If Sunday evening has its own particular feeling for you.
A low hum of dread at the week ahead.
This practice is for you.
You are not alone in this.
And while we're together,
The week can wait.
Find somewhere comfortable.
And still.
Sit or lie down.
Whoever feels most supported.
Let your eyes close and give yourself permission to fully arrive in this evening.
Rather than already being in Monday morning.
Take a slow breath in through the nose.
And a long breath out through the mouth.
As though breathing out a little of the week that hasn't happened yet.
In.
.
.
And out.
Slowly.
Here.
Sunday evening right now.
That is the only moment that exists.
There's a particular quality to Sunday evening,
Dread.
That is worth naming honestly.
It isn't usually the fear of something specific.
It's more diffuse than that.
A kind of low-level contradiction.
The sense of something approaching.
The beginning of the transition from rest to effort.
From freedom to structure.
And underneath it.
Often is tiredness.
Not just physical tiredness from the weekend.
But the cumulative tiredness of a person who works hard.
Who carries responsibility.
Who has not had enough genuine rest.
Not just time off,
But actual life.
Rejuvenation of the self.
Sunday evening dread is often the body's honest signal.
That something in the balance of the week needs tending to.
It is information.
And right now we're going to respond to it.
With care rather than pushing through.
Let's move through the body completely.
Starting at the top and working slowly down.
Simply noticing with the curiosity of someone.
Who's been away for a while and is coming home.
The scalp and the top of the head.
The forehead.
Is there a furrow there,
Even now?
Simply notice.
The eyes resting behind closed lids.
The tiny muscles around them softening.
The jaw.
Notice its position.
See if the teeth can part very slightly.
The tongue resting gently.
The neck long and easy.
The throat.
The shoulders.
This is often where the weak lives.
Even on Sunday.
Notice where they are.
And on the next out breath,
Let them drop.
A little further than feels natural.
The chest,
The breath moving slowly through it.
If there's any tightness here,
Breathe with it.
Not forcing it away.
Simply breathing alongside of it.
The upper arms,
The elbows.
Your forearms.
Your hands open and resting.
These hands that have done enough this week.
The belly soft.
Rising and falling.
Releasing any bracing on the out-breath.
The lower back.
Let the surface hold it entirely.
The hips.
The size.
The knees.
The calves.
Each releasing a little more.
And both feet.
Feeling grounded.
Present.
Still on Sunday.
The whole body now.
Heavy,
Warm,
And held.
Breathing.
Here.
Let's use the breath to create a gentle boundary.
Between this evening and the week ahead.
Breathe in receiving this evening.
This specific finite real evening.
The warmth of it.
The quiet of it.
And breathe out.
Letting Monday stay where it is.
On the other side of sleep.
Not here yet.
In This Evening is Yours.
And out the week can wait.
Continue this in your own rhythm.
Simply breathing.
Simply here.
Here is something worth remembering.
Sunday Evening Dread.
Is largely a relationship with the future.
With something that hasn't happened yet.
And the future,
By definition,
Is not here.
Right now in this moment.
You are warm and breathing and resting.
That is the reality of this moment.
The week will come.
And when it does,
You will meet it.
As you always have.
One hour at a time.
One task at a time.
And not all at once.
But that is Monday's concern.
For now,
You are here.
This evening is yours.
What remains of it belongs to you.
Before you return to your evening.
One small intention.
Something that is genuinely restorative.
And not productive.
Not in preparation.
Simply nourishing.
Hold that intention gently.
And give yourself permission to honor it.
Thank you for being here with me today.
Take good care of yourself and I'll see you next time.
