Think back over yesterday. Try to remember the drive or the walk to wherever you went. Most people find gaps. Whole stretches are simply missing. The body went somewhere, did things, said things, and no one was really there.

This is what the tradition means when it says we are asleep. Not that our eyes are closed. That our consciousness is. We live on autopilot: the same reactions, the same thoughts, the same day repeated, while the one who could notice is somewhere else.

It is not an insult. It is the ordinary human state, and nearly everyone is in it. The people most certain they are awake are often the most deeply asleep.

Here is the good news. Sleep cannot see itself. The moment you notice you were asleep, you are already a little awake. Every time you catch yourself, you have done the work. There is no failing at this. There is only catching yourself, and catching yourself again.

The first practice of this book is small, and you can use it every day from now on. It uses the doors you walk through.