Hello my friends,
And welcome to today's meditation,
The Joy Anchor.
Find a position that feels easy.
You don't have to sit up straight.
You don't have to do this perfectly.
Just let your body settle somewhere it doesn't have to work.
Close your eyes if that feels okay,
Or soften your gaze toward the floor.
Whatever lets the outside world get a little quieter.
Take one breath in through your nose,
And let it go.
Now,
I want to take you somewhere.
Imagine a creek.
It doesn't have to be a real one,
Though maybe it is.
Maybe you can already see it.
The water is shallow,
And clear,
And moving slowly over small smooth stones.
The light is coming through the trees,
In that particular way it does in the middle of a slow afternoon.
You're young here,
Maybe seven,
Maybe younger.
You're sitting at the edge,
With your feet in the water,
And you can feel the current running gently around your ankles.
You are not doing anything.
You are not going anywhere.
You're not trying to figure anything out.
You are just there,
In the water,
In the sun,
Perfectly content to be a small person on a small afternoon.
Notice what that feels like in your body right now,
Even just imagining it.
There might be loosening somewhere in your chest,
Your shoulders,
Your jaw.
Let it loosen.
Imagine that small person at the creek.
They are still in you.
They never left.
They just got quiet when the world got loud,
And the world did get loud,
Didn't it?
At some point,
Someone,
Or something,
Asked you to trade in the part of you that could just sit in a creek.
Like presence itself was the cost of growing up.
Like not having it figured out meant something was wrong with you.
It didn't.
It doesn't.
Bring your attention to your breath for a moment.
Just notice it moving in and out.
You don't have to change it.
Now,
I want you to imagine your younger self again.
The one at the creek.
They're still there,
Feet in the water,
Sun on their face.
They look up,
And they see you.
They're not alarmed by how much time has passed.
They're not disappointed in you.
They're just glad you came back.
Sit down next to them.
You don't have to say anything.
You don't have to explain where you've been,
Or what you've been carrying.
Or why it took so long.
They already know,
And they don't mind.
Just sit next to them for a moment.
Feet in the water if you want.
Let the current run around your ankles,
And ask them quietly what they remember.
What mattered when nothing was a project yet?
What they loved before they learned to be practical about it.
What they would do with an afternoon that belonged to no one else.
Just let whatever comes up,
Come up.
Whatever they show you,
Hold it gently.
This is not a memory.
This is a compass.
Begin to bring your awareness back to the room you're in.
The weight of your body,
Where it's resting.
The temperature of the air.
The sounds around you,
Near and far.
Take a breath in.
And let it out slowly.
You don't have to have it figured out today.
You don't have to know where you're headed,
Or who you're becoming.
Or what any of this is supposed to look like.
You just have to stay close to that younger version of yourself.
Check in with them when the day gets loud.
Let them tell you when something matters.
Let them show you when you've drifted.
They are not something to heal.
Rather,
They're someone to listen to.
To teach you.
When you're ready,
Take one more breath in.
And as you let go,
Let your eyes open slowly.
Welcome back.
Maybe that younger version of yourself came back with you.
Thank you friends for practicing with me.
My name is Julia,
And I wish you all calm and comfort in your day.
