Hello,
My friend.
Welcome to your sleep story.
My name is Stephen Dalton.
I'm an Irish storyteller,
And it's my great privilege to be the voice that you listen to as you go to sleep tonight.
My stories are all about letting go.
As you may well know.
And,
I've even gone so far as to have a series of stories all about that one thing.
And so tonight,
I have decided to put those stories together in one place for you.
I present to you,
The Letting Go series,
Where you will visit the Letting Go Beach.
The letting go lake among others.
Let's do the relaxation session now,
Which will take a few minutes,
Before tonight's sleep story.
I'm going to count down from ten to one,
And as I do,
Allow yourself to let go more and more.
10.
Feel the support of the bed beneath you.
Of the floor.
Whatever surface you lie on tonight.
And beneath all of that.
Feel the support.
Of the Earth.
That deep.
Grounding support.
That constant support.
That unchanging.
Reassuring support.
That comes from our home.
The Earth.
And as you become aware of it.
See if you can.
Release.
A little more.
Let go.
A little more.
Feel into your body now.
Where are you still holding?
Where do you feel tension?
Perhaps.
You feel pain.
Maybe it's in your toes.
Or your feet.
Maybe it's in your lower legs.
Maybe your size.
Or your belly.
Maybe you're holding in your chest.
Or maybe you're like me.
And you hold too much tension in your hands.
Or your face.
As you lie here now.
As you become aware of this tension.
Or holding on.
Notice the release that comes.
With awareness.
Just let go now.
You are safe.
Allow my voice.
Be a friend tonight.
To be a gentle guy.
Know that my voice will only ever take you to safe places.
See if you can find the peace in that fact.
See if you can find the trust.
See if you can notice.
That when we feel safe.
.
.
We can become curious.
And we.
You can feel a little light of joy.
Within our hearts.
As we move closer and closer to sleep.
Seven.
The day.
Is done.
Whatever has been.
A spin.
And whatever will be,
Will be.
Whatever thoughts arrive with you tonight,
Just.
.
.
Notice them for what they are.
So much.
A part of being human.
But not to you.
You are not your thoughts.
You don't have to follow them.
They don't have to lead your emotions.
And so if and when they come.
And they will.
Let them flows away now.
Like leaves on a moonlit river.
Or clouds passing by.
Through a starlit sky.
Six.
This is your moment.
This is your time.
Allow that fact.
To enable you to settle in now.
To feel cozy now.
Feel the warmth.
And joy.
Of the ability to just lie here.
And hear a cozy story.
Five.
Peace lives within you.
It is always there.
It is just.
Waiting to be found.
Waiting to be felt.
And so see if you can find that peace within you tonight.
Perhaps allow a little gratitude now.
Gratitude for the simple things.
The shelter you have tonight.
Breaths in your body.
Three.
Begin to engage with your imagination now.
Begin to let go.
In this beautiful place.
Far away.
From all that you know.
Checking in with your body one more time now.
Your buddy has worked hard for you today.
It's time to give it rest.
And one.
Completely letting go now.
As I tell you.
Tonight's Sleep Story You walk slowly across the sand.
The beach is beautiful.
Magical in fact.
A beach that most people never get to see.
You feel blessed to be here.
The sky is pale.
Just before evening.
The sun hangs low.
The wind is warm.
It moves across your arms and your face.
And it offers you peace.
Like an old friend.
There are small shells along this shore.
You do not pick them up.
You do not need to.
It's enough that they're there.
Your shoulders are not heavy now.
They were,
Maybe,
Earlier.
Or yesterday.
Are always.
But not here.
Not now.
With each step you take.
Something drops away.
You do not name it.
You do not hold it up to the light.
It is gone.
The sand under your feet is cool and dry at first.
Than dumb.
And smooth.
You move toward the water without deciding to.
The ocean almost knows before you do.
You let it guide you.
You reach the edge of the water.
You hear the water.
But at the same time.
It's quiet here.
The waves arrive without force.
They rise.
Meet the shore.
And pull back again.
You stand with your feet in the wet sand.
Watching them come.
Go.
The water washes over your toes.
Not cold.
Not warm.
Just enough.
It stays for a second.
Then slips away.
You breathe in.
The air tastes clean.
Like salt?
And sun.
And the kind of peace that doesn't have to be earned.
You feel your chest rise.
Than four.
Then rise again.
You don't need to control it.
It happens on its own.
The water reaches you again.
You let it.
You don't move.
You feel it take something with it.
But not a memory.
Not a thought.
But something heavier.
Something without a name.
And when it goes.
You stay.
You are still here.
Behind you.
Breeze moves through the palm trees near the edge of the sand.
You don't look back.
There's nothing back there that needs you.
Not now.
The sun is lower.
The light is softer.
The sea still moves.
Bit slowly.
The world for once.
Does not want anything from you.
Then you sit down on the sand.
Not because you're particularly tired.
Maybe you are.
But it feels right to sit.
The place where you settle is still damp from the tide.
It shapes itself beneath you without complaint.
The ocean stays where it is.
Breathing.
Not reaching for you.
Just being near.
You feel its presence the way you feel the presence of someone who doesn't need to speak.
To be understood.
It's good to sit beside something that has seen everything.
And isn't impressed by any of it.
You breathe in… and the air feels full.
You breathe out.
And something shifts inside you.
Not a dramatic shift.
Just enough to feel it.
Like when a locked door inside you clicks.
Opens.
And you realize it had been shut for a long time.
Without you knowing.
You sit still.
And let your shoulders fall.
Your face.
Loses any tension.
And your jaw unclenches.
You hadn't noticed how long you'd been holding things.
The body knows.
Before the mind does.
The light is changing now.
The sky holds the color of cooled stone.
And washed linen.
There are no sudden colours here.
No fire.
No gold.
Just a gentle closing of the day.
The ocean reflects it all,
But doesn't need to.
It has its own light underneath.
The kind you can't see.
Unless you're far out.
And deep down.
And quiet.
You imagine the creatures that live out in the ocean.
Beautiful creatures.
Born into a world of pressure and silence.
And never needing to rise.
You watch the waves.
And maybe you think.
.
.
This has been moving longer than I've been alive.
Longer than buildings.
Longer than cities.
The ocean doesn't care about calendars.
Clocks.
It has never had to prove itself.
It turns and turns.
And nothing is ever lost.
Only changed.
Somewhere out there.
The same waters that touched the oars of old ships.
That filled the lungs of ancient whales.
That once climbed the ankles of someone Who lived before history began.
You are sitting next to something.
That has held the world.
And it doesn't want anything from you.
You breathe again.
Slower this time.
You feel the breath go in.
You feel it go out.
You notice.
Without effort.
How the body softens with each breath.
How the tide mirrors it.
How the whole world seems to be breathing along with you.
Boy.
No one is in charge.
Nothing needs to be managed.
You lie back in the sun.
Your spine settles.
Your arms fall beside you.
The sky is not yet night.
But no longer day.
That quiet.
Perfect in between.
Where things don't have to be named.
You watch a bird move across the sky and vanish.
You do not wonder where it goes.
You do not need to follow.
The sea is not just water.
It is memory.
Not yours.
But the world's.
It remembers everything.
It carries everything.
And it still makes space for more.
It holds the weight without effort.
It doesn't explain itself.
It does not forget.
But it does forgive.
You feel that forgiveness in the air You breathe it in.
And when you breathe out.
Something leaves you.
That you were ready to release.
Maybe it was there for years.
Maybe it came only yesterday.
It doesn't matter.
The sea takes it without asking questions.
It takes it and keeps it.
And does not hand it back.
You close your eyes.
You are still next to the sea.
It is not going anywhere.
It never does.
Then you look up.
One.
I won.
The stars slowly begin to show themselves.
Not all at once.
They come,
Gently.
Cautiously.
