Find a position that feels comfortable.
Whether that's seated or lying down.
Whatever your body is asking for right now.
If you're sitting,
Allow your spine to lengthen gently,
Not rigid.
Not held.
Just tall enough that your breath has somewhere to go.
Allow your shoulders to soften away from your ears.
Let your hands rest wherever they feel at ease.
Perhaps opening your lap.
Palms upward.
A small quiet gesture of readiness to receive.
And if it feels comfortable,
Let your eyes close.
Or lower your gaze somewhere still.
Take a slow breath in through your nose.
And a long,
Easy breath out.
And again,
Breathing in a little more deeply.
Breathing out a little more fully.
One more.
Breathing in and as you exhale let something go.
The day,
The list.
The person you've been holding it together for.
You don't need any of that here.
Now let your attention drop into your body.
Notice where you are being held places where you meet the ground or the chair or the cushion beneath you.
Your feet,
Your legs,
The backs of your thighs,
The base of your spine,
Or the length of your back if you are lying down.
Notice the quiet weight of you.
Gravity doing its quiet faithful work.
Pulling you gently downwards and asking nothing of you in return.
You don't have to hold yourself up right now.
The earth is doing that.
It always has been.
Let yourself be a little heavier.
Let the surface beneath you take a little more of you.
And come back to the breath.
Not changing it,
Just noticing it.
Cool air arriving.
The warm air leaving.
Notice that your breath asks nothing of you either.
It simply arrives.
Again.
And again.
Given freely whether you notice or not.
We begin by honouring the four directions.
Turning first to the north,
The direction of Ur of soil,
Roots and the slow patience of growing things.
We honour the ground that has fed us.
That gives season after season.
Without ever asking whether we deserved it.
Turning to the east.
The direction of air and first light.
Of breath,
Of clarity,
Of new understanding.
We honour the willingness to see something honestly.
Even the parts of ourselves we would rather not look at.
Turning to the side.
The direction of fire.
Of warmth,
Ripening and the long summer sun.
Which turned green things golden.
We honour everything that has been quietly growing in us.
Whether or not we noticed it happening.
Turning to the West.
The direction of water and deep feelings.
Of rain,
Of tides,
Of what moves beneath the surface.
We honour what we feel about receiving.
The complicated,
Tangled,
Inherited feelings we rarely say out loud.
And the center.
Where all directions meet.
Your body,
Your breath,
Your harvest.
Take one more slow breath in and died.
Now I invite you to imagine yourself standing at the edge of a field It is late summer.
Early evening.
The light is that particular gold that only comes at this time of the year.
Low,
Warm and generous.
The field in front of you is full.
Heavy with perhaps grain.
Ready.
This is your field.
Everything in it,
You grew.
Not always deliberately.
Not always with a sense that it was working.
Some of it you planted with intention.
Some of it grew whilst you were busy surviving.
Some of it you were certain had failed entirely.
Here it is.
Walk out into it if you can.
Feel the stalks against your hands.
The warmth still held in the ground beneath your feet.
Look at what you have grown this year!
Perhaps some of it is visible to other people.
Work,
Achievements,
Things that can be named and counted.
But look closer.
Because most of what you have grown,
Nobody else can see.
The patients you found that you didn't know you had.
The boundary that you finally held.
The thing you survived that would have broken you five years ago.
The morning you got up and carried on when nobody would have blamed you for staying in bed.
That is harvest too,
All of it.
Every quiet,
Unwitnessed bit of it.
No,
Here is the part that is harder.
You are allowed to gather this in.
Not to give it away immediately.
Not to hand it to someone else who needs it more.
Not to explain why it wasn't really that much,
Or that you got lucky.
Or that anyone else would have done the same.
Just receive it.
Notice what happens in your body when I say that.
Perhaps something tightens.
Maybe you feel the urge to look away from the field.
Or to find something wrong with it.
Or to point out that corner over there where nothing grew.
That is old.
That is not yours.
Someone taught you that.
And now,
Just for a moment,
You can put it down.
Go and stand in your field.
Let yourself see what's actually there.
And let something in you say.
This is mine.
I grew this,
I am allowed to have it.
Notice your breath again.
A little deeper this time.
Become aware of the weight of your body against the ground.
The warmth of the room.
Quiet presence of the space around you.
If it feels right,
Begin to bring some small movement back.
Maybe wiggling your fingers,
Wiggling your toes,
Rolling your shoulders.
Maybe a stretch if your body is asking for one.
And taking one more slow breath in.
Letting it go.
And when you're ready.
In your own time.
Allowing your eyes to open.
Coming back to this space,
Carrying with you the quiet knowledge that your field is full of a new thought.
And the aura light.
Give yourself permission to gather it in.
