Settling into a comfortable position,
Whether that's seated or lying down,
Allow your hands to rest wherever they feel at ease.
And if it feels comfortable,
You may softly close your eyes or perhaps you might prefer to lower your gaze,
Perhaps resting your gaze on a candle flame or a place in the room that feels steady and calm.
There is nowhere else you need to be.
Nothing you need to have figured out.
This time is here for you.
We begin by honouring the four directions,
Turning our attention first to the North,
The direction of Earth beneath us,
Of roots,
Bones,
Deep rest and the long memory of winter.
We honour the stillness that held us,
The ground that never left,
Even when we couldn't feel it.
Next,
Turning our attention to the East,
The direction of air and new beginnings,
Of breath,
Curiosity and first light.
We honour the faint whisper of change,
The questions that arrive before the answers.
Now turning our attention to the South,
The direction of fire and vitality,
Of warmth and quiet courage.
We honour the small flame that exists within us,
The one that kept burning through the dark winter months.
Next,
Turning our attention to the West,
The direction of water and feeling,
Of intuition,
Emotion and deep listening.
We honour what moves through us,
What softens us,
Shapes us and teaches us.
And finally,
We honour the centre,
The place where all directions meet,
Your body,
Your breath,
Your presence here.
Take a slow breath in and a gentle breath out.
Allow your body to settle,
Supported by the ground beneath you,
Held by the space around you.
Imagine yourself at the very edge of a forest,
Not deep inside it,
Not far out in the open,
Just at the threshold.
Notice that winter has been long,
You may have moved slowly through it,
Perhaps cautiously,
Perhaps more heavily than you expected.
And now something has shifted,
The light is different,
Still pale,
Still tentative,
But longer now,
There is more of it,
Even if only a little.
You can feel it on your face,
The faintest warmth,
Like a hand resting gently on your cheek.
Notice what your body wants to do with that,
Maybe it wants to turn toward it,
Maybe it hesitates,
Maybe part of you is still holding on to the stillness of winter.
Both of that is welcome here.
You do not have to rush toward the light,
You do not have to perform readiness,
You do not feel.
But perhaps you can allow yourself to notice,
Something in you that was very quiet is beginning to stir.
It might feel like a loosening,
A tiny exhale somewhere deep inside you,
A sense of permission arriving,
Though you could not say from where.
This is not a demand,
It's an invitation.
The kind that comes from within,
Your own body,
Your own knowing,
Remember that it knows how to move into spring,
It's done this before and it will do it again.
At your own pace,
In your own way,
With all of your roots still holding.
You do not have to leave winter all behind at once,
You can carry what you need from it,
The rest you can let soften.
Stay here for a few breaths,
At this threshold,
In this tender in-between place.
Just noticing,
Noticing the inhale and the exhale,
Beginning to notice your body in contact with the surface beneath you.
Held,
Supported,
Perhaps bringing in some gentle movement,
That could be wriggling your fingers,
Wriggling your toes.
Maybe stretching,
Acknowledging what your body needs now,
As we slowly start to begin to notice the space around you.
The sounds,
The warmth,
The shared presence.
Carrying with you the quiet truth,
That something in you knows how to rise,
Slowly,
Steadily and in its own time.
And when you're ready,
Begin to make your way back to the space.
