Welcome to this practice of Yoga Nidra.
Arrange yourself for stillness.
Blankets,
Bolster,
A cushion,
Under the knees.
Whatever lets your body feel held,
So it doesn't have to hold itself.
Lie down.
Let the back of the body be received by the earth.
Your arms a little away from the sides,
Palms turned up as if receiving.
Close down the ice.
Seal your lips,
Breathing in and out of your nose if possible,
For the rest of this practice.
And let the breath find its own rhythm.
Not deeper.
Not slower.
Just Acknowledged.
There is nothing to achieve here.
Nothing to fix.
This is not a practice of becoming better or of changing anything.
It is a practice of tending to that which is already here.
So be here now.
With your whole heart.
Your whole body.
Your whole self.
In this present moment.
We begin by drawing the senses inward.
Not shutting them out.
Simply letting them come home.
Inside.
Become aware of sound.
Let the hearing travel outward.
As far as it will go.
The most distant sound you can find.
Maybe traffic.
Perhaps the wind.
A room somewhere else in the building.
Don't name it.
Just notice it.
Receive it.
Now let the hearing come closer.
To sounds in this room.
The hum of the air.
The small,
Settling noises of a building at rest.
And closer still.
The sounds of your own body.
The breath moving.
Perhaps the heartbeat.
If it wants to be heard.
Now let sound receive.
Let it become like the weather outside a window.
Still there?
But no longer affecting you inside.
Become aware of touch.
The points where the body meets the earth.
The weight of clothing on skin.
The temperature of the air on your face and perhaps your hands.
Let each of these be noticed once and then release become aware of taste.
Whatever is present in the mouth or its absence,
Notice and release.
Become aware of smell,
Any scent in the air of this room as it enters your nose.
Notice and then release.
And now the eyes.
Behind the clotheslips.
This darkness is rich.
There is movement there.
Color.
Faint,
Shifting light.
Rest the gaze into that space.
Simply let the seeing rest there.
In the dark.
The way a lamp rests in a quiet room.
All the senses have come inside now.
Allow the doors to gently close.
Knowing they will open again after practice.
But for now,
Receive the invitation.
To turn inward.
To come inside.
To come home.
From this moment.
Keep the body still.
Stay awake.
Remain here.
Remain still.
Peace.
Is Yoga Nidra.
Somewhere beneath your thinking,
An intention already lives.
Not something you invent.
It's something you uncover.
Let it come now.
Short and simple.
In the present tense.
Beginning with the words,
I am.
As if it were already true.
Because in some quiet way.
.
.
It is.
I am the dwelling place.
For I am tending to the essential lights within.
Or whatever comes to you from a place of truth within.
Whatever arrives,
Let it begin with I Am.
And then repeat it,
Silently,
Three times,
With the whole of your attention.
Plant it like something you're leaving in trusted hands.
And then let it go.
It knows what to do.
We move now through the house of the body.
Not to change anything,
Simply to visit.
To let each room know it has been remembered.
Move the attention as its name.
Don't try to feel.
Just go there and let whatever is there.
Be there.
Move your full awareness and attention to your right hand.
And to your right hand thumb.
The first finger.
Second finger.
The Finger and Little Finger.
The palm of your right hand.
The back of your hand.
Your rest.
Lower arm.
Elba.
Apa'am.
Showdown.
The right side of your chest.
To your waist.
And to your hips.
Of thigh.
And your me.
Lovelife.
Ankle.
Soul of the Right Foot.
To your right big toe.
Second time.
Fatto.
Fourth toe and little toe.
The whole of your right foot.
Then move your full awareness and 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.
Elbow.
Upper arm.
Shoulder.
The left side of your chest.
To your waist and your hips.
You're fine.
And your knee.
Loverland.
Ankle.
Soul of the left foot.
To your left big toe.
Second home.
Third time.
Fourth toe and little toe.
The whole of your left foot.
Now we move your attention to the back body.
To your heels,
Right and left.
The spaces behind your knees,
Right and left.
Your right glitz.
Your left glitz.
Your spine.
The entire spine.
Right shoulder blade.
Left shoulder blade.
The whole of your back.
See you on there.
And your head.
Your whole head lying here,
Heavy and at rest.
Moving to the crown of your head.
Your forest.
Your right eyebrow.
And your left eyebrow.
And the space between your eyebrows.
Your right eye and your left eye.
And all the little muscles behind your eyes.
Wright Temple.
Left Temple.
Right here.
Left ear.
Right,
Cheat?
Left cheek.
Your nose.
The bridge of your nose.
To the tip of your nose.
Your right nostril.
And your left nostril.
Top left.
Bottomless.
Both your lips together.
Your teeth and your tongue.
Lying in the base of your mouth.
Your whole mouth.
Your jaw.
Your chin.
And your throat.
Your right collarbone.
And your left collarbone.
And the space between your collarbones.
The right side of your chest.
The left side of your chest.
Your whole chest.
Upper abdomen.
Navel.
Lower abdomen.
Right Growing.
Left groin.
The whole of your right leg.
The whole of your left leg.
Both your legs together.
The whole of your right arm.
And the whole of your left arm.
Both your arms together.
Your legs,
Your arms,
Your chest,
Your head.
Your whole body.
Your whole body.
Lying on the Alps.
