Shikantaza, often translated as “just sitting,” strips meditation down to its bare essentials. Picture a quiet room, upright posture, eyes softly open or gently closed, and no effort to chase thoughts, images or sensations. The only instruction: sit with whatever arises—thoughts, emotions, even restlessness—without grabbing onto anything. It’s like watching clouds drift across the sky, without trying to change their shape or speed.

How it stands apart:

• No object of focus. Unlike breath-counting or mantra repetition, shikantaza doesn’t anchor attention to an internal or external point. No need to tally inhales, repeat a sacred phrase or visualize light shining through the body.
• No goal orientation. Many meditation styles aim for calm, clarity or insight as endgames. Shikantaza abandons that roadmap—there’s no finish line, no “aha” moment to chase.
• No structured inquiry. Koan meditation (e.g., wrestling with a paradox like “What is the sound of one hand clapping?”) offers a puzzle to crack. In just sitting, pondering itself becomes just another passing thought.
• Radical acceptance. Thoughts arise, thoughts pass. Emotions flare, subside. No judgment, no suppression. That openness rewires the relationship with experience over time—much like letting a song play through instead of hitting skip every time the chorus feels familiar.

A modern parallel might be the rise of “digital detox” retreats, where participants hand over smartphones, sit silently and simply notice the world pacing by. Shikantaza predates these trends by centuries, yet feels startlingly relevant to anyone knee-deep in Zoom calls or notifications pinging every few minutes.

Ultimately, just sitting is less a technique than a way of being—no bells and whistles, just presence itself. In an age of apps promising quick fixes, shikantaza quietly reminds that the most profound shifts often come from embracing what’s already here.