Welcome to this meditation where we use the ocean as our inspiration.
I invite you to find a position that feels comfortable and supported for you right now.
You might be seated or lying down.
Whatever allows your body to feel held.
Allow your hands to rest somewhere easy.
And if closing your eyes feels right,
You're welcome to do that.
Or if you prefer to soften your gaze downward,
That's fine too.
Just taking a moment.
Taking a moment arriving.
There's no need to be.
Nothing you need to fix or figure out.
This is simply your time.
Settling in.
In a moment,
I'm going to invite you into a breath pattern inspired by the ocean.
The breath of the sea always rising.
Always returning.
You cannot do this wrong.
Your body already knows what to do.
It already knows how to breathe.
We're just going to let the breath become a little more conscious.
A little more gentle.
On your next inhale,
Breathe in slowly through your nose for a count of four.
Inhale.
Two.
Three.
Four.
And then hold softly at the top for a count of four.
Like the moment a wave crests before it breaks.
And then release,
Exhaling slowly through your mouth.
Count of six.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Like the water drawing back along the shore.
Let's do that again together.
Inhale.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Four.
And then releasing on the exhale.
Two.
Three.
And once more on your own now.
Whatever pace feels nourishing.
And just trying to have your exhales longer than your inhales.
And then when ready,
Allow your breath to return to its natural rhythm of breathing.
No more counting.
Just breathing.
Like waves.
Steady.
Reliable.
Always returning.
And now I invite you to focus on your body.
Not to change anything.
Just to notice.
To check in.
And the way you might pause at the edge of the water before stepping in.
Bring your attention to the top of your head.
Allowing it to be soft.
Your forehead.
Your brow.
The space between your eyes.
Just let everything there loosen.
Just a little.
Your jaw.
Sometimes we hold so much there without realizing it.
See if there's any space to unclench.
Moving to your throat.
Neck.
Let them be easy.
Your shoulders.
Imagine they are stones.
Resting at the bottom of a warm shallow sea.
Heavy.
Settled.
Not going anywhere.
Let them drop just a little.
Your arms.
Your hands.
Heavy and still.
Your chest.
Notice how it rises and falls with every breath.
Notice how it's been doing this your entire life.
Without you asking it to.
Quiet.
Faithful gift.
Feel where you are being supported right now.
Perhaps by the chair beneath you.
Allow yourself to be held.
Imagine they are resting in warm sand.
Just at the tide line.
The water reaches you gently.
Swirls around your feet and recedes.
You to the water.
You don't have to go anywhere dramatic.
Just imagine yourself somewhere near the sea.
It could be real.
A place you've visited.
Or simply a place your heart creates now.
A quiet cove.
A stretch of open beach.
A rocky shore in the early morning.
Reminding yourself that you are safe here.
You can observe the ocean from wherever feels right to you.
Standing at the edge.
Sitting on a warm sand.
Or simply watching from a distance.
It's just your time.
Allow it to be gentle.
Notice the horizon line.
The wide,
Unending expanse of the water.
The way the light moves on its surface.
Shifting.
Flickering.
Flickering.
Flickering.
Flickering.
Flickering.
Flickering.
Flickering.
Flickering.
Never the same twice.
And listen.
Even in your imagination.
There is sound here.
Slow,
Rhythmic breath of the waves.
Coming in.
Going out.
This is what the ocean does.
It doesn't try to hold still.
Doesn't resist its own movement.
It simply moves.
Rises and falls.
Ebbs and flows.
Over and over.
Ancient.
Steady wave.
And I wonder if you can feel in this moment how your own breath mirrors that rhythm.
The same rhythm that moves the tide lives in you.
The ocean is not always calm.
You know this.
Sometimes the water is wild.
Sometimes the waves rise higher than we expect.
Sometimes a storm moves in from nowhere and the sea becomes something we didn't plan for.
Life can be like that too.
And here's what I want you to hold.
Gently.
Right now.
The ocean doesn't break under the storm.
It moves with it.
It rides it.
The waves grow larger.
Yes.
The water churns.
And still.
Beneath the surface.
Somewhere below all that movement.
There is depth.
There is stillness.
There is an ancient quiet part of the ocean that the storm cannot touch.
That depth lives in you too.
When the storms of life come.
The hard seasons.
The losses.
The unexpected waves of grief or fear or exhaustion.
You don't have to be the storm.
You can learn to ride it.
To let it move through you.
Knowing that beneath it you are still here.
Still breathing.
Still held.
I invite you to take a breath now and imagine that depth within you.
That quiet untouched place.
You carry that stillness with you everywhere you go.
As you rest here I'd like to offer you a few affirmations.
You might let them wash over you.
Like water.
Taking whatever feels nourishing and releasing what doesn't.
Breathe in and silently receive.
I am held by something steady.
I move with the rhythm of my own life.
I have weathered storms before and I carry that wisdom in my body.
My breath is always returning.
I am always returning.
I invite you now to begin to gently draw awareness back.
Like the tide returning to shore.
Unhurt.
Become aware again of the weight of your body.
The surface beneath you.
The temperature of the air.
Maybe even a gentle stretch if your body's asking for it.
And when you're ready,
If your eyes are closed,
Allow them to slowly open.
Taking in whatever's in front of you.
Allowing us to take a full breath together.
Inhale.
The ocean is always there.
Whenever life feels like too much,
You can close your eyes for just one breath and remember the wave rises and the wave returns.
And so do you.
