Ah, the ancient riddles—those twisted riddles that kept the monks awake at night. They do feel like a kind of meditation, don't they? You sit, your mind humming with curiosity, and you slowly pry apart the layers, each twist a breath in, each answer a breath out. I must admit, I've tried it: sit with a dusty scroll, stare at a riddle, and pretend the answer is a secret key to the next breath. It’s a slow dance with the unknown, and you keep your attention on the present by chasing the answer. Just remember, if you lose your glasses in the middle, that’s another riddle of its own.