Welcome,
Dear one.
There is somewhere I'd like to take you.
Somewhere quiet.
Somewhere warm.
Somewhere far away from everything that feels unfinished.
Nothing is required of you.
Soon.
Find a comfortable position,
Preferably lying down.
Allow your head to become a little heavier against the pillow.
Let your shoulders soften.
Allow your jaw to unclench.
Allow your hands to rest wherever they naturally fall.
Take a slow breath in.
And gently release.
Again,
Breathing in.
And breathing out.
And one more time,
A long breath in.
And a soft breath out.
There is nowhere else we need to be right now.
Tonight we are simply going to rest.
Imagine that darkness has already fallen.
You find yourself standing at the beginning of an old woodland path.
Above you the sky is dark and clear.
And between the branches you can just make out the silver light from the moon.
The air is cool.
But it is not cold.
It carries the scent of deep earth.
Fallen leaves.
Months.
And somewhere in the distance.
Wood smoke.
You begin to walk.
Slowly.
There is no reason to hurry.
The path beneath your feet is soft and well-worn.
Perhaps many people have travelled this way before you.
Or maybe.
.
.
Somehow.
This path has appeared only for you.
With every step.
Allow yourself to move a little farther away from your day.
From the conversations.
The things you didn't quite finish.
The things you wished you'd said differently.
And the little worries you've been carrying around.
We don't have to push them away.
Simply allow them to become more distant.
Take another step.
And another.
The world you have come from is still there.
But just for tonight.
It can manage perfectly well without you.
The woodland grows darker.
And quieter.
The trees rise high on either side of the path.
Their branches meeting above you like an ancient roof.
Occasionally the moon finds its way through.
Painting little pools of silver across the ground.
You hear an owl somewhere far away.
The soft movement of leaves.
Your own slow footsteps.
And then through the trees ahead.
You notice something.
A light.
Small at first.
Warm and golden.
You take another few steps.
And another light appears beside it.
Than another.
Windows glowing softly through the darkness.
Among the trees,
There is a hidden building.
An old inn.
As you draw closer you begin to see it properly.
Its walls are made from old stone,
Softened by moss and climbing ivy.
Heavy wooden beams frame the windows.
A little lantern hangs above the doorway.
Moving in the evening breeze.
And curling from the chimney.
A thin ribbon of smoke disappears into the night.
You hadn't known this place was here,
And yet something about it feels strangely familiar.
As though some part of you has always known the way.
A few drops of rain begin to fall.
Softly at first.
One against your cheek.
Another against the lead.
Than another.
The woodland fills with that gentle sound.
Rain whispering through branches.
And suddenly,
The warm light spilling from the inn seems even more inviting.
You walk towards the door.
There is an old wooden sign hanging beside it.
The words have faded with age.
And you cannot quite read them.
But beneath it,
Someone has carved a tiny crescent moon.
You place your hands against the door.
And softly it begins to open.
The warmth meets you immediately.
Not just the warmth of the room.
But the warmth of somewhere that has been waiting just for you.
There is a fire burning in a great stone fireplace.
Candles flicker on old wooden tables.
Shelves are filled with books.
Bundles of herbs hang drying from the beams.
And somewhere nearby.
You can smell something warm and comforting.
Maybe it's cinnamon.
Perhaps lavender.
Maybe it's something you cannot quite name.
The door closes gently behind you.
And the rain remains to fall outside.
Take a moment to notice how that feels.
The storm is outside.
You are inside.
The night is outside.
You are inside.
Everything that needs doing.
Everything that demands your attention.
Everything noisy and unfinished is outside.
And you are here.
One.
Unhurried.
Beside the fire is a large comfortable chair.
You walk towards it.
And begin to lower yourself into the seat.
Immediately your body seems to understand.
This is where you rest.
This.
Is where we don't have to do anything anymore.
Imagine the warmth of the fire reaching by your feet.
Rising through your legs.
Up into your hands.
And allow that warmth to become the warmth of your own bed.
The blanket around you.
The mattress beneath you.
The pillow supporting your head.
You don't have to imagine perfectly.
And you don't have to concentrate.
Someone quietly approaches.
You don't need to see their face.
You simply know that they belong here too.
The keeper of this strange little inn.
