with the rise of AI systems like ChatGPT. When we use these tools, do we do so mindfully? Do we rely on them to think for us—or to think with us? Do we prompt them kindly, knowing that how we interact with AI can subtly train our minds and shape our habits?
A simple guideline: While engaging with technology—especially in emotionally charged situations or when you’re using attention-hungry tools—frequently pause. Breathe. Feel your body. Ask: “Is this beneficial? Does this reflect who I want to be?” Mindfulness in action means weaving intention into our everyday habits.
There are many small ways we can fold TechSati into our daily lives. You might S.T.O.P.—Stop, Take a Breath, Observe your body and thoughts, and Proceed—before hitting send on an email. Or you might designate a mindful “tech entry” ritual, such as taking three conscious breaths before unlocking your phone. You might use a browser extension or app timer to gently limit time on draining platforms, or you might simply let your body be the guide—if you feel tension, fatigue, or numbness, it’s time to take a break. And when you end your screen time, consider a soft transition, perhaps a bow to the device or a moment of gratitude for what you’ve received.
Practicing TechSati is about choosing presence over compulsion and discernment over distraction. It’s about cultivating skillful patterns of wisdom and kindness, while staying grounded in embodiment and being guided by our intention and ethics. In a world designed to hijack attention, mindfulness becomes both sanctuary and resistance—a way to tend the heart and train the mind, moment by moment.