But they know they are welcome here.
They always are.
At first.
It's only one.
Small.
Easily missed if you're not looking.
Than another.
Then another.
And then… You don't know how many there are.
You don't count them.
You stay on the sand for the moment.
The sand has cooled.
But it holds your shape.
It doesn't shift much now.
It seems to want you there.
You watch the dark above you unfold without hurry.
There are no edges to it.
It's not a ceiling.
It's something else.
Bigger.
Older.
There's no word for it that isn't too small.
The stars are brighter now.
Not all of them.
Some stay faint.
Others shine harder.
One or two are so bright.
Do you feel you could reach them if your hand were just a little longer?
You breathe in again.
The air is cooler now.
Not cold.
Just enough to remind you that the day is gone.
The ocean hasn't changed,
Sir.
It moves the same way it did when the sun was high.
It doesn't care what time it is.
It has no concept of time.
Only rhythm.
You think that's something to learn from?
Above you.
The stars continue.
They are not in patterns.
Not tonight.
Not to you.
They don't need to form anything.
They're just.
.
.
There.
Like the sun.
Like the sea.
Like the sound of your own heart.
Steady.
And quieter.
And you remember it ever being.
You think of how many people have looked at these same stars.
How many people lay on beaches?
Or roots.
Or hills.
And soul.
Maybe they were the only ones.
Who'd ever really seen them.
And how's it start?
Never told them otherwise.
They just.
.
.
There is a kind of peace in knowing you are not the first.
Not the only.
There is peace in being part of something.
That has held the gaze of centuries.
And not asked for anything in return.
The moon is out now,
Too.
It's not full.
Perfect.
It doesn't need to be.
It hangs low and soft.
Like it's tired.
But please You look at it and it looks back.
You imagine it nodding to you.
Just once.
As if to say.
.
.
Yes.
You're doing fine.
Let go more.
The sound of the waves is closer now.
Or maybe it's just that everything else has gone quiet.
You hear them without listening.
You feel them in your chest.
You think of all the lives the ocean has held.
All the lives it has touched.
That is still here.
Still turning.
Still Steady There are no lights behind you.
No building.
No roads.
There is nothing behind you asking you to be there.
The only light is ahead.
Above.
And all around.
Close your eyes for a moment now.
The stars stay behind them.
They've imprinted there.
They've decided to keep you company.
Whether your eyes are open or not.
You let them.
You let the sea stay close too.
Do you feel it as a presence?
Not watching.
Not speaking.
Just exists next to you.
Like a friend who knows the shape of your silence.
You feel the weight of your own body now.
Not as a burden.
There's something real.
Something you're allowed to feel.
The ground.
All day.
Good night.
Hold it.
You don't have to lift it anymore.
The ocean moves again.
And takes something more from you.
It releases something in you.
Not because you've asked.
But because it can.
You breathe out.
You let it go.
There is no resistance.
Only release.
You rise slowly.
There is no rush.
The night allows for slowness.
The sand presses softly under your hands.
As you push yourself up.
The stars are still above you.
You don't need to look at them anymore to know they're there.
You begin to work.
Not far.
The beach curves slightly.
And the sound of the water moves with you.
Staying close.
You pass a flat piece of driftwood.
A line of seaweed.
Shaped like handwriting.
Near the edge where the sand meets the palm trees.
There is something built from wood and canvas.
You saw it earlier but didn't need it then.
Now it waits.
A kind of shelter.
A small open hut.
Low to the ground.
With beams made from driftwood.
And a roof made from woven palms.
There is a lantern hanging in sight.
Close just enough to show you the opening.
You step inside without hesitation.
The space is dry.
And the floor is covered in smooth mats.
There are folded blankets.
Made of something heavy and worn.
You press one in your hands.
It smells of the sea.
And of clean air.
And of warmth.
No one is here.
And yet the space is ready.
It feels as if it was always waiting for someone.
Not in a lonely way.
But in a calm.
Certain way.
You lie down.
You feel safe here.
The mat shifts slightly under your weight.
And then settles again.
You pull the blanket over you.
It is heavier than you expected.
The kind of weight that reminds your body where it is.
The kind that tells your shoulders they can stop now.
That nothing is needed from them anymore.
The sound of the waves does not stop.
It comes from just outside.
Not love.
Just.
Present.
Like breath.
It goes in.
And.
.
.
And you go with it.
You feel yourself sink deeper into the mat.
Into the ground.
Into something older than either of them.
You feel your own weight.
And do not resist it.
You do not need to.
You close your eyes now.
Knowing how safe you are here.
You let your thoughts go where they want.
Some float by.
Some stop for a while.
Some disappear before they form.
You do not chase them.
You do not cling.
You are not asked to figure anything out.
You are not asked to be useful.
You were not asked for anything at all.
You just.
.
.
Let go.
The sea moves again.
The wind shifts again.
And something in your chest lets go.
Deeper this time.
Something beneath the surface.
Something you never named.
But carried anyway.
You feel it rise.
You feel it pass.
You feel it leave.
Your breath is slow now.
So slow you forget you are doing it.
It happens on its own.
You are no longer holding yourself up.
You are no longer holding yourself together.
The holding is over.
The resting has begun.
You do not need to remember everything.
You do not need to understand everything.
You are allowed to sleep.
Without answers.
You are allowed to close your eyes.
Without finishing anything.
Good night.
Will not ask questions.
And so.
.
.
You lie there.
Warm,
Covered.
And still.
In this small shelter.
On this beautiful beach.
Under this magical sky.
And nothing else is needed.
Not now.
Not tonight.
And you.
Begin.
To sleep.
You walk into the forest at the edge of evening.
The light is steady and low.
There's a golden-ness to it.
The trees stand tall around you.
They do not lean.
They do not move unless the wind moves them.
But there isn't much wind right now.
The leaves are broad and full.
Some fall now and then.
Not many.
Just enough to remind you it is summer.
But summer near its end.
The path is narrow.
But it has been walked before.
You do not know who by.
You don't need to.
It is enough that it exists.
Each footstep.
Makes a quiet sound.
Against the dry dirt.
And soft leaves.
The crickets are speaking somewhere.
But not loudly.
Just enough to let you know.
There,
There.
And there is the river.
You cannot see it yet.
But it is close.
Its sound is steady.
Low.
And kind.
You pass an old stump.
And think nothing of it.
There are no signs here.
No arrows.
The forest does not try to entertain you.
It does not ask you to be better.
You do not need to be anything here.
There are no mirrors.
Nothing reflects.
You are just here.
Walking slowly.
You stop beside a tree.
That looks older than the rest.
Its bark is dark and thick.
The trunk is broad and smooth in places.
It does not matter how old it is.
You rest your hand against it.
It feels real.
It does not move.
You close your eyes for a moment.
And feel the quiet inside your chest.
Match the quiet.
Of the woods.
The same quiet.
The same stillness.
You take a breath.
And let it out.
It is not dramatic.
Some.
Weight leaves your shoulders.
A sword he did not need.
A name.
A worry.
You let it go.
The way trees let go of their leaves.
Quietly.
Without trying.
You keep walking.
The path bends near a clearing.
There's a lock there.
Low and dry.
With a flat top worn smooth by time.
You sit down.
No rush.
The leaves move above you.
Stirred by a breeze that doesn't announce itself.
It's just there.
The sound is soft.
Like someone turning pages in another room.
You look up at the sky through the branches.
Pale blue.
With a little gold where the sun is caught.
It feels good to stop.
You take off your shoes.
The ground is cool and dry.
A few pebbles.
It's a must.
It reminds you of something you didn't know you'd forgotten.
How it feels to not carry everything.
But the forest holds enough.
You don't need to hold so much.
You don't need.
To hold anything really.
You can hear the river still.
Not rushing.
Just flowing.
