At the far edge of the garden,
Where the yard slowly meets the quiet of the land,
Wild branches have rested there for many years.
They were gathered little by little,
Season after season,
Until they became a small shelter shaped by time itself.
At the lower roots of the branches,
Hedgehogs found their hidden homes.
Between the twigs,
Sparrows build their fragile nest.
And every evening,
The last light of day gently touches the pile of branches,
Like a quiet forever from the sun.
Tonight,
As you stand beside the house,
Your gaze slowly drifts over the end of the garden.
The air is still,
Perhaps a faint movement of wings,
Perhaps the softest whisper of the wind moves through the moment.
And then,
Something begins to shimmer between the branches.
It doesn't call loudly,
It doesn't hurry you.
It simply waits to be noticed.
You begin to walk toward it,
Slowly.
With each step,
You may notice the softness of the ground beneath your feet.
You may feel your shoulders gently lowering,
And your breathing settling into a calmer rhythm.
The final rays of sunlight fade beyond the fence.
And,
In the dim glow,
A delicate arched gate begins to appear,
Floating just above the branches.
Only for a moment,
A single drop of rain rests on the twig.
As you lean closer and gently touch it,
The outline of the gate glows again.
Not brightly,
Just enough to let you know it is there.
A quiet curiosity awakens within you,
And without any need to hurry,
You slowly step forward and cross the gate.
The movement feels light,
Natural,
As if you have always known how to do this.
When you glance back,
The gate still stands,
And beyond it,
You see the house,
The garden.
The familiar world.
But before you now,
A different landscape unfolds.
A wide,
Gently misted field,
Stretching quietly into the distance.
The air feels warm,
Soft,
And peacefully still.
A slow breeze moves across the field,
And somewhere far away,
The deep,
Steady murmur of the ocean can be heard.
Its rhythm is slow,
Comforting,
Like a melody you have always known.
The breeze touches your hair,
Your face,
And you may feel your body beginning to soften,
To loosen,
To rest.
This place feels familiar,
Not as a memory,
But as a feeling,
Living quietly inside you.
You recognize the gentle touch of the grass,
The fragrance of flowers,
The distant breathing of the sea.
This is the dream field.
It is always here for you.
Perhaps you have simply never walked here,
With full awareness,
Until now.
You slowly lie down upon the meadow.
The grass surrounds your body like a soft and patient embrace.
As your back settles into the earth,
You may notice how your weight feels supported,
Held,
Safe.
Your breathing becomes slower,
Steadier,
Effortless.
The quiet movement of the grass,
The distant sound of the ocean,
Blend into a gentle,
Rocking lullaby.
The fragrance of flowers drifts softly around you,
Like a comforting memory returning home.
Above you,
Stars begin to appear,
One by one,
Slowly filling the night sky.
They do not shine too brightly,
They simply glow,
Calm and steady.
And as you watch them,
You may notice your eyelids becoming heavier.
And it is completely safe to allow them to slowly close.
As you drift into the soft cloak of sleep,
The tiredness of the day gently dissolves.
The grass carries away tension from your body.
The wind moves your tufts farther into the distance,
And the slow murmur of the ocean fills you with quiet calm.
And when morning comes,
And you awaken in your bed,
You may remember that this place is always waiting for you.
You may return here,
Every night,
Whenever you wish.
For now,
There is nothing you need to do,
Except rest.
Gently close your eyes,
And breathe slowly.
Feel the quiet of the dream field surrounding you,
Holding you,
As sleep carries you deeper.
And deeper.
Into peaceful rest.
