Prepare for the practice of Yoga Nidra.
Come to lie down now.
And find comfort.
Creates comfort.
Mindfully and with care.
Your only requirement for this entire practice is to be as comfortable as you can possibly be.
The rest.
Will simply unfold.
Let your body find its way to the ground.
Let it sink onto the ground.
Let go to it.
Be held by it.
Support it.
And at complete ease.
Let your feet fall open.
Your hands resting by the sides of your body.
Palms up if that feels easy.
Open to whatever this practice brings.
The way that open ground receives.
Whatever falls upon it.
Rain.
Sunshine.
Seeds of new life.
Always remaining open.
And receptive.
Now allow your eyes to gently close.
And know that you don't need to fix anything right now.
You don't need to do anything.
Figure anything out.
You only need to be here exactly as you are.
Open and receptive to what this practice brings.
Now notice how the ground is rising up to meet you.
The way that Earth has always risen to meet whatever rests upon it.
It doesn't ask anything of you.
It simply holds.
I'm sure.
Allow yourself to be held.
The way that soil softly holds a root.
Without any effort.
Without any condition.
Take one slow breath in through the nose.
And let it go with a sigh.
Another deep inhale,
All the way to your belly button.
Filling your whole body with breath.
And then sigh it out.
Let everything go.
On last inhale.
Breathing in all the goodness at the ground beneath you.
And exhale,
Sighing it out.
Releasing all your worries,
Your tension and your stress to the earth beneath.
Let everything go.
And then find stillness.
Be still.
In this moment.
And be here fully.
With your whole heart.
In this.
Let the senses begin to turn inward,
The way the world itself turns inward in the last hour before dawn.
Before first light,
Even the birds are quiet.
Even the wind seems to hold itself still.
The whole landscape draws its attention inward.
Gathering itself.
Resting.
Before the waking begins.
Let your hearing do this now.
Whatever sounds are in the room.
Let them become distant,
Like sounds heard from far across a sleeping field.
Present.
But no longer asking anything of you.
Let your sense of touch do this too.
The clothes against your skin,
The air in the room.
Let these soften.
The way that mist softens the edges of everything it touches before dawn.
Nothing disappears.
It simply becomes less defined.
And even your sense of where you are.
The four walls around you.
The world outside them.
Let that too grow quiet.
Like lamb beneath a fading sky.
Still there?
Still solid.
But no longer needing to be seen.
You are withdrawing now toward yourself,
The way all of nature withdraws before its renewal.
The sea pulls inward before it splits open.
The night deepens just before it breaks.
This is not absence.
This is gathering.
Rest in this inward stillness.
Nothing out there needs you.
Everything you need.
Is here.
In this quiet,
Gathered place.
You're invited now to plant your own seed.
A seed of intention.
Your Sand Cowper.
A statement of your heart's quiet knowing.
You might like to use the following,
I am deeply rested,
Deeply renewed.
Deeply alive.
Or allow whatever feels true to arise from within.
Your body knows.
You only need to be open and receptive.
Feel your intention.
Not just in thought.
But in a sensory form in the body.
Notice where it arises.
And then say it silently three times,
Starting with the words,
I am,
With as much warmth,
Compassion and care as you can.
And then let it be.
Allow your sankalpa within the depths of your body's terrain.
In its fertile soil.
Let it take root.
And grow.
As Rumi said.
Your body.
Is woven from the light of heaven.
Every part of it,
Thread by thread.
Place by place,
Made of the same light that is even now gathering at the edge of the world.
And it is into this woven ground that your seed of intention,
Your Sankalpa,
Has settled.
Resting in the dark between the threads.
In soil that was never anything other than light.
Waiting to be remembered as light.
To become.
Now we will move through that weave.
Slowly,
The way the first light moves across a sleeping landscape,
Before anything has woken.
And as you hear each place named,
Your awareness,
Like the very first light,
Will rest there a moment.
And then moving on.
Weaving these threads of light throughout your body.
The body.
Is wide country.
Woven entirely from light.
And the sea.
Is already hope.
Bring your attention now to your right hand.
And your right hand thumb.
Fuzzfinger Second finger.
Third finger.
And Littlefinger.
And all the spaces between your thumbs and your fingers.
The palm of your right hand.
The back of your hand.
Your right wrist.
Lower arm.
Elbow.
Upper arm.
And shoulder.
Your right armpit.
The right side of your chest.
To your waist.
And your head.
Thigh.
Kneecap.
Shen.
Ankle.
Soul of your right foot.
Top of your foot.
You're right,
Big Toe.
Second toe.
Third toe.
Fourth toe and little toe.
All the spaces between your toes.
And then move your attention to your left hand.