You think of something that's been weighing on you.
Not in detail.
Just the shape of it.
You don't need to name it,
Dear.
You just let it rise.
And fall in your chest.
Then you let it pass.
It's not a ceremony.
It's not even a moment.
But it matters.
You can feel it.
The forest doesn't clap or cheer.
It just rustles a little.
Like it's breathing with you.
From farther away now.
An owl makes a sound.
Soft and distant.
Just calling.
Just there.
The forest is beginning to fold itself into night.
But not for you.
Not yet.
You feel so safe here.
Like the forest is a friend.
And there's still enough light to walk.
So you stand again.
Barefoot still.
And take the next few steps forward.
You feel lighter.
But not in a way that makes you float.
Just.
.
.
More yourself.
The trees grow closer here.
Not crowding.
Just steady.
You walk between them.
And it feels like being among old friends.
You don't need to speak.
Their roots are deep.
Some of them are joined underground.
You can't see it.
But it's true.
They send signals through the soil.
Through thin threads of life.
When one tree is thirsty.
The others give it water.
When one tree is hurt.
The others know.
You walk through this network.
This quiet bond,
And without needing to ask.
They include you.
No one here is in a hurry.
The trees have seen things come.
And go.
Storms.
Birds nesting and flying on.
They don't try to hold anything that isn't theirs.
They don't resist change.
And they do not expect anything of you.
You could sit beneath them.
And say nothing for a year.
And they would still give you shade.
Still share their silence.
You stop beneath the tree with low branches.
And lean your back against its trunk.
The bark is rough in places.
But the shape is just right.
You fit there.
Like someone meant to rest.
The roots below you hold you up.
The branches above.
Shield you from wind.
You hadn't realized how tired your body felt until now.
You let yourself be supported.
Not by a person.
Not by an idea.
Just by this tall,
Quiet thing.
That's been growing here longer than memory.
And as you sit here.
Something leaves your body.
It's hard to explain.
Only you know what it is.
Attention,
Maybe.
A grief,
A sorrow.
A name you stopped saying out loud.
A thought you've carried for too many nights.
You don't need to do.
The forest doesn't want it.
But it supports you.
And so you let it go.
And the leaves above.
Moving away.
That makes you feel they understand.
A single leaf.
Falls beside you.
Just one.
You watch it settle.
It came from high up.
And took its time.
Just like you are doing now.
Settling.
And taking your time.
You walk on now.
The path doesn't push you.
It just keeps offering itself.
One step at a time.
You hear the river the way you hear your own breath.
Not louder.
Not closer.
Just.
.
.
Always there.
You come to it.
Not certainly.
But naturally.
The way sleep comes when the day is done.
The water moves through rocks.
That have not changed shape in years.
Maybe centuries.
They do not need to.
The river is clear.
And its surface shifts in gentle lines.
You crouch by the edge.
There's a flat stone.
White and warm.
And you sit on it.
No effort.
You were held there.
Just sitting.
Just being.
A single leaf drifts past in the water.
You watch it.
It doesn't grip the current.
Doesn't fight it.
It simply goes.
Maybe you think of the things you've held tightly in your life.
Names.
Bases.
Arguments.
Lands.
Possessions.
List.
Achievements.
All the things the world tells us.
Are worth holding.
And maybe they were.
Red time.
But now.
.
.
I was here.
By the river.
In the forest.
You wonder what would happen if you set them down.
Are in anger.
But in grief.
Just quietly.
Like that leaf.
You pick up a small stick.
And drop it into the water.
It floats a little.
Then begins to move.
Not first.
Not far.
But it moves.
It doesn't look bad.
It doesn't try to stay.
You feel something shift inside you.
Not dramatically.
But,
Truly.
A thought loosens.
A name fades.
Not because it meant nothing.
But because it no longer needs to be carried.
You lean forward and touch the water.
It's cool.
But not coal.
It feels like the inside of a simple truth.
Something we forget.
In the noise of the world.
That life is not the same.
As the things we own.
At who we are.
Has nothing to do with the burdens we measure ourselves by.
You sit there.
Feeling that truth.
Not as a sentence.
But as a feeling in your chest.
Like something inside you knows it already.
You sit there a while.
There's no reason to move.
The stone beneath you is just right.
The river keeps going.
Whether you watch it or not.
And yet.
.
.
As you watch it now.
You feel something else begin to stir.
Not loss.
Must regret.
Something smaller.
And warmer.
A thought you didn't expect.
Maybe there is more waiting for you than you thought.
But in the far off I'd end this some day.
Just in the quiet parts of life.
That you've passed by.
The sound of a kettle in the morning.
The feel of warm fabric pulled from the line.
The way someone says your name.
When they're glad you're there.
You think of these things now.
Not with longing.
But with a kind of calm joy.
They are not gone.
They are still yours.
Still possible.
The river carries fallen leaves,
Tiny twigs,
Fragments of bark.
All of it let go by the forest.
None of it resists.
And none of it is loss.
The river doesn't end here.
It goes on.
Past bends and roots.
And sleeping stones.
And even though you can't see where it leads.
Something in you believes it leads somewhere good.
Maybe that's what hope is.
Not a plan.
Not a promise.
Just a quiet sense that there's more to come.
And some of it.
Might even be beautiful.
You lie back on the rock.
Just for a moment.
The sky above has deepened now.
The kind of blue that makes you feel steady inside.
The trees lean in above you.
Not heavy.
Not towering.
Just present.
You feel like they're watching over you.
Not with eyes.
But with a kind of knowing.
As if they've seen many people come here.
And they always know what to do.
Let them rest.
Let them feel safe.
Let them remember.
What matters?
And in this moment,
You do remember.
Not everything.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
Enough to know that your life is still yours.
That not all is behind you.
Is it even here?
Even now.
Sitting by a river in a forest.
With no one else around.
Something good.
Is waiting for you.
Quietly.
Patiently.
Without asking you to be anything other.
Than what you are.
You sit up slowly.
No hurry.
The sky is deeper now.
Like ink.
With a little light still clinging to the edges.
The crickets are still there.
Steady and low.
The river keeps speaking in its quiet voices.
Nothing has changed.
Maybe you feel changed.
In a way that doesn't need explaining.
You rise.
And follow a smaller path now.
One you didn't see before.
It's barely there.
A soft thread through the undergrowth.
The trees seemed to part for you.
Not dramatically.
Just gently.
As if they knew you'd come this way all along.
You walk a little farther.
And then you see it.
A small wooden staircase.
Nearly hidden in the undergrowth.
At first.
You think it must be part of a fallen structure.
But then.
.
.
Your eyes follow it upward.
And there it is.
A little treehouse.
Tucked into the arms of an old oak.
It's not high.
Just enough to lift it from the forest floor.
The boards are aged,
But sound.
The steps are sturdy beneath your feet.
At the top.
A small door stands open.
Someone has been here before you.
Not recently.
But with care.
Inside.
There's a narrow bed built into the wall.
A war blanket folded at the end.
A window opens toward the river.
And the sound comes in gently.
As if the house was made with that in mind.
On a small shelf.
A lantern glows.
Not bright.
Just enough.
Someone once lit it for themselves.
You get the feeling they left it for whoever needed it next.
You step inside.
And close the door.
The air is warm from the wood.
And the fading sun.
You lie down.
Pull the blanket over your shoulders.
It smells of cedar.
And time.
Everything around you holds steady.
The brunch is outside.
Move slowly in the breeze.
And the crickets sing their night song.
You are high enough to feel safe.
Low enough to feel grounded.
Alone.
But never lonely.
And you rest.
Without questions.
Without lists.
Without needing to understand.
What comes next?
There is a bed.
How rude.
The river.
A forest that has watched over itself.
Are longer than memory.
And now.
It watches over you.
You've let go of the noise.
Of the way.
And here.
