I don’t know what checkout-line magazines mean by mindfulness. I’ve never flipped through one, but I can guess what they’re like. A wholesome girl in white yoga attire performing sun salutes at the end of a white dock on a sun-dappled lake against a background of mountains and azure sky and foreground of white chair and table with a casually tossed neck-towel (white with subtle blue accents to complement the sky and the yogini’s scrunchy) beside a pitcher of ice water, a bowl of lemons and a vase of fresh-picked daisies. Am I close? In short, the new Mindfulness movement is the old New Age movement rebranded and even more neutered and deboned for mass-market consumption.