Welcome here.
I'm really sorry this happened to you.
And I'm not here to take anything away from you.
There is nothing here that you need to let go of.
Because this isn't about moving on.
It's simply an invitation into deep and loving rest which is offered from my heart to yours.
I hope that it gently soothes the innermost parts of you during this time of grief and crisis.
Whatever form your loss has taken.
And whoever or whatever it is that you carry in your heart.
You are welcome here,
Exactly as you are.
To rest beside me for 20 minutes or so while your nervous system catches its breath.
And for these next moments,
You do not need to be strong.
You do not need to hold yourself up.
And you do not have to have all the answers or know what comes next.
You are simply invited to allow yourself to rest in this time of your need.
So please feel free to lay however you like during this practice.
Nothing you can do is wrong here.
You can either lay on your back or curled up in a ball on your side.
Whatever helps you.
Whatever helps comfort you during this time we share together.
And once you're settled in,
Take a long breath through your nose.
And a long discharging breath out through your mouth.
That exhale your body might be holding on to.
That exhale.
You may not have been able to release since this event happened.
Two more times.
Unclenching the jaw.
Loosening the knot in your belly.
Dropping the shoulders if only by a fraction.
And begin to rest now,
Dear one.
You are allowed to soften.
You are welcome here in your grief.
And returning now to the natural rhythm of your breath.
The body breathing itself.
Slow and rhythmic,
Like waves drawing in and out from the shore.
And if it feels comfortable for you,
Allowing the eyes to gently shut down.
Take a moment to make any adjustments that you need so that you may become even 1% more comfortable now.
Granting yourself permission to stop doing for a little while.
Just stop holding yourself up,
Dear one.
To simply be here.
And before we continue.
I would like to offer you a gentle sankalpa.
In Yoga Nidra,
A sankalpa is a heartfelt intention.
A quiet seed of wisdom planted within.
Not something that comes outside of you,
But something that speaks from the deepest and most compassionate part of yourself.
And during times of grief when life can feel uncertain and so much feels beyond our control.
This intention can become a gentle reminder of what remains true within us.
If these words feel supportive for you today.
Silently repeating to yourself.
I allow myself to rest in sorrow.
And with tenderness.
I allow myself to rest in sorrow and with tenderness.
Repeating these words quietly within yourself three times.
Allowing them to settle gently into the heart.
And now allowing your awareness to follow my voice.
As I guide your attention to settle and soften onto each body part.
Perhaps imagining when each one lands,
It is as though a soothing balm is being smoothed over each area.
Resting gently now at the space between your eyebrows.
Smoothing out the skin there.
Onto your forehead.
Across to each temple.
As though a gentle massage is melting away a little tension there.
To the crown of your head.
To the back of your head.
To the back of your neck.
Palm rubbed into the tops of both shoulders.
Shoulder blades.
The space between your shoulder blades.
Mid spine.
Love is spine.
Tailbone.
The back of the hips.
The buttocks.
The back of both thighs.
The back of the knees.
Both calves.
Heels.
The soles of both feet.
All of your toes,
Resting.
The tops of the feet.
The ankles.
The lower legs.
The knees.
The tops of both thighs.
The point of both hip bones.
Both right leg and left leg resting.
Awareness moving to your sacrum.
The whole pelvic bone.
The belly.
The breath at the belly.
The ribs expanding and releasing.
The weight carried here.
The heart space.
Allowing the soothing balm to open up space here the collar bones.
The right shoulder.
The right upper arm.
Elbow.
Lower arm.
This.
Thumb.
Fingertips.
The palm of the right hand.
And bye.
Underarm.
Arm pain.
The center of the three.
Left shoulder.
Of the arm.
Elbow Lover,
Aum.
Rest.
Thumb.
Fingertips.
Palm of the left hand.
Alpine.
Underarm.
Armpit.
The center of the thigh.
Now.
Head and shoulders.
Easing.
Your belly and abdomen softening So the plexus beneath the ribs and the space of your heart.
Cultivating calm.
Both arms resting.
Your whole body Resting.
Allowing your body a little respite.
From the weight it has been carrying.
Awareness drifting to the rise and fall at the belly like the drag of the sea on the foreshore and the returning of the waves.
Allowing the natural rhythm of your breath.
To breathe itself.
Perhaps imagining the breath as your grief the waves rising and falling the air and the flow.
The despair,
The anguish,
The emptiness.
The waves tracking out.
The breath discharging followed by inhalation the nourishment.
The love.
The warm memory.
The tenderness.
The waves flowing in and out.
The natural rhythm of your breath.
Your life for us.
No need to control it.
Allowing the breath to create a little more space.
Easing the mental load.
Increasing your bandwidth.
Not removing grief.
Simply allowing your nervous system a brief respite.
From everything you carry right now.
In this space,
We may offer once more our sankalpa.
Silently repeating.
I allow myself to rest in sorrow.
And with tenderness.
Repeating it to yourself three times like planting a seed in soft soil This pain you feel now may not always feel exactly as it does in this moment.
The sharp edges may soften The waves may become less overwhelming.
And perhaps what once felt impossible to carry gradually becomes something carried with care.
And perhaps one day.
Moments that include joy alongside sorrow once again.
If you need to take more time here to rest.
To stay.
To cry.
Or perhaps simply lay.
Nom.
And bewildered.
That's okay.
You may wish to remove your headphones or press pause on the recording.
Otherwise day one.
We begin to return to our own new reality.
Beginning by sensing the breath at the tip of your nose.
And breathing in long and slow through the nose.
And exhaling through the mouth in a long discharging sigh Breathing in long and slow through your nose,
Holding for a gentle pause.
And exhaling.
Long and loud if necessary through your mouth.
Discharging any remaining tension I'm hoping that maybe just for today,
This practice has created a little more space around what hurts.
And perhaps this time together has not removed your pain.
But provided a little less mental load.
A little more bandwidth.
And perhaps that is enough.
My hope too is that this time you've given yourself is enough of a balm to aid you through the rest of your day.
Perhaps enough to eat something nourishing.
To drink a glass of water.
Open the curtains.
To seek fresh air.
Or shower yourself with care.
To pause,
If only for a moment,
From the over-functioning that grief so often asks of us.
Because these small acts of care matter.
And during times like these.
Tending to yourself,
Even in the smallest meaningful ways.
Can help carry you through.
You do not need to do everything.
You only need to do the next kind of thing for yourself.
Each time you return to this practice,
You are offering your body and your nervous system a place of safety.
A place of rest.
A place where your grief is allowed to be held for as long as it needs.
There is nothing you need to force.
Nothing you need to rush or push away.
And perhaps just for today,
You're able to breathe a little easier.
Even if only by a fraction.
So as we begin to orientate back to our external world.
Take notice of the surface beneath you.
The shape of your body.
The air around you.
And the temperature of the room.
The fabric against your skin.
And any sounds or smells perhaps on the air.
Taking your time now.
Making small movements.
Gently and mindfully awakening your body.
Maybe resting one hand on your heart.
And another on your belly.
And when ready.
Gently opening the eyes.
Acknowledging yourself for the courage it took to join me here.
And to meet yourself in this way.
With much love to you,
Dear one.