In this small house above the earth.
In the forest of letting go.
Ew.
Sleep.
It is raining when you arrive.
A steady rain.
Soft but endless.
It falls against the long road behind you.
Against the trees that line the gravel driveway.
The hotel stands ahead.
To quiet.
Waiting.
The lights are warm behind the old glass windows.
A sign hangs above the door.
The letters are simple.
Carved into dark wood.
Letting go hotel.
No more.
No less.
You walk through the rain.
It touches your shoulders,
Your hands.
It is cool.
Clean.
You do not rush There is no need.
The gravel shifts beneath your feet as you walk toward the door.
You reach for the handle.
It is brass,
Worn smooth.
The door opens before you turn it The air inside is warm.
Filled with the scent of something you cannot name.
Wood smoke,
Perhaps?
Old paper.
Something good.
A man stands behind the desk.
He is older.
But not old.
He looks at you and nods.
Not in greeting.
Not in question.
Just a nod.
As if he already knows why you are here.
He looks at you,
Not in the way people watch strangers.
In the way old friends watch each other across the quiet room.
His eyes are kind.
Be not again.
Slow.
Steady.
There is no rush here.
No questions.
No need to explain why you have come here.
The room is warm.
Not just from the fire crackling in the stone hearth.
But from something else.
Something deeper.
The walls are lined with books.
With paintings of places you do not recognize,
But somehow feel familiar.
A lamp glows softly on the desk.
The light pools across the wood.
Golden and calm.
The man reaches for a book.
Opens it.
The pages are thick.
He runs his finger down a list of names,
Stopping at a space left empty.
You write something there.
Your name.
It looks up.
Smiling now,
Just a little.
Your room is ready,
He says.
His voice is low,
Steady.
The kind of voice that holds no expectations.
No way.
He takes the key from the drawer.
Places it on the counter.
The metal is warm when you pick it up.
The hotel is old.
But there is nothing faded here.
Only time.
Holding things gently,
The way it should.
You take the key.
The man nods again,
The same knowing nod.
Sleep well,
He says.
Stay as long as you like.
You walk towards the stairs.
The wood beneath your feet is old.
But it does not creep.
It holds steady.
Carrying you upwards.
As if the hotel itself knows how tired you are.
Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix.
But the other kind.
The deep kind.
The kind that comes from carrying something too heavy or too long.
The whole way is long.
Lined with doors.
Each one has a brass number.
Polished and gleaming in the lamplight.
Eridor is at the end.
It just so happens it's your lucky number.
You press the key into the lock.
Turn it.
The door swings open.
The room is waiting for you.
The fire is already lit.
The bed is made.
The blankets thick and inviting.
A window sets open just an inch.
Letting in the soft hush of the rain.
But it is not just a room.
You know it the moment you step inside.
This is something else.
Something deeply safe.
And something a little bit magic.
There is a desk against the far wall.
On it,
A single sheet of paper,
A pen,
A chair,
Nothing else.
You walk toward it.
You sit.
The paper is blank.
But you know what it is for.
This is where you write it down.
The thing you have carried.
The thing or things.
You are ready to leave behind.
You pick up the pen.
It is heavier than it looks.
Or maybe that is only the weight of what you are about to put on the page.
You take a breath.
You begin to rise.
The ink flows easily.
As if the words have been waiting.
You do not stop to think.
You do not question.
The words come.
And you let them.
You write down the thing you have felt inside you.
The thing that has shaped you.
The thing that has stayed with you.
Long after it should have gone.
When you are finished.
The room is quiet.
The fire has burned lower.
The rain is steady.
The air is lighter somehow.
You set the pen down.
The paper is full.
You read the words once.
Just once.
Then you fold the page,
Careful,
Precise.
There is a small wooden box beside the desk.
You do not remember seeing it before.
But it is there now.
Waiting.
You open it.
Inside.
There are other pages.
Dozens of them.
Hundreds maybe.
All folded.
All placed carefully.
All left behind by those who came before you.
You add yours to the rest.
You close the box.
The moment the lid settles into place,
The air in the room changes.
The fire flickers.
Not in the way flames do in a draft.
But in a way that feels alive.
The walls seemed to hum.
Slow and steady.
Not with sound.
But with something deeper.
Something fell.
Rather than hurt.
The paper inside the box begins to glow.
It is soft at first.
The shimmer of golden light.
Filtering through the wood.
But then it grows.
Spreading outward like ripples in water.
The light moves up the walls.
Across the ceiling.
Down to the floor.
It does not burn.
It does not blind.
It only fills the space.
Warm and endless.
Wrapping around you.
Like a gentle hand on your shoulder.
The walls dissolve.
The room disappears.
You are no longer in the hotel.
No longer sitting at the desk.
No longer watching the fire burn low.
You are somewhere else.
You are standing in a field of tall grass.
Wind moving through it like a tide.
Above you.
The sky is vast.
Filled with stars you do not recognize.
Stars that seem closer than they should be.
The air is cool.
Fresh.
Untouched by time.
You turn.
The wooden box is there.
Resting in the grass.
Its edges glowing with the last traces of golden light.
You watch.
As it begins to fade.
The glow softening.
Until it is gone.
And Zen.
The box itself is gone too.
The thing you wrote.
The thing you carry.
It has gone with it.
You press a hand to your chest.
You feel lighter.
You feel whole.
In a way you cannot explain.
It is not that you have forgotten.
It is that it no longer weighs you down.
The wind moves through the grass.
Do you understand now?
This place is not real.
Not in the way the hotel is real.
But that does not matter.
You have been here.
And that is enough.
The stars above shift.
Slow and steady.
The field begins to fade.
And then… You are back in the room.
The fire is still burning.
Low and steady.
The rain is still falling outside the window.
The wooden box is gone.
You exhale.
Your hands are empty.
And for the first time.
In a long,
Long while.
You are.
You rise from the desk.
Your hands for your life.
Your body unburdened.
The world is steady.
But something inside you is shifting.
Opening.
Like a door that has been closed for too long.
You are not ready for sleep just yet.
You leave the room.
The hallway is quiet.
Lit by soft golden lamps.
The air smells of old wood.
Of something faintly sweet.
Citrus perhaps?
Or warm vanilla.
The hotel is not just a place to stay.
You understand that now.
It is something more.
Your feet move without thought.
Leading you deeper into the heart of the hotel.
The corridors whine.
The walls lined with books and paintings.
But then.
.
.
Ahead of you.
The space opens.
You stop.
In the center of the hotel.
Stretching up through the floors.
Is a tree.
A great,
Towering tree.
Its branches reaching high into the rafters.
The trunk is wide,
Smooth,
Silvered with age.
And yet full of life.
Lanterns hang from the branches.
Swing gently.
As if stirred by an unseen breeze.
The leaves are deep green.
Shimmering as they catch the low light.
At the base of the tree.
But there is a door.
You step closer.
The wood is warm beneath your fingertips.
Humming with something quiet and ancient.
You press lightly.
And the door opens without resistance.
Inside.
The air is cool and welcoming.
Scented with something rich.
Sandalwood,
Perhaps?
Or lavender.
The spiral staircase winds upward.
Carved into the heart of the tree.
The steps are smooth beneath your feet.
Worn by time.
By others who have walked this path before you.
You climb.
Slowly.
Steadily.
As the light from the lanterns.
Filters through the wood.
Casting soft golden patterns around you.
The higher you go.
The more the air seems to hold something familiar.
Something comforting.
You do not feel lost You feel found.
At the top.
The space opens into a quiet room.
The walls are curved with the shape of the tree.
Wood polished and glowing with an inner light.
A great window.
Looks out over the rain-soaked mountains beyond.
And there waiting for you.
Is it kind?
Warm.
Welcoming Lady.
She is neither old nor young.
Her presence is steady and timeless.
