Meditation is such a simple practice - in purpose, theory and principle, if not as a felt experience of our mental landscape - that I sometimes wonder, when I come to sit down or lead a class, about why we get so hung up about it. I say we, I mean me, in terms of wondering whether I'm aiding the drift towards peace as opposed to the slipside towards more inner noise.

I also mean all of us, because I know from conversations with others, and myself (we all talk to ourselves, let's normalise that) that we can entangle ourselves and exacerbate the sense of struggle and suffering by wondering, hoping, expecting things to shift and change. When the greatest benefit can come from just sitting down and doing nothing, expecting nothing.

"Shut up and sit down," is a common saying in the Zen tradition. Because that's all it really is, a case of consciously choosing to still the body, still the mind, watch without reacting. A valuable skill that can serve us in many ways.

Hence yoga and meditation are not practices that are reserved for those moment we spend on the mat. The mat is simply where we cultivate skills that can shape our attitudes and behaviours in life.

One of my favourite bits of wisdom from the Vietnamese teacher Thich Nhat Hanh is to "sit down and nourish your peace." Simple, but not easy, like most practices that we overwrought humans turn to in a bid to deconstruct and unlearn the habits that constrict us.

The chattering will likely not stop, and the habits - being as they likely took a while to grow - will creep back in. But through dedicated practice, we will, step by step, and again and again, develop the ability to step back from our mind wondering and habitual behaviours, to insert just enough of a pause, a moment of stillness, to catch ourselves and resist the drift.

It's the nature of the mind to oscillate wildly, the saving grace and cursed gift of consciousness to think, reminisce, plot, plan and ponder. We're not trying to stop thoughts and nor do we really want to, for the most part, they can serve us well - when we know which ones to follow. And that's the key.

Turbulence, flux, motion and transformation are the stuff of every life form, from stars to cells to plants to the shift from night to day. Can we watch and ride the flow without getting sucked in or blown over? It's entirely possible. Not always, not consistently. But we are perfect in our imperfections as human beings.

Just as I think there is joy in simplicity, in accepting that rather than complicating things, there is equal value in the imperfections. To quote Leonard Cohen: "Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack, a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in."

Like clouds passing in the sky, the mental chatter is a shape-shifting veil, a translucent albeit sometimes heavy covering, underneath which is the serenity of the blue sky. Between the clouds, between the cracks, there are glimmers of luminosity. Hence why Stocics, Taoists, Buddhists, Yogis and many other deep thinkers through the ages encourage us to look up, to gain some perspective and see that all that is happening in our minds may be painful and frustrating, but it doesn't have to rule over us.

An old adage comes to mind: the mind is a wonderful servant, not a master. In other words, we can, using consciousness as a gift rather than experiencing it as a curse, shift our attention and in doing so, give ourselves a rest.

The body is a tool that can aid this shift. In yoga, as we continually rein in the mind to focus on the matter, the muscle, the movement, those waves cease to shove us around and we regain control. With every experience of release and relief, we learn to linger longer each time, and we begin to see that when life does get noisy again, inside or out, there's a place of quietness inside that we've discovered we can reach.

So, next time you wonder, or feel despair, despondency, or confusion - stop, shut up, sit down and just be.