Category Archives: The Evidentialism Files

Micro-Meditations: The 60-Second Sanity Hack


If meditation feels like something reserved for Himalayan monks or tech bros with Pelotons, it’s time to meet its scrappy, time-starved cousin: the micro-meditation.

A micro-meditation is exactly what it sounds like—a short, focused burst of mindfulness that can last anywhere from 30 seconds to 3 minutes.

No mantras. No incense. No need for a dedicated “practice.” Just a reset button for your nervous system.

Why it works:

Your brain doesn’t need a yoga retreat to calm down. Neuroscientists have found that even brief mindfulness exercises can downshift the sympathetic nervous system—the fight-or-flight response—and activate the parasympathetic system, the one in charge of rest and repair.

In one 2019 study published in Behavioral Brain Research, participants who engaged in just 13 minutes of meditation a day for one week showed improved mood, decreased anxiety, and enhanced attention.

But here’s the kicker: even sessions under 2 minutes can regulate breathing, lower cortisol, and bring you back to center.

Try this:

• The 4-4-4 Breath: Inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 4, exhale for 4. Do it 3 times. That’s 36 seconds to chemically calm your body.

• Name 3 Things: Stuck in traffic? Silently name three things you can see, hear, and feel. Sensory grounding in under a minute.

• Just One Bite: Eat one raisin. Slowly. Notice the texture, the taste, the smell. You just did mindful eating.

• Screen Detox: Before you unlock your phone, take one deep breath and ask: “Why am I picking this up?” That pause might save you 45 minutes of doomscrolling.

Micro-meditations aren’t a substitute for deeper mental health work, but they’re a stealth tool—like hiding broccoli in your mac and cheese. Small. Effective. Undeniably good for you.

So next time life comes swinging, don’t scream into the void. Sip some air. Close your eyes. Just for a moment.

Welcome to the quietest rebellion of your day.

The Barefoot Garden

The Barefoot Garden

I step barefoot
into the garden of vines
pulling green from stone.
Jasmine exhales without regret.
Roses keep their secrets.
The walls forget they were ever meant
to keep things out.


Water holds me—
quiet, unremarkable,
except for the way it softens
the edges of thinking.


The dogs nose the air,
tracking nothing but time.
No commands. No revelation.
Only the silent theology of growth.
Of things rising without reason,
with the reward of itself.


If I knew the jasmine
sang poison into the wind,
if the rose
curled its bloom
around a slow death—


I would not preach.
I would not caution.
I would remove them.
Because I have seen
what comes of gods
who let their children
bleed in the garden
and call it
a lesson.

What Awaits

What Awaits

The world is already turning
in your direction.
Already lighting
a path you cannot see,
but feel,
like warmth just beyond
the fingertips.

You do not ask the ocean
what it holds.
You go
because going
is the first truth.

Not courage—
but motion.
Not faith—
but the refusal to stop
listening
to the hum
that calls you forward.

There will be salt.
There will be shadow.
There will be the echo
of something ancient
inside your chest.

You are not the first
and never the last,
but you are the only one
here,
now,
at the edge
where light begins
to forget land.


And somewhere
in the far ahead,
in the deep beyond knowing,
a new silence waits—
not empty,
but whole.