Welcome.
Let yourself settle into wherever you are.
There is no right way to be here.
Only your way.
Just arriving in the shape your body is calling for.
Take a slow breath in and a long,
Soft breath out.
And another,
Even slower this time.
Like your breath itself is remembering how to be gentle.
Let your eyes close or soften into a downward gaze.
There is nothing to fix here.
Nothing to hold.
Nothing to figure out.
Just you,
Your breath and this quiet moment where nothing is asked of you.
But to be here.
Now gently begin to notice your body.
Not to change anything.
Simply to feel what's there.
Notice where you might be holding.
The small places of tension you've grown so used to,
You almost forgot they were there.
The jaw.
The space between your eyebrows.
The shoulders.
The belly.
We carry so much armor without realizing it.
Layers of bracing.
Of keeping it together.
Of being strong for so long that softness starts to feel unfamiliar.
Maybe even unsafe.
But here,
In this moment,
You don't need the armor.
What if you could set it down?
Not forever,
Just for now.
Let your jaw soften.
Let your tongue rest in your mouth.
Let the muscles around your eyes release.
Feel your shoulders drop.
Feel your belly go soft.
No holding in.
No holding up.
Just letting yourself be exactly as you are.
Now let your mind wander into a forest.
A forest that feels safe,
Like home.
Not the edge this time.
Somewhere deeper.
Somewhere the light is green and filtered.
Where the air is thick with moisture and the scent of living things.
It's quiet here.
So quiet you can hear the forest breathing.
The soft drip of water somewhere distant.
The hush of wind in high branches.
A bird calling far away.
The ground beneath you is soft.
Layers of fallen pine needles.
Decomposing leaves.
The earth here is alive,
Cycling,
Patient.
And then you notice it.
A bed of moss.
Deep green,
Thick as a cushion.
It covers the forest floor like velvet.
Spreading over rocks and roots and fallen log.
It glows faintly in the soft sunlight.
You walk toward it.
Kneel down.
Let your fingers touch the surface.
It's softer than you expected.
Warm,
Holding the gentle heat of the sun that filters through the canopy of trees.
You gently begin to lie down.
Letting your whole body come to rest on the moss.
Feeling it receive you.
Feeling it cushion your back,
Your shoulders,
Your head.
Feeling the earth beneath it.
Solid and soft,
All at once.
Let your arms fall open.
Let your legs relax.
Let your whole body spread into the ground.
The earth holding you.
All of you.
All of you.
Exactly as you are.
Feel what happens when you stop trying.
When you let yourself be fully held.
When you allow something soft to meet all the places that have been hard for so long.
Here,
You can take a moment to breathe.
To be.
There's nothing to fix.
Nothing to do.
Just be here.
Allowing yourself to be held and nourished by the earth.
Let the weariness or heaviness sink out of you.
Let it drain into the moss.
Into the earth.
Feel it leaving your shoulders,
Your back,
Your chest.
The moss absorbs it like rain.
The earth transforms it.
You don't have to do anything.
Just let go.
Just rest.
Feel how soft the world can be when you stop bracing against it.
Stay here for a moment.
Body against the earth.
The sky a canopy of green and gold above you.
Breathe.
Let your breath be slow and easy.
Let your belly rise and fall like the forest breathing with you.
Feel the coolness of the air on your skin.
Feel the warmth of the moss beneath you.
Feel held in this space between.
There is nothing to prove here.
No one to be.
The forest doesn't need you to be anything.
The earth doesn't need you to earn your rest.
Here you are allowed to be soft.
You always were.
This isn't weakness.
This is remembering.
Remembering that you are human.
That rest is not a reward.
It is a birthright.
That gentleness is not something you give only to others.
The moss holds you.
The earth holds you.
And something in you is finally,
Slowly,
Letting itself be held.
Listen to the quiet sounds of the forest.
A leaf falling somewhere.
The soft creak of a branch.
Your own breath,
Steady and slow.
You are part of this.
Part of the softness.
Part of the quiet.
Part of the great,
Slow,
Patient exhale of the earth.
Gently now,
Begin to bring your awareness back.
Feel your breath.
The rise and fall that has been with you all along.
Returning slowly to the space you are in.
Feel the surface beneath you.
The floor,
The bed,
Whatever is holding you.
As you return,
Remember that you can carry the softness with you.
Let it live in your shoulders,
Your jaw,
Your belly.
A quiet reminder that you don't always have to brace.
When you're ready,
Invite a deeper breath.
Find a small movement in your fingers,
Your toes.
A soft sway or a slow stretch if that feels good.
Take all the time you need.
And when you feel ready,
Without rush,
Gently open your eyes.
Slowly,
Softly,
Like waking from a dream you want to remember.
Notice how you feel.
What's different?
What's softer?
May you carry this feeling with you.
The permission to be gentle with yourself.
To rest without earning it.
To be soft amidst your strength,
In a world that often asks you to be hard.
And whenever you forget,
Return to your breath.
Return to your body.
The softness is always here.
