The speaker describes a quiet kind of practice: looking at the world without breaking it up, without grabbing at it or turning it into something else. The goal is modest. They say they practice "for nothing more than the present," so there's no prize, no enlightenment promised, just being here, now.
The second stanza gives this stillness an image. The mind is like a sea that has gone calm "with the settling of other lives." That line is a little mysterious. It could mean the speaker's own restlessness has eased as the noise of other people's lives, with their demands and dramas, has died down. It might also suggest a gentle awareness of others as part of the same quiet water. Either way, the feeling is peaceful and unhurried.
The mood is hushed and patient. Short lines and plain words make the poem feel like a slow breath, and the speaker sounds content rather than striving.