And she sits in a chair.
Waiting.
And when she sees you.
She smiles.
A smile that says,
I understand.
You do not need to explain.
You do not know if she is the owner of this place.
You do not know if she has always been here.
But none of that matters.
She gestures to a chair beside her.
Inviting you to sit.
And as you do.
Something shifts again inside you.
Something deep.
Something wordless.
She does not ask you to speak.
But if you wish to.
She will listen.
Truly listen.
Listen with depth.
As if every word you say is important.
Because it is.
As if every thought you have carried is worthy of being heard.
Because it is.
And while you do.
Or while you sit in silence.
If that is what you need.
Hands gently press against your shoulders.
Massaging you.
If you want that.
These hands are warm and knowing.
The woman is caring for you.
Healing you.
Enabling peace.
To be found within you.
A warm cloth is placed over your eyes.
If that is what you want.
And the woman's strong,
Steady hands.
Begin to knead the tension from your back.
From your arms.
From the places you did not know,
You were holding anything at all.
The scent of something familiar.
Orange blossom,
Perhaps?
Or come a mile.
Fills the air.
Your breath slows.
The weight you have carried does not belong to you anymore.
The rain falls beyond the window.
Steady.
Endless.
The tree around you hums with life.
The hands move gently across your skin.
Releasing the last traces.
Of what was once yours to hold.
You do not need to hold it anymore You close your eyes.
And you let it all go.
The hands leave your shoulders.
Light as air.
The warmth lingers.
But the weight is gone.
You breathe in.
And the air is clean.
You breathe out.
And you are lighter than before.
The person beside you.
You're listening.
Your guide.
Does not speak.
But she stands.
You understand.
It is time to go back.
She leads you down the spiral stairs,
Step by step.
Through the heart of the great tree.
The lanterns sway gently as you pass.
Their glow soft against the polished wood.
When you step through the door at the base of the tree.
The hotel welcomes you back.
The firelight flickers in the distance.
The halls stretch quiet and long.
The walls still hum with the life of this place.
The guide does not leave you.
She walks beside you.
Steady.
Unrushed.
As if time does not quite exist here.
As if it never really did.
You get back to your room.
The fire is still burning.
The blankets are smooth.
Waiting.
The window is open just enough.
To let in the hush of the rain.
Everything is as it was.
Yet nothing is as it was.
The guide steps inside with you.
She says nothing.
Only nods and smiles.
The way she did before.
A quiet confirmation.
A final reassurance.
She leaves you then.
And you step forward into the room.
You sit on the edge of the bed.
Run your hand over the blanket.
The fabric is soft beneath your fingers.
Smooth and cool.
The bed is warm when you lie down.
Climb under the covers.
It welcomes you without hesitation.
You breathe in.
You breathe out.
The fire flickers.
The rain whispers.
The world is safe.
And then.
.
.
As your breath slows.
As your body grows heavy with sleep.
You hear them.
Steady.
Spoken in a voice that feels as old as the walls.
As endless as the sea.
The voice is neither near nor far.
It simply is.
And it speaks.
I release what no longer serves me.
I am no longer bound to the past.
I carry only what is light.
My heart is free to rest.
I do not chase what is not mine.
I breathe in peace.
I breathe out all that is heavy.
What has been is done.
I am here now.
I forgive myself.
For what I did not know then.
I trust the quiet.
It has always known the way.
There is nothing I must fix tonight.
I welcome the space that letting go creates.
I am not held by memories.
I am held by the present.
I choose ease.
I choose rest.
The past is a story.
I may close the book.
I am allowed to move forward.
I give myself permission to be unburdened.
I do not need all the answers.
My worth is not measured by what I hold on to.
I surrender to the softness of now.
I am more than what I have lost.
I leave space for new light to enter.
I trust the turning of time.
I am not what has happened to me.
I am not what I have let go.
I am safe without my old burdens.
I do not have to hold everything.
I am light.
And I am whole.
The night holds me.
The world holds me.
I rest in the knowing that I am enough.
I let go.
And I am free.
The words drift over you.
Through you.
They are not instructions.
They are not demands.
They are only there.
Steady and certain.
Holding space for you to rest.
The fire flickers low.
The rain hums at the window.
The warmth of the blankets.
Is steady and shifting.
Your breath slows.
Your body sinks into stillness.
And zen.
At last.
Sleep.
In a place far away from here.
Far,
Far away,
In fact.
There is a library.
The Hidden Library.
Right at the edge of the world.
A place where forgotten dreams are stored.
No road leads to it.
No map marks its location.
It stands alone,
Beyond the last known places.
Beyond even the wandering paths of travelers who have lost their way.
The library has always been there,
Though few have ever seen it.
Those who find it do not come looking for it.
They arrive in a quiet moment.
That's it.
Stepping between one thought and the next.
Drawn by something they could never name.
The building itself is unassuming.
An old stone structure with a dark slate roof.
Perched upon a stretch of land.
That seems to hold the very last breath of the world.
The sea is nearby.
Though not visible.
Only heard.
The soft,
Rhythmic hush of waves.
That seem neither near nor far.
The sky above is vast.
Heavy with raining clouds.
Moving slowly,
As though they too are reading,
Drifting between stories that were once known.
A single lantern burns by the door.
Though no hand ever lights it.
The glow is steady.
Golden.
Welcoming in a way that requires no invitation.
The door is wooden.
Tall and wide.
Weathered by time but strong.
There is no handle.
No luck.
Only the quiet certainty.
That those who need to enter will find their way inside.
As the rain moves gently across the land.
Traveler arrives at the threshold.
They pause for a moment.
Looking up at the quiet,
Towering shelves glimpsed through the high windows.
The light inside is soft.
And though they do not yet understand why,
They know that they belong here.
The traveler steps forward.
And as they do.
The door to the library opens without a sound.
The scent of old paper.
And warm oak drifts towards them.
Mingling with the faint trace of salt from the unseen sea.
The rain outside is steady.
A gentle presence in the background Stepping inside.
The traveler finds themselves in a great hall lined with towering shelves that seem to stretch far beyond what the eye can see.
Books of every size and color fill the spaces.
Their spines worn smooth by time.
A grand fireplace stands at the center of the room.
Its flames flickering in quiet conversation with the shadows.
The warmth of it reaches out like an old friend.
Wrapping the traveller.
In a comfort that feels both new and familiar.
A single desk sits by the fire.
And behind it.
An old woman is writing in a leather-bound book.
She does not look up right away.
As if she already knows who has come.
After a moment.
She sets the pen down and lifts her gaze.
You've come at last,
" she says.
Not as a question.
But as a simple truth.
Her voice is low and kind.
Carrying the weight of someone who has known many stories.
She gestures to a chair by the fire.
An invitation without expectation.
There is no rush here.
The traveler hesitates.
But only for a moment.
Then they move toward the chair.
Sinking into its deep cushions.
As the warmth of the fire seeps into them.
The woman watches the traveller for a moment.
Then not.
As if something unspoken has been confirmed.
You are here to remember.
She says softly.
Or perhaps.
.
.
To forget.
The traveler then reaches up and pulls back the hood of their cloak.
A woman's face is revealed,
Lined with time,
But softened by wisdom.
Her hair,
Once dark.
Is streaked with silver.
Falling in loose waves over her shoulders.
There is something steady about her.
Something quiet,
But enduring.
She has walked many roads.
Known both joy and sorrow.
But tonight.
.
.
She is simply here.
Here in this place.
Where time does not press upon her.
Where she does not have to be anything but what she is.
She unfastens the clasp at her throat.
And lets the heavy cloak slide from her shoulders.
Draping it over the back of the chair.
The warmth of the fire reaches her now.
Not just on her skin.
But deeper.
Sinking into the tired places.
That have long been waiting for rest.
The air smells of old books and wood smoke.
