Beloved,
Let yourself land right here in the soft lap of the present.
There is a great wide space being held for you now,
Where the rush of the world cannot reach.
Allow your shoulders to drop away from your ears,
Letting the weight of your history settle into the earth.
You are arriving at the edge of a quiet lake,
Leaving the wind behind.
There are moments when the electricity of life becomes too bright,
When the inner wires hum with a frequency that feels like a storm.
You may feel as though your pulse is a drum beating out a warning,
Your mind a sky filled with lightning,
Your body a bird trapped in a small room.
This is the hyperarousal storm,
A surge of power that was only ever meant to protect you,
But has forgotten how to dim.
Do not fight the lightning.
Do not try to leash the wind.
We are simply going to offer the storm a place to rest,
Turning the high alert of the mind into the soft,
Rhythmic hum of the deep sea.
You have been standing guard for so long,
Watching the horizon,
Ready to move.
It is an exhausting devotion,
This constant state of readiness.
But here,
In this circle of peace,
The horizon is clear.
The gates are locked.
The fires are tended.
You are permitted to unlace the heavy boots of your vigilance and walk barefoot upon the cool,
Damp grass of your own being.
We begin by anchoring the breath,
Using it as a silken tether to pull us down from the clouds and back into the bones.
We will breathe together in the slow,
Square rhythm.
Four counts to rise.
Four counts to hold the fullness.
Four counts to release.
And four counts to sit in the quiet,
Empty.
Inhale,
Feeling the air fill the back of your heart.
Two,
Three,
Four.
Hold thoughtfulness like a secret you are keeping.
Two,
Three,
Four.
Exhale slowly,
As if blowing out a tiny candle.
Two,
Three,
Four.
Rest in the stillness,
In the sweet nothing.
Two,
Three,
Four.
Let's do that again.
Breathing in.
Two,
Three,
Four.
And hold.
Two,
Three,
Four.
Breathing out.
Two,
Three,
Four.
Four,
Holding at the top.
Two,
Three,
Four.
And release.
Two,
Three,
Four.
Holding here.
Two,
Three,
Four.
Bring your attention to the crown of your head.
Imagine a cool,
Silver rain beginning to fall.
It is not a storm rain,
But a mist.
The kind that settles the dust and brings a deep,
Velvet quiet to the woods.
Let the silver mist wash over your forehead,
Smoothing any lines of worry.
Let it move behind your eyes,
Allowing them to soften and sink back into the skull.
Let the jaw go slack.
Let the tongue rest heavy on the floor of the mouth.
There is nothing to say.
There is only the silver mist cooling the heat of the day.
The mist flows down the throat and across the tops of the shoulders.
Feel the tension there.
The armor that you wear against the world simply dissolving.
It is like wax melting in the sun.
The shoulders become heavy,
Sloping down toward the earth.
Surrender to gravity.
Follow this cooling sensation down the spine,
Vertebra by vertebra.
Imagine each bone as a smooth river stone,
Stacking one upon the other in perfect,
Effortless alignment.
As the silver mist reaches your hands,
Feel the palms begin to soften and open.
The fingers curl naturally,
Letting go of the invisible threads they have been pulling.
Your hands are no longer tools of doing.
They are vessels of receiving.
Bring your awareness to the center of your chest.
Beneath the frantic hum of the storm,
There is a deep,
Ancient rhythm,
The pulse of the earth herself.
Can you feel it?
It is slow.
It is steady.
It is the rhythm of the tides,
Of the seasons,
Of the stars.
Breathe into that center.
With every exhale,
Let the volume of the world turn down.
Lower,
Until the only sound left is the quiet tide of your own breath.
You are the mountain that watches the storm pass.
You are the deep water that remains still while the surface ripples.
You are the vast,
Open sky that holds the lightning without being burned.
Say these words silently to yourself.
I am safe.
I am steady.
Take one final,
Long breath,
Pulling the cool silver light deep into your lungs.
Let the exhale be a long,
Slow release,
Carrying away the last remnants of the lightning.
As you gently return,
Know that you carry this stillness within you.
It is a portable sanctuary.
You are the master of the storm,
And the architect of the calm.
Thank you for practicing with me today.
May you walk through the rest of your day with the grace of the deep water,
And may your heart remain a house of peace.
