"Mindfulness" seems a bit of a misnomer. It isn't the mind that's full of anything, it's really the body. . . in the present moment. . . aware of that moment and nothing else, absorbed and perceived through our various senses without the mind's unnecessary interference.
And it's not always so easy to do----this being mindful. Why? One reason is our love of words, of description, comparison, contrast----of the many ways our minds luxuriously complicate the interesting moment, melding past and future with present, swimming in and out of time as if we owned it, as if we are in control----all delusional, of course.
Sometimes I wish to be disconnected from language, to purely experience something without my mind's interpretation. Yet this sort of reality seems to have almost been lost to modern folk who convince themselves that it is only through language (and the retelling of an event, whether through the written or spoken word----as in media such as television or film) that anything is real or valid.
Primary experience----and I'm thinking of experiences in nature, walking through (and stopping in) woods, on the ocean's shoreline, through a field, by a river or creek----has become rare to most people. They're always aiming at some future point, marked by a number on their wristwatches, with dollars and cars filling the interim.
It's no wonder minds are so filled with worry, the antithesis of mindfulness and living in the moment.
