An invitation to floating on an Irish lake.
Inviting you to notice your body again and maybe even take a couple of minutes to let the body settle.
Maybe noticing your feet on the floor.
Or your bum on the chair.
Wherever your hands or arms are resting.
Really feeling now the surface beneath you.
Sensing into it in a way.
Letting the weight drop down even a little.
Maybe the shoulders might drop.
Just loosening and dropping a tiny bit.
A long,
Slow breath out.
Another gentle breath in.
And a steady release.
Letting the breath,
Too,
Bring you home to body now.
Arriving,
Settling,
Sinking into the support that is here.
Now,
Imagine that you are standing at the edge of a quiet lake in the Cumberland Mountains in Ireland.
The air is fresh and clear.
There is that particular Irish scent of stillness.
Soft,
Spacious,
Alive.
The mountains rise around you,
Around the lake.
Ancient,
Heather and stone.
Moss and water.
Land shaped by weather and silence.
Breathing it all in.
Letting it steady.
Letting it hold you.
Letting it cradle you in a way.
The solidity,
The ancient landscape.
The softness.
And now noticing at the shoreline,
There is a small boat.
A corrug,
Which is a handmade rowing boat,
Made with leather.
Simple,
Light,
Handmade in the old way.
It's bobbing gently on the edge of the lake.
And you walk towards it now,
Noticing the ground beneath your feet.
The damp earth.
Perhaps small stones at the lake's edge.
The scent of peat and grass.
A faint breeze across your skin.
Gently,
You find yourself stepping into the corrug.
It rocks a little,
But it is steady.
You sit down.
You feel the subtle movement of the water underneath the boat.
The lake itself is dark and reflective,
Holding the sky now like a mirror.
With the lightest push of the oars,
The corrug begins to drift.
Floating gently now on this Irish shoreline.
An Irish lake.
No oars are needed.
You are simply and gently carried.
The water is calm.
Small ripples widen and dissolve behind you.
As the boat now moves further away from the shore,
A deep quiet descends.
The kind of quiet that settles the nervous system.
The kind that tells the body it is safe.
Your own breath now begins to match the rhythm of the lake.
Slow in.
Your body is feeling relaxed.
You lie down in the corrug.
Your back now resting easily against the curved wood.
Your arms are soft and limp by your side.
You're floating now.
Held by boat.
Held by water.
Held by the mountains around you.
Peace and calm.
Floating on an Irish lake.
There's nothing to do.
Nothing to organise.
Nothing to anticipate.
The corrug calmly drifts in its own time.
You rest and relax.
Above you,
The wide open sky.
Blue with fluffy white clouds.
The clouds are moving now,
Like slow thoughts across a spacious mind.
Feel how your body responds to being supported like this.
The back of your head heavy.
Shoulders releasing.
Belly softening.
When we feel held,
The body remembers how to let go.
The vagus nerve begins to settle.
The heart rate slows.
Muscles unclench.
Even the jaw loosens its grip.
See if you might imagine now any weariness that is within you gently draining downward through your back,
Into the base of the boat and on into the cool,
Dark lake beneath.
Weariness simply sinking into the lake.
The water can hold it.
This landscape has held centuries of rain and wind and human longing.
It can hold tiredness too.
Resting here now.
Drifting on the lake in the Camaras.
Rocked lightly and gently.
Suspended between water and sky.
Floating without effort.
And now it is time to return.
And you notice the cork turning gently and slowly,
Almost imperceptibly.
The cork beginning now to drift back towards the shore.
There is no rush here.
As the boat nears land,
You sit up nice and slowly in your cork.
Placing your hands on the sides of the cork.
Feeling the solid wood now beneath your palms.
The shore draws closer.
You step carefully out onto the earth again.
You feel your feet on the ground.
The mountains still stand around you,
Steady,
Enduring.
The lake behind you now is calm,
Undisturbed.
As your feet meet the earth once more,
Pause now for a moment.
Turning gently towards the mountains.
Feel their presence.
Ancient.
Patient.
Patient.
Enduring.
And in your own quiet way,
Offer these words.
Mountains of stone and heather.
Keepers of mist and memory.
Thank you for holding me just now while I rested.
As you stand steady through wind and weather,
May that same steadiness live in me.
As your roots run deep beneath the surface,
May I remember my own deep ground.
May I walk back into my life with the calm of your slopes,
The strength of your rock and the softness of your rain.
Take one final breath of the clear mountain air and then carrying their quiet blessing within you,
Return fully to your body,
To here and now,
To this gorgeous little space,
Relaxed,
Refreshed and gently restored.
Notice your physical body,
The room,
The air,
The support beneath you.
Wiggle your fingers and toes.
And as you move now from this place back into the rest of your day,
Carry with you the sensation of having being held,
Relaxed,
Refreshed,
Returning to yourself.