Of something indefinable.
But familiar.
It reminds her of something.
A place.
A moment.
A feeling.
But the memory slips away.
Before she can grasp it.
The woman at the desk watches her without urgency.
She has seen many come through this door.
Though not often.
Each one arrives with something unseen resting on their shoulders.
Something they may not even name.
But you.
And the glow of firelight.
In the hush of pages waiting to be turned.
All burdens grow lighter.
The old woman looks at her hands for a moment.
As if searching for something there.
She has lived a long life.
Long enough to have forgotten things she once thought she would always remember.
And perhaps.
.
.
That is why she is here.
Not to search for what was lost.
But to make peace.
With what no longer needs to be held.
You have time.
The librarian says gently.
There is no need to decide anything now.
She gestures to the room.
The endless shelves stretching into shadowed corners.
Take as long as you need.
She does not answer.
She only sits there.
Feeling the warmth of the fire.
Listening to the rain on the glass.
The room is quiet.
The world outside does not exist.
She stands.
Cloak shifts on the chair behind her.
She looks at the shelves.
Books stretch up and up.
Disappearing into shadow.
She does not know where to start.
She walks to the nearest shelf.
The wood is dark and smooth.
The books are old.
Summer is sick.
Others sin.
Some have titles on the spines.
Others do not.
The dust has settled in the spaces between them.
Not too much.
Just enough.
She reaches for a book.
The leather is soft.
Warned.
It fits in her hand as if it belongs there.
She opens it.
She reads the first line.
Than the second.
Her breath catches.
The words.
Are hers.
She does not remember writing them.
But she knows they are hers.
Behind her,
The librarian waits.
She does not speak.
She does not need to.
The fire crackles.
The rain falls.
The world holds still.
She turns another page.
The paper is thick.
The ink pressed deep into the fibers.
The words are steady.
Careful.
They belong to her.
But they are distant.
As if someone else wrote them long ago.
In another life.
She reads.
A dream she once had.
A place she once wanted to go.
A name she once whispered to herself in the dark.
She does not know why she lets them go.
She does not remember deciding to forget.
But here they are.
Waiting.
She presses her palm flat against the open page.
As if to steady herself.
The fire crackles behind her.
The rain taps against the window.
Soft and steady.
The world does not press on her here.
There is no rush.
She looks up librarian is watching her.
But not with expectation.
There is kindness in her face.
A patience that asks for nothing.
She exhales.
Slow and quiet.
The book is heavy in her hands.
Heavier than it should be.
She could close it.
She could put it back on the shelf.
She could let it be forgotten again.
Or she could keep reading.
She turns another page.
The words are careful.
Deliberate.
She remembers the shape of them.
The way she used to think.
The way she used to hope.
Some lines are written in her old precise hand.
Others are rushed.
The ink darker.
Pressed harder into the page.
She must have written those late at night.
When thoughts would not settle.
She traces a sentence with her fingertips.
A promise she once made to herself.
A promise she did not keep.
The rain is steady against the window.
The fire shifts.
Sending light across the floor.
The warmth is steady.
Unmoving.
She remembers now.
The way she let these dreams slip away.
Not all at once.
But little by little.
The way water wears down stone.
She had told herself she was being practical.
That some things were not meant to last.
That one thing.
Was not the same as having.
But here they are.
Not lost.
Not a raise.
Only waiting.
She turns another page.
The ink is lighter here.
Faded in places.
Some sentences trail off before they finish.
Others are underlined.
As if she had once wanted to remember them forever.
You reach them.
She lets them sit with her.
There is no pain in them.
Not anymore.
There is only recognition.
She had been here before.
In her own mind.
In her own dreams.
She had wanted things once.
She had believed in things.
And then.
.
.
At some point.
She had let them slip away.
As she exhales,
Slow and steady.
She does not feel regret.
Not exactly.
What is gone is gone.
What is past cannot be pulled back.
But something in her shifts.
Just slightly.
Like a door opening an inch.
To let in fresh air.
She looks up.
The librarian is still there.
Still waiting.
But not watching too closely.
She is letting the old woman decide.
She closes the book.
This time without hesitation.
The weight of it is real.
But it does not feel heavy.
Places it on the small table beside her chair.
Not forgotten.
Not a raise.
Just resting.
She leans back.
The fire is warm.
The rain is steady.
She breathes in.
Breathe out.
And for the first time in a long while,
She feels light.
She lets her eyes close for a moment.
The fire crackles.
Low and steady.
Its warmth wrapping around her like an old friend.
The rain hums against the windows.
Never demanding her attention.
Only reminding her.
That the world outside exists.
But here,
In this room.
She does not have to be anywhere.
She does not have to carry anything.
She exhales.
She had not realized how much she had been holding inside her.
Her hands rest lightly on the arms of the chair.
They are not clenched.
Her shoulders are not drawn up.
She had spent years.
Bracing herself for something.
She no longer knows.
She had carried old hurts.
Old worries.
Old names that no longer needed to belong to her.
She had walked through life.
With the weight of things that had long since faded.
But here.
In this quiet place.
She sees it clearly.
She sees.
That she does not have to hold them anymore.
The last things do not need to be carried.
But.
.
.
Does not need to be clung to.
She opens her eyes.
The firelight moves softly over the stone walls.
Over the bookshelves stretching high above her.
It is peaceful here.
More than peaceful.
It is safe.
Not the kind of safety that keeps things locked away.
But the kind that opens up a door and says,
You are free to leave.
Or free to stay.
She stays.
She stays and she lets go.
The librarian watches her for a moment.
Then steps toward a nearby shelf.
She runs her fingers along the spines of books choosing one with care.
It is smaller than the others.
Bound in deep blue cloth.
The gold lettering on its cover,
Worn but still clear.
She carries it back to the old woman.
And places it gently in her hands.
This is for you,
" the librarian says.
Inside.
There are many mantras.
Words to remind you of what you already know.
Read them if you like.
Or hold them close.
They are yours now.
The old woman opens the book.
The pages are thick.
The ink die.
There is no introduction.
No explanation.
Just the words.
One after another.
Simple and clear.
She begins to read.
I release what no longer serves me.
I am no longer bound to the past.
I carry only what is light.
My heart is free to rest.
I do not chase what is not mine.
I breathe in peace.
I breathe out all that is heavy.
What has been is done.
I am here now.
I forgive myself.
For what I did not know then.
I trust the quiet.
It has always known the way.
There is nothing I must fix tonight.
I welcome the space that letting go creates.
I am not held by memories.
I am held by the present.
I choose ease.
I choose rest.
The past is a story.
I may close the book.
I am allowed to move forward.
I give myself permission to be unburdened.
I do not need all the answers.
My worth is not measured by what I hold on to.
I surrender to the softness of now.
I am more than what I have lost.
I leave space for new light to enter.
I trust the turning of time.
I am not what has happened to me.
I am not what I have let go.
I am safe without my old burdens.
I do not have to hold everything.
I am light.
And I am whole.
The night holds me.
The world holds me.
I rest in the knowing that I am enough.
I let go.
And I am free.
She reads each line slowly.
As if tasting the words.
The pages feel warm in her hands She does not rush.
When she reaches the last mantra.
She does not close the book.
She simply holds it.
Feeling the truth of it.
Settle into her bones.
The librarian does not speak.
She does not need to.
The old woman exhales.
The rain continues.
Steady and soft.
She has let go.
She has made space.
And now at last.
She is ready to sleep.
The librarian gestures.
Towards the far end of the library.
Come,
" she says.
There is a place for you.
The old woman rises.
Her cloak still draped over the chair.
Forgotten.
She does not need it now.
He follows the librarian through the great hall.
Past shelves that whisper the presence of stories unread.
Memories untold.
The rain taps softly against the windows.
A lullaby she has known all her life.
But never listened to until now.
