Welcome.
Begin by noticing the subtle movement of your breath within your chest,
A slow inhale expanding,
A slow exhale softening.
Place a hand over your heart and let your palms rest there,
Not to fix or to force anything,
But to simply listen.
Feel the faint rhythm beneath your touch,
Perhaps warmth,
Perhaps coolness,
Perhaps a quiet space where nothing is observed yet.
Whatever you find,
Let it be enough.
The body speaks and whispers first.
Bring awareness to your fingers.
Notice the texture of fabric,
The gentle weight of your own hand.
That contact is a bridge,
Skin meeting skin,
Awareness meeting sensation.
If there is numbness,
Allow even that to be felt.
Numbness is still something,
A layer of frost protecting what once burned too bright.
Trace its edges.
Notice if it feels thick,
Thin,
Warm,
Or cool.
This simple noticing is the first crack in the ice.
Feel the quiet pressure of the earth holding you.
Each breath sends weight downward,
Anchoring you in safety.
Let the inhale draw stability from below.
Let the exhale send it back down again,
A gentle rhythm of trust.
Imagine yourself walking across a frozen lake at dawn.
The world is still.
The air carries that silvery chill before sunlight touches it.
The ice beneath you gleams like glass,
Holding shapes of bubble and fractures from winter's past.
Each step makes a delicate sound,
The faint song of pressure shifting.
Your reflection moves beneath the surface,
Blurred and distorted.
It's you,
But distant,
As though memory has frozen over it.
You walk carefully,
Not from fear,
But from reverence for what lies below.
The cold air brushes your face.
Your breath curls into visible clouds.
Far across the lake,
You see a faint pulse of orange light,
Like an amber remembering how to glow.
You begin to walk toward it.
The sound of each step echoes through the hollow morning.
With each step,
You sense warmth stirring deep in your chest.
As the glow grows brighter,
You see a figure waiting near the shore.
This is the healer,
The phoenix,
Keeper of the fire of feeling.
You approach,
And the healer raises a hand,
Inviting you forward with quiet assurance.
Each step melts a thin layer of ice beneath your feet,
Revealing dark,
Living water below.
The sound is deep,
Resonant,
Alive.
Your heart beats in rhythm with the shifting ice,
Not fear,
Anticipation.
When you reach the shore,
The warmth touches your skin like sunlight after winter.
It doesn't burn,
It simply reminds.
The healer's eyes hold both grief and grace.
They see the story your body still carries,
And they do not rush you.
You have walked across numbness to come here,
They say softly.
That itself is feeling.
You sit beside the fire.
The ground is layered in pine needles,
Soft and fragrant.
Heat rises through your legs as you settle.
The healer hovers a hand over the flame,
Then gently places it over your heart.
This fire is yours,
They whisper.
It never went out.
It simply hid behind the ice.
You close your eyes.
The warmth deepens,
Spreading through your chest.
From there,
It moves shoulders,
Arms,
Down through the spine.
Memories do not rush in all at once.
They arrive slowly,
Like light returning to a dim room.
Moments surface,
Times you couldn't bear to feel.
When pain or loss seemed too heavy,
You see yourself turning away,
Shutting down to survive.
The healer's voice is low and kind.
Numbness is not emptiness.
It's the body's way of saying,
I will feel again when it's safe.
You breathe deeply,
Thanking the numbness for its service.
It softens like frost under morning light.
Now,
The healer says,
You can let warmth return.
You will not drown in what you feel.
They invite you to extend your palms toward the fire.
A soft tingling spreads through your hands,
Not pain,
But returning life.
Touch your arms,
Your face,
Your chest.
Feel temperature,
Pressure,
Texture,
Each sensation,
Doorway,
Re-opening.
If emotions stir,
Sadness,
Relief,
Confusion,
Let it breathe,
There is space for it here.
The healer lifts a bowl of snow above the fire.
You watch as it melts,
Slowly dripping into the flame.
You see,
They say,
Ice is just water in disguise.
When it feels safe,
It remembers how to flow.
Your task is not to force melting,
But to keep inviting warmth.
They hand you a small vial of herb-infused oil.
This will remind you of softness,
They whisper.
When you forget,
Breathe it in.
Let tenderness be your medicine.
They gesture to your body.
Numbness hides in muscle,
In fascia,
In the quiet places you stopped inhabiting.
Move gently,
Sway,
Breathe,
Let yourself remember motion.
Images arise,
Tears that once freed you,
Laughter that shook loose the weight,
Anger that cleared the fog,
Love that made you remember your name.
Feeling did not destroy you,
It brought you back to life.
The healer smiles.
Vulnerability is not weakness,
It is the pulse of aliveness.
When you share your flame,
Others find theirs.
The fire burns steady and golden.
Across the lake,
The ice sighs and splits,
Water whispering beneath.
The healer stands beside you.
Walk with me,
They say.
Together,
You step onto the melting path.
Your reflection follows beneath the surface,
Clearer now,
Less fragmented.
You no longer fear the cracks.
You trust the water beneath to hold you.
The sky blushes with morning.
Birds begin to sing.
Color seeps back into the world.
When you reach the opposite shore,
The ground is soft and warm.
You breathe deeply,
The air hasting new.
Back in your waking life,
When numbness visits again,
You know what to do.
Place a hand on your heart,
Ask gently what needs to feel safe right now.
Maybe you light a candle,
Smell the oil,
Take a walk,
Cry,
Laugh,
Move.
You thank numbness for protecting you and invite it to rest.
Feeling deep is not indulgence,
It is your birthright.
It is how you stay alive.
You are tender,
Not fragile.
Luminous,
But not blinding.
You rise like the phoenix,
Not in fire's fury,
But in the quiet warmth of returning life.
As you walk through the world,
You emanate this gentle heat.
Others feel it and thaw.
You have become a quiet beacon of feeling in a world that forgot how.
And through you,
Life remembers itself.
