Hello and welcome.
I'm Ashley.
Thank you so much for setting time aside to focus on yourself today.
Before we begin,
Please make sure you are settled in a safe,
Comfortable space where you can fully relax and let go.
Because this recording is designed to guide you into a state of deep relaxation,
Please do not listen while driving,
Operating machinery,
Or doing anything that requires your full attention.
Now take a deep breath in and let's begin.
Hello and welcome.
This is a story to fall asleep to.
You don't have to follow every word.
You can drift in and out.
And the story will keep going gently without you.
Let your body be held by whatever is beneath you.
The bed,
The couch.
The floor.
You don't have to hold yourself up right now.
Let your eyes drift slowly around the space you are in,
Or imagine doing so if they're closed already.
Notice that you are here.
That this room is safe enough to rest tonight.
Breathe in through your nose.
Softly.
And let the breath out slowly through your mouth.
Focus on making your exhale.
Longer than your inhale.
Once more,
Breathe in.
.
.
And a long,
Slow release.
Now let your breath find its own rhythm.
Nothing to fix.
Trust that your body knows how to breathe.
It's nearly midnight and you're standing on a quiet platform under a sky full of stars.
The air is cool and smells faintly of rain,
Coal smoke,
And something sweet.
Like warm spice.
There's a bench beside you.
And a single lamp casting a circle of gold on the stone.
You've been waiting for a while.
Though you couldn't say how long.
In your coat pocket.
You find a ticket you don't remember buying.
You take it out.
The paper is thick and soft.
Like old cloth.
And as you watch.
The ink starts to shift and glimmer.
The letters rearrange themselves until it just says one line.
All is well.
Let the stillness carry you away.
You feel something in your chest loosen just a little.
Then you hear it.
A low,
Steady hum.
Far down the track.
A light appears,
Soft and amber,
Glowing through the air.
Softly in the distance.
And out of the dark glides a train.
Deep green and silver.
It's windows glowing like lanterns.
It makes no screech,
No clatter.
It only sighs to a stop.
As if it,
Too.
Has been looking forward to rest.
The doors glide open right in front of you.
A conductor steps down,
Tall and calm.
In a long coat the color of midnight.
A pocket watch hangs from their vest.
And the hands move very slowly.
As if time is only a suggestion here.
Good evening,
They say.
With a smile that seems like being welcomed home.
Take any seat.
The Midnight Line has room for it all.
You step aboard and the warmth wraps around you.
Dark wood,
Brass lamps,
Deep velvet seats.
You walk down a narrow corridor until you find a compartment that feels like yours,
And you slide the door open and closed behind you.
In the compartment,
You can see a window.
There is a thick blanket folded at the corner of the seat.
A small table with a steaming cup that wasn't there a moment ago.
It faintly smells of chamomile and honey.
In something like Starlight.
You sink into the seat.
And the train begins to move.
So gently at first,
You can't tell.
Only the lamps outside begin to slide past one by one.
Beneath you,
The wheels settle into a slow,
Steady rhythm.
It's like a heartbeat.
Like a lullaby in a shape of motion.
Let your breath match it.
Breathe in for a length of one long slow swell.
And out a little longer as the train carries you onward.
Once more,
Breathe in.
And out.
Each breath.
Out sends a signal through your body.
We are safe.
We are slowing down.
There's nothing to chase.
Notice that your shoulders are softening,
Your jaw is unclenching.
Small muscles around your eyes are letting go.
The train doesn't ask you to do anything.
It simply carries you.
The window in front of you begins to fog.
The way windows do on cool nights.
And on its surface,
Words begin to appear in faint,
Swirling script.
They look like it's in your own handwriting.
What if it goes wrong?
You should have done more.
Why can't I just relax?
They are your thoughts that follow you around.
Sometimes they're loud.
Some are whispers.
Some are old and familiar.
Do notice that in here,
They're just words on glass.
You can read them without being them.
You can say to yourself,
Ah.
There's that one again.
Thank you.
Thank you,
Mind,
For trying to protect me.
You lift your hand and gently brush it across the window.
Let the words soften and blur.
And drift off the glass like mist.
Outside.
You can see that small silver wisps start to trail along the terrain.
Then fall behind into the dark.
You don't have to fight them.
You don't have to keep them.
You only have to watch them pass.
New words may appear,
And that's alright.
