We spend a lot of time listening to or identifying with the voice in our head. That little voice is constantly there – and it’s not always an amiable companion. It’s always regretting the distant or not-so-distant past, or fretting about some imagined future. It’s generally pretty critical (of ourselves and others), often somewhat cruel and, occasionally, completely bonkers.

So, if you can silence that voice for a little while and experience the present moment without it, it’s a lightening, liberating experience. The practice of mindfulness is about exactly that: creating little moments of what you could call “no mind”, where you are truly present and aware of either the sensations, sights, sounds or smells around you.

Not commenting on them, by the way (that would be the little voice back), just being aware. It can be as simple as becoming aware of the in and out of your breath in to your lungs while you read this article, or noticing the contact between your body and the chair you’re sitting on. In those brief moments of focus, the little voice is gone, if only temporarily. It will be back shortly, no doubt, to chide you from within. But for now, all is peaceful.

The little voice follows me to the veg patch. It’s not big on praise, instead reminding me of all the things I haven’t yet done. The bed that needs weeding, the peas that need staking, the potatoes that need earthing up. It’s a hard taskmaster. But it generally has to give way once I start a task, and the focus shifts from my head to my hands. That’s why the veg patch is a place of such calm.

I am down on my knees with a hand hoe, weeding and thinning out some parsnips that I sowed in early May. Parsnips take ages to germinate and the weeds have been growing steadily. It’s only now that the parsnips are established (and clearly identifiable) that I can see the rows and weed safely.

When I sowed them, I sowed three seeds at each point (parsnips being notoriously unreliable germinators). So, in addition to the weeding I am also removing the excess parsnip seedlings, leaving just one to grow on.

As I work my way down the bed, I notice briefly how calm I feel and how I haven’t really been thinking for the 20 minutes I’ve been here.

With that brief period of “no mind” comes a heightened awareness. I follow the path of a gleaming beetle as it scurries across the newly weeded soil. A purple sprouting broccoli plant beside me has a mass of yellow flowers on it, and a bee is buzzing and moving deftly from flower to flower. I hear birdsong and a pigeon flapping in the trees.

I stop work to notice a blue tit land on the gutter over the potting shed, carrying a grub of some description in its beak. It looks around feverishly and then drops in to the gutter. I hear the urgent cheep-cheep-cheep of its chicks, obviously nesting out of view and getting an afternoon meal.

I stand up and stretch, feeling a dull ache in my back from all the stooping. I check my watch and the little voice returns to remind me it’s time to make dinner. Back to the world. CL

For further information, visit www.giy.ie.