And your left hand thumb.
First Finger.
Second finger.
Third finger and little finger.
The palm of your left hand.
The back of your hand.
Your left wrist.
Lower arm.
Album.
Upper arm.
And shoulder.
Your left armpit.
The left side of your chest.
Your ways.
To your head.
Fine.
Kneecap.
Shem.
Ankle.
Soul of your left foot.
Top of your foot.
Your left big toe.
Second toe.
Third time.
Fourth toe and little toe.
All the spaces between your toes.
Now bring your attention to the back of your body.
To your heels,
Right and left.
Carves,
Right and left.
And to the spaces behind each knee.
The backs of your thighs,
Right and left.
Dual globes,
Right and left.
Lower back.
Middleback.
Alphabet.
Your shoulder blades,
Right and left.
Your spine.
Your whole spine.
The back of your neck.
To your head.
Your whole head.
To the crown of your head.
Over to your forest.
Right eyebrow.
Left eyebrow.
And the space between your eyebrows.
Right eye.
Left eye.
Right Temple.
Left temple.
Right here.
And outer.
Left ear.
And outer.
Your right cheek.
Your left cheek.
And your nose.
The bridge of your nose to the very tip.
Of your nose.
Your top lip.
And your bottom lip.
Both your lips together.
Your mouth.
Your whole mouth.
Your teeth.
And your tongue.
Your jawline.
Your throat.
Right collarbone.
Left collarbone.
And the space between your collarbones.
The right side of your chest.
The left side of your chest.
Your whole chest.
Your belly.
Your abdomen.
Your pelvis.
The whole of your right leg.
The whole of your left leg.
Both your legs together.
The whole of your right arm.
The whole of your left arm.
Both your arms.
Together.
The whole face.
The whole head.
The whole body.
In the threads of light.
From the tips of the toes to the crown of your head.
Touched by awareness.
The whole body.
As one terrain.
Every valley and ridge of it.
Every quiet place.
Every place that holds tenderness or history.
All of it now.
Touched.
And gathered in.
By your awareness.
Simply.
Illuminate.
In the light.
Now rest your awareness on your breath.
Notice the way the belly rises.
The chest lifting slightly.
The slow return.
Imagine that each inhale is.
.
.
In a way like a small sunrise.
An opening.
And each exhale.
A quiet settling.
Address.
Breathe in and out.
And out.
With each inhale now.
Imagine the breath finding those threads of light.
Drawing them brighter.
Drawing the light that was already there.
A little closer to the surface.
The kind of light that exists before colour,
Before sound,
Before the world begins.
Let that brightening move with each and every breath.
And with each exhale.
Let any loose thread go.
Not all at once.
Just the ones nearest the surface.
The ones that were never really part of the we.
All the threads.
You no longer need.
That no longer hold any light.
Let them lift away on the breath,
The way that mist lifts from woven ground as the sun begins to rise.
Breathe in the light.
And breathe out the mist.
All that was never truly yours to carry.
Now I'll offer you pairs of feelings.
Opposite experiences,
Sensations.
Simply receive each one.
Just let the words land and notice whatever arises.
Feel the remnants of tiredness.
The heaviness in the limbs.
The pull downward,
Toward the ground.
And now feel aliveness.
A brightness just beneath the skin.
A current moving through the body.
Then feel tiredness again.
Let it be without apology.
Move now to the sensation of aliveness again.
Let it be fully here.
Fully present.
The feeling of aliveness in each and every cell.
And now,
Feel darkness within.
Why?
Suck.
Unhurried.
The quiet darkness that asks nothing,
Needs nothing.
That simply is.
And now feel light.
Wide.
Soft.
Unhurried.
The light that asks nothing,
Needs nothing,
That simply is.
And now feel both at once.
Held together.
Neither one replacing the other.
Rest here.
Not in darkness or light.
But in the awareness that holds them both.
The way dawn itself holds the last stars of night and the first light of day.
In a single breath.
Rest as the witness now,
The sky that holds both the night and day.
Without becoming either one.
Remember.
You are not only the light,
You are the one in whom the light arises.
Imagine now you are outside.
It is very early.
Not yet dawn,
But close.
The hour before.
The sky is a deep,
Soft dark.
Not the dark of midnight.
But the dark that has been patiently waiting.
You can feel it.
The air holds a particular quality of anticipation.
You are lying on the ground,
Just as you are now,
On the earth.
Beneath you is cool,
Firm ground.
You are comfortable.
You are safe.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
The stars are still visible.
Not many.
A handful.
The very last ones.
The ones that stay the longest.
As if they know what is coming,
And they too want to witness it.
Amen.
At the edge of the world.
A single pale line appears.