Let them come.
And let them go.
One by one into the night.
You hear a soft knock at the compartment door.
The conductor leans in.
And says some of your companions have arrived.
You realize who they are.
Worried comes in in a wrinkly coat.
Sadness comes in quiet and heavy-eyed.
Restlessness is tapping its foot.
Anger is standing there,
Arms crossed,
Next to fear,
Who is hugging a small suitcase.
Each one is a feeling you have carried for a while.
You could argue with them.
You could try to lock the door.
But you know and you've learned that doesn't work for long.
So instead,
You do something different.
You nod to them and say,
There is room.
You can ride along.
You don't have to leave for me to rest.
They settle into the seats across from you.
Nothing's fixed or solved.
Just allowed.
Notice where you feel them in your body.
Notice a tightness or a heaviness,
A flutter.
Take a slow breath towards that place as if your breath were making a little more space around it.
Notice how a feeling that's allowed starts to shift on its own.
Like a wave,
It rises,
Peaks,
And softens.
You don't have to make it go.
And the strange thing is.
.
.
Once everyone has a seat,
The train actually feels calmer.
Not because they have vanished.
But because you stop fighting to keep them off or keep them away.
The conductor taps the ceiling of your compartment twice and the roof slides open like the lid of a music box.
Above you.
The whole sky unfolds,
Deep,
Wide,
And endless.
Stars drift past in slow constellations.
Clouds roll through,
Some dark,
Some silver-edged Far off,
A little lightning flickers,
Silent and distant.
And you realize you're kind of like the night sky.
The part of you that notices,
The part that has always been watching.
Watching and steady.
Thoughts and feelings move through you like the weather.
But they are not the sky itself.
The sky has held every storm it has ever had,
And it is still here,
Still open.
Still hold.
For a moment,
Just notice what's here.
The gentle sway of the carriage,
The warmth of the blanket.
The sound of the wheels.
The cup in your hand warm against your palms.
This is the present moment.
And right now.
In this moment?
You are safe enough,
Warm enough.
And carried.
The conductor settles in beside you for a moment and nods towards the front of the train.
There,
Far ahead,
The engine carries a single glowing lantern.
It doesn't light the whole world.
It only lights the track just ahead.
That lantern,
Says the conductor softly,
Is lit by what matters to you.
It doesn't tell you where you must end up.
It only shows you which direction feels like yours.
Ask yourself quietly,
What do I care about?
How do I want to treat myself?
And how do I want to treat the people around me?
What matters enough to keep moving forward.
Even on hard nights.
You don't have to have a big answer.
A single word is enough.
Connection,
Courage,
Kindness.
Honesty,
Creativity.
Peace.
Let the word come.
And just let it glow in your chest like a small lantern of your own.
You don't have to reach the end of the line tonight,
The conductor says.
Just know your next stop.
So gently,
Without pressure,
Think of one small step you could take tomorrow that moves you towards that work.
Something so small it almost seems silly.
Sending one message,
Taking one breath before reacting,
Drinking a glass of water,
Stepping outside for two minutes.
The ticket in your pocket warms.
And when you glance down,
The word you have chosen has written itself.
On the ticket,
Faintly,
In gold script.
Your next stop.
Your small step.
You tuck it away.
You don't have to carry it tonight.
You only have to know it's there waiting for you in the morning.
The roof slides closed gently.
The lamps dim to a soft glow.
Your companions of worry,
Sadness,
Restlessness are quiet now.
Some of them dozing against the window.
The train hums on through the night that feels endless and kind.
Fields of silver,
Grass,
Sleeping villages,
Rivers that shine like ribbons.
None of it is asking anything of you.
With each breath in and out,
Let your body grow a little heavier now.
Let your forehead soften.
Relax your eyes and your jaw.
Relax the muscles in your neck and your shoulders.
Move down your arms and into your hands.
Letting your hands open and be loose next to your sides.
Move to your legs.
Let them feel happy and warm.
Finally,
Move to your feet.
And let them be still.
There is nothing left to carry.
There's nothing left to solve.
Nothing left to prove.
Be in this moment.
With the soft rocking of the train.
The warmth of the blanket.
The steady rhythm of the wheels.
Carrying you.
Carrying you.
Carrying you home.
Rest now.
The midnight line will keep going.
And you can sleep.
Goodnight.
