Let's sit a while,
My love.
Take a moment to make yourself a comfortable place to rest.
A pillow.
A blanket maybe?
Somewhere soft to lean.
Door closed so that for this short while you can take some time just to be Let your eyelids float closed,
Feeling the muscles around your eyes let go just a little as you do.
Now,
Let's allow ourselves the quiet luxury of a long,
Slow breath.
In through your nostrils.
And out through your nostrils.
In and out.
In.
Damn.
Nowhere to go,
Nothing to do.
But rest a while.
Nothing to fix,
Nothing to plan for.
Inhaling again,
Air into nostrils,
Filling your lungs.
And sighing it out.
Body softening,
Shoulders dropping in and side out.
Imagine yourself standing in dappled light beneath the breeze-kissed leaves of an ancient tree.
Together you stand here,
You and a tree,
Both of you allowing your roots to reach down into the damp soil.
Above you,
Topaz sky.
Quiet,
Glowing sun.
Radiating,
Dazzling,
Freely given warmth.
Grounded,
Held.
As you look up,
You see ahead of you a grassy,
Sunlit path you've never walked before.
The sort of path you find unexpectedly,
But you know you'll walk.
The sort where the grass brushes your ankles as you stride.
And low golden light diffusing through trees illuminates your skin.
The sort of path where you can't quite see around the next bend.
And it gives you a startling mix.
The desire to walk.
And the desire to know.
So before you start to water it.
Something in you wonders.
Is the path safe?
Where does it end?
What can't I see ahead?
But this,
My love,
Is a path that asks for curiosity rather than certainty.
It invites.
It encourages.
But it doesn't offer reassuring peaks before its sun-baked mud is walked by your bare feet.
All you can do from here beneath the tree.
Is wonder.
And not let yourself run too far ahead.
Not let your willing imagination fill in what the unseen turning offers.
You don't know yet.
All you can do from here is take the next breath.
Slowly in and out And slowly out.
Slowly in.
And slowly out.
With your bare feet,
Planted onto the earth,
Breeze in your hair,
Sunlight dancing in your eyes.
Try as you might,
You can't know what's around the bend.
We never do.
Although we can hope we do,
We can think we do.
We can plan for it.
We can get it completely wrong.
And sometimes.
Sometimes.
Get it right.
But we do know this moment,
And knowing this moment,
The one here.
The one now.
Is a way to keep holding hands with curiosity.
Not running ahead while the mind gets giddy and busy.
So,
Wait here with me a moment.
And remember.
You know the warmth of your skin.
You know the earth beneath your feet.
You know the sound of the breeze moving through the leaves.
Do you know the feeling of breath entering?
And breath leaving.
Inhaling slowly.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Exhaling slowly.
Inhaling slowly.
Exhaling slowly.
Wait here with me a little while,
Letting your breath rise and fall.
Nowhere to go.
Nothing to do.
Thriving.
Falling.
Slow and steady.
And now.
Let's come back slowly into the room.
No rush Just notice where you're sitting or lying.
Whether it's light or dark.
Whether it's cool.
All one.
Slowly open your eyes.
Your back.
And now,
Held here in this moment,
You are ready to take the first step on that grassy,
Sunlit path.
The one that takes you into the unknown of another day.
Path that will meet you as you're on your way.