So faint you might almost miss it.
The first signal.
A whisper at the horizon.
Feel what that does in your body.
That first light.
The line at the horizon begins to widen.
Slowly.
Why?
Sub.
Anne Haring.
The dark blue above.
Softens to indigo.
Then to a kind of violet at the very top.
The air shifts.
Something in the atmosphere changes.
And now the first colour arrives.
A warmth at the horizon.
Amber.
Then go.
Than a thread of rose.
The colors of embers.
The colours of things being renewed.
Let yourself receive that colour.
Let it move toward you.
Let it reach the soles of your feet.
Warm.
Unhurried.
Feel it moving upward,
Unhurried.
Through the angles,
The carbs.
The backs of your knees.
Through the thighs.
Into the hips and the belly.
It moves into your chest now.
And to your heart's space.
Allow the light now to rest in your heart.
It's warm.
It's clarity.
Its renewal.
Let the Warmth.
Simply be warm.
No tasks.
No demand.
Just heat finding its way into a place that has perhaps been cold.
For longer than you realised.
Let the clarity simply be clarity.
Not answers,
Not insights.
Just a kind of seeing that doesn't need to explain itself.
The way the sky clears,
Not because it tries to,
But because the night has simply finished its work.
And let the renewal be renewal.
Not a fixing of what was broken,
Not a repair.
Just the oldest pattern there is.
The one the Earth has performed every single morning since the first morning.
Then lie.
Depleted.
Then replenished.
Never failing.
Never needing.
Always trusting.
Your heart already knows this.
It has been practicing it all your life.
Closing.
Opening.
Resting.
Beating.
Emptying.
Feeling.
Long before you ever knew.
So let it rest now in light that asks nothing of it.
Let it simply receive.
What it has always in its own quiet ways.
Known.
To do.
Feel the light continue to move now.
Through the shoulders,
Down the arms,
Into the palms of your hands.
Into each finger.
To the very tip of all your fingers and thumbs.
Up through the throat.
Into the jewel.
The cheeks,
The eyes,
The forehead,
The crown of your head.
Until you are full of this light.
The sky above you now is pale blue.
The sun itself.
Not yet visible.
But close.
You can feel it on the edge of arriving.
And you understand something.
In the way that the body understands things.
Below thought.
Below language.
That every night ends.
Everything changes.
And the light.
The light.
Is already on its way.
Rest here.
In the awareness watching both the light and the dark.
The place within.
That needs no dawn to arrive.
Because it was never dark there.
At all.
Allow everything to now.
Dizzle.
And realize the light remaining in your heart.
The dawn has now come.
The first light.
Has arrived.
Rest.
In this.
Gently come back now to your intention.
Your son,
Kalpa.
The seed you planted at the beginning of practice,
Let it surface again from within.
Quietly.
I am deeply rested.
Deeply renewed.
Deeply alive.
Or your own sandcalper.
Allow the words to move through you silently,
Three times,
With the full weight of this dawn in them.
Bring them to light.
It is planted.
It will do what seeds do.
In warmth and stillness.
It will grow.
Trust.
Slowly now.
Begin to feel the room around you,
The air on your skin.
The ground beneath you.
Become aware of sounds.
Whatever sounds exist in this space,
Near sounds or distant sounds,
Become aware of the weight of your body,
The physical,
Specific,
Real weight of it against the floor.
Take a breath that's a little deeper now as you return back to this space.
And begin gently to invite some movements back into your body.
Fingers first,
Let them curl slowly and release.
The toes a gentle flex.
Your wrists,
Your ankles.
And when you're ready,
Only when you're ready,
You might like to bring your arms overhead in a long,
Slow stretch.
Letting the whole body stretch from fingertips to toes like the first stretch of the day.
Good morning.
And then roll slowly onto one side,
Whichever side cools you.
And rest there for a moment.
Curled up like the moment the night holds the dawn.
Let yourself stay just a little longer.
And then slowly,
Slowly,
Slowly press yourself up to a seated position.
Keeping your eyes closed if that's comfortable.
And just sit for a moment in their stillness.
Notice how you feel in this body.
In this moment.
Perhaps you notice a difference between the start of practice to where you are now.
Whatever is there.
Welcome it.
And be grateful that you have given yourself this time.
This act of self-care,
Compassion and love.
Take all the goodness with you as you return,
Fully restored and renewed,
Like a brand new day.
And then gently open your eyes.
Welcome back.
And carry these words of William Blake with you as you re-enter your life.
He who kisses the joy as it flies,
Lives in eternity's sunrise.
So be joyful,
Be grateful and enjoy the sunshine in your life.
This practice of Yoga Nidra is now complete.
Thank you for joining me today.
