Beetroot Meditation

As I sit and watch the bubbling water I begin to realise there’s something about watching those bubbles. It’s not just the bubbles though, it’s the beetroot immersed in the hot water, it’s the flames heating the water, the gorgeous colour of water as it deepens as time passes. There’s nothing to focus on beyond that which makes the moment as the beetroot gently softens, my thoughts benign. It’s a beetroot meditation.

There’s something about cooking, particularly these slower processes, that can drop us into that meditative state almost accidentally. No agenda beyond being present with what’s unfolding. The beetroot doesn’t need you to do anything but witness its transformation. Your thoughts can drift and settle, drift and settle, like those bubbles themselves.

It reminds me of the Japanese concept of ichigo ichie, this moment exactly as it is will never come again. This particular beetroot, these particular flames, this exact shade of crimson emerging in the water, it’s completely unique to now.

This is essentially an impromptu mindfulness practice, but without any of the effort or striving that can sometimes creep into formal meditation. Just watching beetroot. Which is rather wonderful.

These kinds of moments, where everyday tasks become doorways into that quieter, more present state of being, offer us glimpses of something deeper. The gentle, unfocused attention on the simple transformation happening before us, the deep crimson bleeding into the water, the heat doing its slow work, the bubbles rising in their own rhythm, this really is a form of meditation.

The beauty lies in how naturally it occurs, how the ordinary becomes extraordinary simply through the quality of our attention. In this space, thoughts become benign, concerns fade, and we find ourselves suspended in the timeless present, witnessing the ancient alchemy of fire, water, and earth transforming together.