When I was four years old, my mother used to bring me a cookie every time she came home from the market. I always went to the front yard and took my time eating it, sometimes half an hour or forty-five minutes for one cookie. I would take a small bite and look up at the sky. Then I would touch the dog with my feet and take another small bite. . . . I was entirely in the present moment, with my cookie, the dog, the bamboo thickets, the cat, and everything. . . . It is possible to eat our meals as slowly and joyfully as I ate the cookie of my childhood.

—Thích Nhất Hạnh

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