Tonight there's nowhere to get to.
Nothing to work out.
Nothing to solve or understand.
Close your eyes and get comfortable.
For the next little while,
You don't need to do anything.
Simply listen.
If sleep arrives before we reach the end.
That's perfectly okay.
You don't need to stay with my voice.
You don't need to finish this meditation.
And you don't need to do any of this correctly.
Make any last minute adjustments that you need to.
And let yourself become comfortable.
And now,
Take a slow breath in through your nose,
Only halfway,
And then pause.
And then a little more all the way.
And then gently sigh the breath out through the mouth.
Again,
Inhaling halfway.
A little more.
And then all the way out through the mouth.
One last time,
Inhaling halfway,
A little more.
And then exhale slowly,
Completely,
Release.
Now let the breath return to normal.
There's nothing to manage or control.
The body already knows how to breathe.
And when the time comes,
It'll know how to sleep too.
Now bring your awareness to your face.
Notice if there's any holding there.
In the forehead.
The space between the brows Let it smooth.
The muscles around the eyes softening.
The lids heavy and resting.
And the jaw.
Let the teeth part just slightly.
The tongue soft in the mouth and feel what that release is.
Just in the face.
A little less to hold.
And the shoulders now.
Let them drop.
In the hands.
Uncurl the finger slightly.
Let the palms open.
There's nothing to grip tonight.
Nothing to hold on to.
Imagine now that you're standing at the beginning of a path.
You don't need to visualize it perfectly or see it clearly.
Simply allow the feeling of it.
A path beneath your feet.
Soft.
Quiet.
Easy.
Feel the sense that the day is behind you now.
It's not gone.
Just simply behind you.
Ahead this evening.
The gentle hour when the world becomes quieter.
The sky deepening.
Everything slowing.
And without effort,
You begin walking.
Slowly.
At exactly the pace that feels most natural to you.
Each step is easy.
Nothing's pulling you forward.
Or chasing you from behind.
You're just walking.
Breathing.
Listening.
Ahead,
The path enters a forest.
You notice tall trees with wide trunks,
Ancient and still.
As you step beneath the canopy.
You feel the world becoming softer.
The sounds of the day grow distant.
The unfinished conversations.
The responsibilities.
The things that need attention tomorrow.
All of that fading into the background.
Not because you're pushing anything away.
Because it no longer needs your attention now.
Keep walking.
Deeper into the trees.
Deeper into the forest.
And as you walk.
Notice the legs beginning to feel heavier.
It's a pleasant kind of heaviness.
The kind that comes from being somewhere safe.
And finally being allowed to slow down.
Let the legs be heavy.
And the hip.
The lower back.
All that weight releasing downward with every step.
The chest softening now.
With each exhale,
A little more release.
The arms are heavy and relaxed by your sides.
The hands loose.
Everything heavier.
Everything slower.
Everything matching the pace of the forest around you.
The trees here are very old.
Their roots are deep and visible where they break through the earth.
There's the scent of moss.
Of very old wood.
Of Earth that's been undisturbed for longer than you can imagine.
And the path beneath your feet is softer now.
It's a carpet of moss and fallen leaves so deep and yielding your footsteps almost make no sound.
As you walk deeper into the forest.
Notice the canopy thickening above.
It's a living ceiling of 10,
000 shades of green and shadow.
And something in the body recognizes this place.
Remembers it.
Even if you've never been here before.
And now.
The path brings you to a place amongst the oldest trees.
You see trunks like pillars in all directions.
When the canopy is so thick above you,
The sky is barely visible.
And the forest floor here.
Is covered in moss.
Deep and soft and cool.
The kind that's been growing undisturbed for years and years.
And you know,
This is where you're going to rest.
Lower yourself down slowly.
And let the forest floor receive you.
The moss beneath your back.
Your arms.
Your legs.
Cradling the weight of you completely.
Feel the coolness of it.
And beneath the coolness is warmth.
The warmth of the living earth.
Ancient and steady.
Let your weight drop into it.
All of it.
Your back is heavy against the earth.
Your shoulders releasing.
Your hips widening.
The backs of your legs.
Your heels.
Every part of you met by the earth beneath you.
And above you.
The canopy.
It moves almost imperceptibly.
A breath of air so gentle you can barely feel it.
A living ceiling.
Ancient.
Patience.
Completely indifferent to time.
You and you are held.
Between the deep roots below.
And the reaching branches above.
Completely enclosed.
Completely safe.
Completely held by the forest.
And now images begin to drift through.
They're not chosen or held.
Just arriving.
As if the forest is offering them to you.
A silver leaf.
Moonlight on still water.
The Sleeping Fox a smooth dark stone.
A drifting feather.
A lantern glowing somewhere distant.
A small wooden bridge.
A blue door.
A yellow boat on a quiet lake.
Snow falling on a cobblestone street.
A red umbrella.
A cup of warm tea.
A ladder leaning against a wall.
An empty swing.
A green door.
Let the images come and go.
They're not connected to each other.
Not meaning anything.
Just images drifting through.
Like the mind already practicing how to dream.
A white horse in a field.
A spiral staircase.
A jar of honey.
A stream.
The forest softening.
The night deepening.
The spaces between thoughts widening.
Sleep moving closer without effort.
The silver leaf.
Still water.
The Sleeping Fox.
The drifting feather.
And now these images begin to fade.
There's nothing to follow.
Nothing to imagine.
Forest is keeping watch.
Over everything that rests here.
Even you.
Let go now.
Sweet dreams.