They place a small wooden box on the table beside you.
And somehow without explanation.
You know exactly what it is for.
Before you go upstairs,
You may leave anything here that you don't wish to carry to bed.
So imagine placing one thought inside.
Perhaps something that happened today.
Something that you keep replaying.
Place it gently into the box.
We don't need to solve it.
We can just leave it here.
Maybe there's something you're worried might happen tomorrow.
Place that inside too.
We can collect it in the morning.
If it still needs your attention.
Maybe there's a conversation.
A person.
A responsibility or a decision.
Something you haven't finished.
Or you've forgotten.
Maybe something you've been trying very hard to control.
One by one,
Place them inside.
There is no judgment.
No forcing Just not tonight.
And when you are ready,
Gently close the lid.
This box will remain here,
Downstairs by the fire.
Nothing inside it will follow you up to your room.
Your mind may try to pick something back up and that's okay.
Busy minds often do that.
But just simply notice.
And gently put it back again.
Now rise from the chair.
And probably notice already how much lighter you feel without everything you've been carrying.
You can see there is an old staircase at the side of the room.
A candle burns on the first step.
And slowly you begin to climb.
With every step your body begins to become heavier.
Sleep here.
More relaxed.
10.
Leaving the day downstairs Nine,
Your shoulders softening.
Eight your breathing becoming quieter.
Seven,
Nothing to work out.
Six.
Nothing to remember.
Five,
We're almost there now.
4.
Your whole body growing beautifully heavy.
Three,
The sounds around you becoming softer.
Two almost there and one,
Begin to rest.
At the top of the stairs is a small hallway.
And at the very end,
A door stands slightly open.
Warm candlelight spills through the gaps.
You walk towards it.
And step inside.
Your room is simple.
Beautiful.
Old wooden floorboards.
A little fireplace glowing quietly.
A deep bed beneath a thick,
Soft quilt.
And beside it,
One small candle.
The rain runs slowly down the window.
Beyond the glass,
The woodland has disappeared into darkness.
There is nothing out there you need to see.
Nothing you need to check.
Nothing you need to know.
Tonight your world has become smaller.
This ring.
Dispatch the rain.
Your breathing.
And sleep.
Who climb beneath the covers.
And they settle around you.
World.
Heavy.
Stay safe.
Feel your body surrendering its weight.
Your feet can completely relax.
Your legs can completely relax.
Your stomach can soften.
Your chest can soften.
Your shoulders can sink.
Your arms become heavy.
Your hands become still.
The tiny muscles around your eyes soften.
Your forehead smooth.
Your jaw releases.
Even your tongue can rest Nothing is holding you up anymore.
The bed holds you completely.
Outside,
The rain continues.
Soft.
Steady.
Unchanging.
And with every breath.
You drift a little deeper.
You don't have to listen to every word.
You don't have to follow me.
My voice can simply become another sound in the room.
Like the rain.
Light the fire.
Simply coming.
And going.
And if a thought appears,
Let it pass.
You don't need to discover where it may lead.
It is simply a thought.
Passing through a tired mind.
And somewhere downstairs.
The little wooden box is holding it until morning.
So we can say not tonight.
Not tonight.
For tonight I rest.
Tonight,
I am safe.
Tonight,
There is nothing more I need to do.
The fire is becoming lower now.
The room darker.
The rain softer.
And you're breathing slower.
The candle beside your bed flickers.
One.
Twice.
And then settles into the tiniest flame.
You don't need to stay awake to watch it.
But in will keep watch.
The woodland will keep watch.
The moon will continue traveling across the sky.
Everything knows what to do.
And so does your body.
It knows how to sleep.
You don't need to make sleep happen.
You only need to stop standing in its way.
So let yourself drift.
Deeper into the pillow.
Deeper beneath the covers.
Deeper into the quiet.
Nothing to sow.
Nothing to carry.
Nothing to become.
Just simply rest.
And if somewhere in the distance.
You'll hear the rain against the old inn window.
Let it remind you.
You made it here.
The door is closed.
The fire is warm.
Your worries are downstairs.
And morning is a very long way away.
Sleep now Softly.
Peacefully.
.
.
.
Deeply.
You are safe here.
You can let go.
You can rest.