They walk through a narrow archway.
Into a quieter space.
If such a thing is possible.
The air is thick with stillness.
But not the kind that feels empty.
This is a stillness that holds.
That cradles.
A single bed waits near the corner of the room.
A soft wool blanket folded at its foot.
A window sits above it.
The glass dabbled with rain.
The sky beyond stretching out into quiet infinity.
The librarian turns to her.
You may rest here as long as you like.
The old woman steps forward.
Feeling the warmth of the space settle around her.
She sits on the edge of the bed.
Running her fingers over the linen sheets.
They are cool.
Clean.
Untouched by time.
She exhales.
Her body is tired.
But for the first time.
In a very,
Very long time.
It is a good kind of tired.
The kind that comes at the end of something.
Not the middle.
She lies down.
And the bed welcomes her without hesitation.
The library is vast.
Filled with more stories than she could ever read.
But for now she does not need them.
He closes her eyes.
Rain falls.
Steady and kind.
The world is still.
She.
.
.
Sleeps.
The woman walked through the gate.
It was an iron gate.
Rusted at the hinges.
Left open just enough for her to slip through without touching it.
The latch had long since broken.
It was better that way.
Some things were not meant to be loved.
The garden was wide.
And beautiful.
There were birds,
Just about audible.
The sound of a distant river.
The light breeze.
Catching the leaves as it passed.
The walls around it were stone.
Low in some places.
Covered in ivy and others.
The path was uneven.
Made of old bricks that had sunk into the earth over time.
The grass grew tall,
Where no one had to cut it.
Wildflowers had taken what space was left.
She walked slowly.
Step by step,
Measured.
Not because she was tired.
But because there was no need to hurry.
The air smelled of warm earth and fallen leaves.
The cat followed behind her.
It was a small cat.
Black with a white patch on its chest.
It walked with the surety of something that had never doubted itself.
When she stopped.
It's done.
When she moves.
It moves.
It had followed her for years.
She did not know why she had come to-day.
She had not planned it.
Had not set out with a purpose.
She had only woke.
And the road had led her here.
She had not seen the garden in years.
Though she had thought of it often.
She moved towards the bench beneath the old apple tree.
The tree was gnarled.
Its branches bent with age.
The apples were small and green.
Not yet ripe.
Some had fallen,
Resting in the grass.
Untouched.
She said.
The cat jumped onto the bench beside her.
And curled its tail around its paws.
It did not look at her.
It watched the garden.
Garden was as it had always been.
She let out a breath.
She had carried many things in her life.
Some she had set down.
Some she had not.
She looked at the garden.
At the weeds growing between the bricks.
At the soft petals of the late summer roses.
The way the ivy climbed the stone without hesitation.
She thought.
Maybe.
She had held on too long.
The past did not live here.
Only what remains.
She placed her hands in her lap.
And watched the leaves move in the light breeze.
There was time.
There had always been time.
She reached down and plucked a fallen apple from the grass.
It was small,
Firm beneath her fingers.
It had not rotted.
It had not broken.
It had simply let go.
The cat flicked its tail.
She turned the apple over in her hand.
She thought of all the things she had carried.
Regrets.
Small and sharp-edged.
Losses.
Heavy and unwieldy.
She thought of the faces she had held in her mind.
Long after they had gone.
She had been afraid that if she let go.
.
.
She would lose something of herself.
At the path.
Once released.
Would take some part of her with it.
But the Apu was still whole.
She sat it down beside her on the bench.
She did not need to hold everything.
She did not need to remember it all.
The garden was quiet.
The cat closed its eyes.
She sat back.
Her shoulders settling.
She let the past stay where it was.
Not a rate.
Not forgotten.
Just no longer something she needed to carry.
The wind shifted.
Just slightly.
Rustling the leaves overhead.
She stayed like that for a long time.
A leaf drifted down from the apple tree.
It turned once.
Wise.
Before settling on the grass.
It had not fought the wind.
It had not clung to the branch.
It had let go.
When it was time.
The old woman watched it fall.
She thought of a name she had not spoken in years.
A name she had carried.
Tucked away in the quiet corners of her mind.
Held close like something fragile.
The leaf rested in the grass.
And she let the name rest with it.
Another leaf fell.
This one caught the light as it turned.
A brief flash of gold before it joined the first.
She's sort of a regret.
Small.
But something she had turned over in her hands too many times.
As if the ways of it might change the past.
It had not.
As never would.
She let it fall with the leaf.
The wind stirred the branches.
More leaves loosen.
Floating gently towards the earth.
She watched them go.
One by one.
And with each.
She let go of something she had held too tightly.
A word left unsaid.
A love not returned.
A fear that it outlived its purpose.
The leaves gathered in the grass.
And she felt lighter.
The cat stretched beside her.
Your name.
Unbothered.
It had never carried such things.
She looked at the branches above.
Still full.
Still reaching.
The tree did not mourn what it had lost.
It knew there would be more leaves.
More seasons.
More beginnings.
The old woman let out a slow breath.
She had spent so long holding on.
But now.
.
.
She knew.
It was time to let go.
She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a small book.
The cover was worn,
The edges of the pages soft from use.
She had carried it with her for years.
She placed it on her lap.
And took out the pencil tucked inside.
She did not rush.
She turned past old pages.
Words written long ago.
Things that at once seemed important.
She found a blank space.
And set the pencil to the page.
I have carried too much.
The pencil moved,
Slow and steady.
Some things I have held.
Because I did not know how to put them down.
Because I thought they were part of me.
But they are not.
I see that now.
She paused.
Listening to the wind.
To the birds in the distance.
To the river.
She wrote again.
Past does not need to be carried.
It does not need to be turned over and over like a stone in the hand.
It has already happened.
That is enough.
The cat flicked its tail.
She looked down at the words.
They were not beautiful.
They were not profound.
But they were true.
She closed the journal and set it beside her on the bench.
The pages would hold.
What she no longer needed to.
She rose from the bench.
The cat stretched,
Then followed.
Walking behind her.
As she moved along the path.
The stones were uneven.
Worn by time and weather.
The garden had no order to it.
Things grew where they wished,
Where the wind had carried their seeds.
Where the rain had soaked the earth just long enough for roots to take hold.
She walked past the low wall.
Where ivy climbed thick and wild.
Past roses.
That it shed their petals in careless abundance.
She ran her fingers along the stone.
Rough and cool beneath her touch.
At the edge of the garden she stops.
A tree stood there.
Split down the middle.
Its trunk cracked and hollowed by time.
It must have been struck once,
Long ago,
By lightning or by wind that had been too strong for it to withstand.
It should have fallen.
But it had not.
One half of the trunk was charred,
Jagged.
Open to the sky.
The other half stood tall.
Branches reaching,
Leaves still turning toward the sun.
She touched the bar.
Tracing the line where the wound had been made.
The tree had lost something.
It had broken.
Perhaps beyond what seemed possible to heal.
Here it was.
Still standing.
Still alive.
She let her hand drop to her side.
Not everything that breaks must end.
She turned.
Walked back towards the fountain.
The cat follows.
Stepping lightly over the fallen leaves.
She had let go of many things today.
And she had kept something,
Too.
She walked back through the garden.
The air was cooler now.
The light softer.
Folding into itself.
As the evening settled in.
The leaves stirred gently overhead.
The river kept its slow,
Steady rhythm.
The cat followed close behind.
Side.
Watchful.
She had not planned to stay,
But there was nowhere else she needed to be.
She found a place.
Near the low stone wall.
Where the grass grew thick and the ivy curled lazily along the edges.
A broad oak tree stretched its branches wide above her.
Its roots twisting deep into the earth.
She sat down.
Pressing her hand to the ground.
It was firm.
Unshaken by time or worry.
The cat circled once.
Then curled against her side.
Tucking its paws beneath itself.
