When I first started gardening on my Brooklyn rooftop, I was mostly focused on growing things I could eat—herbs for tea, tomatoes for salads, lettuce for wraps. But as my Buddhist practice deepened, I started seeing my garden as more than a source of food. It became a place to slow down, breathe, and reconnect with myself.
That’s when I decided to turn part of my rooftop into what I now call my “sensory meditation garden.” It’s a space designed not just for plants, but for presence—where every sight, sound, scent, taste, and touch encourages me to be fully in the moment.
Why a Sensory Meditation Garden?
Meditation doesn’t have to happen on a cushion indoors. In fact, for me, meditating in nature can be even more grounding. The natural world is always inviting us to pay attention: a breeze on our skin, the smell of blooming flowers, the sound of leaves rustling.
A sensory meditation garden is simply a space that amplifies those invitations. It’s designed so that every sense has something to explore—something to gently pull your attention into the here and now.
Choosing the Right Space
I didn’t have acres of land to work with—just a modest rooftop with some sunny spots and a few shady corners. That’s the beauty of this idea: you can create a sensory meditation garden in almost any space, big or small.
The first thing I did was choose the most peaceful corner of my rooftop, away from the street noise as much as possible. I cleared it of clutter and made sure there was room for a small chair or meditation cushion.
If you’re working with a balcony, a backyard, or even a windowsill, the principle is the same—pick a spot where you can be undisturbed, even for just a few minutes.
Designing for the Five Senses
I approached my garden like an artist with a palette—thinking about how to include elements that would nourish each of my senses.
Sight
I chose plants with different shades of green, accented by flowers in soft, calming colors like lavender, pale pink, and white. I also made sure to vary the heights and textures so there was always something interesting for the eye to rest on.
I added a small wind spinner and a simple stone Buddha statue—not for decoration alone, but as visual cues to slow down and center myself.
Sound
Wind chimes became an easy choice. I picked ones with a low, gentle tone rather than anything too sharp or clanging. I also planted ornamental grasses that rustle in the breeze, and I leave a small dish of water out to attract birds.
The sounds aren’t constant, and that’s part of the magic—they happen when nature decides, which makes me more aware of them.
Scent
For fragrance, I planted lavender, jasmine, and mint. These scents aren’t overpowering; they greet you gently as you walk by. I also grow rosemary and basil, which release their aroma when you brush against them.
In the summer, the warm sun intensifies the scents, turning even a short meditation into an immersive experience.
Taste
Since I already grow herbs, adding edible plants to my sensory garden was easy. I keep a small pot of mint by my chair so I can pluck a leaf and taste it during my meditation. Sometimes I’ll have a few ripe strawberries or cherry tomatoes nearby.
Eating straight from the garden is a wonderful mindfulness practice—it slows you down and makes you appreciate the freshness.
Touch
I wanted textures that would encourage gentle exploration. Lamb’s ear is one of my favorites—its velvety leaves are almost meditative to stroke. I also planted ferns, succulents, and moss for a variety of tactile experiences.
I included a smooth river stone in the space, which I sometimes hold during meditation as a grounding object.
Creating a Place to Pause
Even though the plants are the stars, I knew I needed a comfortable place to sit. I chose a small, low wooden bench that fits perfectly in the corner. On cooler days, I bring out a cushion.
The key is to make it inviting—somewhere you want to spend time. I like to keep a light throw blanket nearby, just in case the wind picks up.
How I Use My Sensory Garden for Meditation
When I step into my sensory meditation garden, I try to leave everything else behind—no phone, no errands, no multitasking. I take a deep breath and begin by simply noticing what’s around me.
I’ll let my eyes wander slowly over the plants, then close them and focus on the sounds. I might gently rub a lavender sprig between my fingers to release its scent, or sip a little herbal tea I made from my own mint leaves.
Sometimes I meditate formally, counting my breaths or repeating a mantra. Other times, I just sit quietly, letting the sensory experiences guide me into presence. Both are valuable.
The Benefits I’ve Noticed
Since creating this space, I’ve found it easier to shift into a calm, grounded state—even on stressful days. My senses act like anchors, pulling me away from scattered thoughts and into the richness of the moment.
It’s also deepened my connection to my garden. I’m not just growing plants—I’m cultivating a living meditation space that changes with the seasons.
And perhaps most importantly, it’s reminded me that mindfulness can be joyful. It’s not always about discipline and stillness; sometimes it’s about savoring the warmth of the sun, the smell of basil, or the sound of wind in the leaves.
You don’t need a rooftop or a huge yard to create your own sensory meditation garden. You could start with a single pot that engages multiple senses—a small planter of basil (scent and taste), with soft moss (touch) and a bright flower (sight) in a spot where you can hear the breeze (sound).
The point isn’t to make it perfect—it’s to make it personal, a space that draws you into the here and now.
For me, this little corner of my rooftop has become a sanctuary. It’s where I remember to slow down, breathe deeply, and let all five senses remind me: This moment is enough.