Time
Five minutes. Truly. Not because five is enough — eventually you will want more — but because five is the number you will actually do tomorrow and the day after. Twenty minutes a day starting Monday is a promise. Five minutes today is a practice.
A place
Anywhere quiet enough that you are not interrupted. A chair, a cushion on the floor, the edge of your bed before the day begins. The same place each day if you can, because the place itself begins to remind you.
A posture
Sit upright. Feet on the floor if you are in a chair, knees lower than hips if you are on a cushion. Spine long but not rigid — imagine the crown of your head lifted by a thread. Hands resting wherever they rest. Eyes soft, half-lowered, or closed.
If you cannot sit comfortably for medical reasons, lie down. Tradition is not more important than your body.
What you do not need
An app. A cushion that costs more than dinner. Incense. A teacher, yet. A special hour. A mantra someone gave you for fifty dollars. Quiet so perfect it never exists.
You need a few minutes, a place, your own attention, and the willingness to come back tomorrow even when today was nothing.