The whole body.
Complete.
The whole body.
Through your attention.
Chandelier room by room.
And now.
Bring the attention to your natural breath.
Not controlling it.
Just watching.
The way you'd watch weather from a window.
Feel the breath at the navel.
The rise and the fall.
Now become aware of the pauses.
There are two of them in every breath.
And most of them pass by unremarked for an entire lifetime.
At the top of the inhale.
Before the breath turns.
There is a stillness.
Find it.
Let the breath move freely.
Simply notice the place where the filling completes itself and the emptying has not yet begun.
And at the bottom of the exhale.
When everything has gone out and the next breath is still gathering.
There is another.
A deeper one.
Notice that too.
Follow the breath now.
And more.
In your mind's eye,
The four moments.
The rising,
Pause.
The falling,
Pause.
Now let the attention widen so it holds two things at once.
The breath moving,
And the Earth beneath you.
On the inhale.
Imagine the body almost lifting slightly away from the ground.
On the exhale,
Feel it settle back down a little heavier each time.
The floor rising to meet the back of the body.
The back of the body giving its weight away.
On the paws at the top.
Imagine the body suspended.
And at the pause at the bottom.
Imagine the body completely at rest on the ground.
Rising.
Lifting.
Pause.
Fall in.
Settling.
Pause.
Something is holding you.
Something has been holding you all along.
Quietly.
Without ever being asked.
And then let all attention go.
Allow your breath to just continue on its own.
Your body.
Breathing itself.
Let the awareness draw inward.
Feel the body gathering toward its centre.
Smaller.
Dance.
Everything drawing toward a single point.
Gathering.
Concentrating.
The way a seed holds everything it will become.
In the smallest possible space.
Now let it open.
Feel the body widening in every direction.
The edge is softening.
Dissolving Awareness spreading past the skin.
Filling the room.
Past the walls out into the sky.
Vast.
No boundary anywhere.
Everything included.
And move between these two states of being.
Contraction.
Expansion.
Expansion.
Contraction.
And now?
Both at once.
The seed and the sky.
Neither more true than the other.
I'm now going to describe some images.
Let them come and go.
Allow them to come to you.
A single candle in a wide,
Dark room.
A curtain drifting in the breeze.
Rain on the glass.
A field quiet at dusk.
Footprints in the snow.
Water carried in cupped palms.
A vase of wildflowers.
A boat in the harbour,
Quiet and safe.
Adore.
Slightly open.
A light in a window.
Now let the images settle.
And hold this one.
Imagine you are walking toward a house.
It is nearly dark.
From a distance,
You can see one window lit.
A small,
Warm square in the blue.
Someone has kept a light burning there.
You have been walking a long time.
And this is what you have been walking toward.
You reach the door.
It opens.
Inside,
The house is warm and welcoming.
In the center of the room.
A small flame.
And you understand that you are the one who kept it lit.
That the one who left the light on.
Was you going ahead of yourself.
Trusting that you would return.
Sit with the flame.
Let it be small.
It only needs to be tended.
And then.
.
.
While you are sitting there.
There is a knock at the door.
800 years ago.
Rumi described a human life.
As a guest house.
Every morning,
A new arrival.
Some of them bright.
Some of them heavy.
Each of them a visitor.
And his counsel was simple.
Welcome every one of them.
Treat each guest with honor.
Even the ones who seemingly sweep the house bare.
For they may be making room for something new.
Something we can't yet know exists.
Meet them all at the door with gladness.
And invite them all in.
Whoever is standing there at the door tonight,
Whatever mood,
Whatever weather has traveled with you into this room.
Let them come in and warn themselves by your flame.
There is room here for everything that arrives.
You are the host.
You are the keeper of the light.
Open the door.
Returning now to your intention.
The words you planted at the beginning of practice.
Starting with the words,
I am.
Repeat them three times,
Silently,
With your full attention.
I am the dwelling place,
Or I am tending to the essential lights within.
Or whatever speaks to you.
And then let it go.
Trust.
It will be.
Bringing your awareness back to your natural breath again.
Rise and fall at the navel.
Become aware of your body lying on the earth.
The weight of your body.
The points of contact between your body and the ground.
And then become aware of the room,
The temperature of the air.
The surface beneath you sounds near and far,
Returning.
Begin to make small movements,
Maybe wriggling your fingers and toes,
A slow stretch through the arms and legs if it feels good.
And when you're ready,
Press yourself gently up to a seated position.
Allowing the hair to gently come up last.
Sit for a moment before you open your eyes.
Whatever you have been tending to here,
It comes with you.
It does not stay on the mat.
It lives in how you speak to the next person you meet,
In the softness you keep on an ordinary day,
In the attention you give to the smallest moments of beauty.
You are the keeper of something small,
Precious and vital.
And remember this as you return.
No one is coming to rescue you.
Not because you are alone,
But because the thing you are waiting for was never outside you.
The one who tends and the small living light that is tended.
They were always the same.
When we stop asking to be saved,
In that turning,
We become the keeper of the very thing that saves us.
Show up for it,
Tend to it,
And it will flourish,
Quietly,
Faithfully,
For as long as you keep turning towards it.
This practice of Yoga Nidra is now complete.
Thank you so much for taking your time to practice with me today.
I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day or evening ahead.
Thank you.