It let out a slow breath.
The sound of quiet contentment.
Of knowing it was safe.
She leaned back.
Resting against the curve of the tree.
The garden moved around her.
In its own quiet way.
The rustling of leaves.
The distant river.
She closed her eyes.
She did not need to hold on to anything anymore.
Not the past.
Not the future.
She let herself rest.
Sighed against her.
The wind passed gently through the trees.
The garden remained.
And so did she.
And she slept.
There is a lake you've heard about.
Not from a book.
Or a map.
But from someone who once went there.
Long ago.
They didn't say much.
Just that it was quiet.
That the wind never stops.
And that they felt something there.
Something they didn't need to carry.
Anymore.
You've thought of it now and then.
And today.
Without quite knowing why.
You find yourself walking the path that leads to it.
It's not a dramatic path.
Just a narrow trail through low grass.
Edged by flat stones.
And the scent of wild mint.
That grows along the edge.
The sky is pale.
The air is moving.
And in the distance.
You begin to hear the lake.
Not waves,
Exactly.
Not like the sea.
But the steady push of water against the shore.
A slow,
Regular sound.
Like something breathing.
You come to the edge of the trees.
They aren't tall.
Just a scattering of wind-shaped trunks.
Bending slightly.
As if listening.
And There it is.
The lake.
It spreads out in front of you quietly.
Endlessly.
Its surface rippling in long,
Slow ribbons.
Silver grey water.
Moving always.
Never in a hurry.
There's no one else here.
Not now.
But you can tell that others have come before.
There are smooth stones near the water line.
Set down in careful arrangements.
Circles.
Dax.
A path leading partway in.
And beside them.
A wooden bench.
All.
Worn smooth from time and sitting.
You walk to it without thinking.
Sit down.
Listen.
The wind moves past your ears.
And it feels so right here.
There is a kind of hush.
Not silence.
But peace.
You close your eyes.
Not because you're tired.
Though maybe you are.
But because it feels the right thing to do.
Just sit here.
With the lake in front of you.
And the wind at your side.
And no one needing anything from you.
You breathe in.
And you notice that the air here smells different.
You breathe out.
The air is clean.
Not sharp.
Not sweet.
Just clear.
Like something that hasn't been touched.
In a long time.
You breathe in.
You breathed out.
And let go.
And it's like something small loosens in your chest.
Nothing dramatic.
Just a quiet softening.
You keep sitting.
Letting your breath rise and fall with the wind.
And the shape of the lake.
And the hush of everything around you.
After a while.
You forget what time it is.
You forget why you came.
You even forget the shape of the day before this one.
His awe becomes smaller.
And what's left?
Is just this.
This place.
This feeling.
This gentle quiet.
That asks nothing from you.
Accept that you be here.
There's no ceremony.
No certain moment.
It just.
.
.
Begins.
Something in you starts to shift.
Not in your mind exactly but somewhere deeper.
A part of you that's been holding on for a long time.
Starts to loosen its grip.
Maybe you don't even know what it is yet.
You don't need to.
You just noticed.
That with each breath,
Something feels lighter.
And the wind seems to carry things away.
Though you never see them go.
A thought you've had too many times.
A name that used to stink.
Quiet now.
A worry that sat like a stone in your chest.
You don't feel it anymore.
You didn't try to let go.
You just do.
Because here.
.
.
By the letting go lake.
You don't have to carry everything.
The lake is wide enough.
To win.
Is strong enough.
And you.
You are ready.
Even if you didn't know it until now.
You stay right where you are.
There's no rush.
Nothing calling you back.
The world somehow.
Feels very far away.
As though it belongs to someone else for now.
You place your hands gently in your lap.
They feel warm.
Alive.
But no longer clenched.
A few more things rise quietly to the surface.
I regret.
A memory.
A hope you've outgrown.
You don't speak them aloud.
You don't need to.
The lake knows.
The wind knows.
And that's enough.
You imagine each one drifting from you.
Like a leaf that's ready to fall.
No drama.
No resistance.
Just the natural end of holding on.
Some land in the water.
Some float away on the breeze.
Some simply dissolve.
Like mist in morning light.
You feel lighter again.
Not empty.
Never empty.
Clearer.
More yourself.
Eventually.
You stun.
Your legs feel steady.
As though the ground itself is glad you're here.
There's a path you hadn't noticed before.
It curves gently along the edge of the lake.
Lined with low grass and scattered feathers.
That must have drifted from passing birds.
You follow it.
Slowly.
With no need to look back.
After a while.
You come to a small shelter.
Not a house exactly.
But something between a cabin and a porch.
Open on one side.
So you can still see the lake.
Still feel the breeze.
Inside.
Hello,
Beth.
Made up with thick blankets.
Hold it carefully.
As if someone had been waiting for you.
A lantern sits on a wooden shaft.
Its glow is soft.
Golden.
Enough to see.
But not too much.
You step inside.
And the air holds a little warmth.
Like someone lit a fire earlier.
And the memory of it still lingers.
This place.
It's yours for the night.
No one else will come.
And nothing will disturb you.
Outside.
The sky is changing.
What little light remains is blue and silver.
And the surface of the lake has grown calmer.
You pull the blankets around your shoulders.
It's heavier than you expected.
And that feels good.
Comforting.
Rounding.
You lie down slowly.
Facing the lake.
The sounds are gentle.
To win.
Water.
You feel warm.
Safe.
Held by something larger than you.
Something kind.
And as the stars appear one by one above the lake.
You close your eyes.
There is nothing left to do.
Nothing left to carry.
You are where you need to be.
And now You can rest.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft.
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
In rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft,
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
As sleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
And to sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
I get gentle tides.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft.
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
And to sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft,
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep.
With open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
In rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
I get gentle tides You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft.
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft,
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deep breath.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide You are drifting.
Into deep nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft,
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quest.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
In rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deep.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
And to sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Uh.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft,
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
R.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft.
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
As sleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft.
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
R.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
In rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft.
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft,
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft.
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
This clip.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft.
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
In red.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft.
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
I get gentle tides.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft,
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep.
With open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft,
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Oh.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
In rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deep.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You.
Are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Daddy.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deeper.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You are.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
In rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Daddy.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating.
Deep.
And deeper.
Into sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
Yeah.
R.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
In rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating deeper.
And deeper.
And to sleep you can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Uh.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft.
Like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep with open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
Yeah.
R.
Asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the Earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating deeper.
And deeper.
And to sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Um.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep.
With open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
The night holds you.
You can let your body sink.
Into comfort and ease.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quiet.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest peace.
You have ever known.
Sleep is a gift.
And you are accepting it fully.
You are safe.
You are at peace.
You are asleep.
Your body softening.
Your mind is quieting.
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
You can let go of any thoughts that do not serve you.
You are wrapped in warmth.
And safety.
And rest.
The world is taking care of itself.
You can let go.
You are supported.
Just as the earth supports you.
Your breath is slow.
Peaceful.
Every part of you.
Is unwinding into rest.
You are allowed to rest.
Without guilt or worry.
You are floating deeper.
And deeper.
And to sleep.
You can trust.
That everything is unfolding as it should.
You are weightless.
Uh.
.
.
You can surrender.
To the quiet rhythm of the night.
Sleep is washing over you.
Like a gentle tide.
.
.
You are drifting.
Into deep.
Nourishing rest.
Your thoughts are soft like clouds passing by.
You are welcoming sleep.
With open arms.
You are loved.
You are cared for.
You are enough.
Nothing is urgent.
Good night.
Let's see.
You can let your body sing.
Okay.
Your breath is guiding you into sleep.
Everything you need.
Is already within you.
The world is quiet.
And you are part of that quietness.
You are arriving.
Into the deepest.
.
.
You.
