Hello lovely human,
My name is Linz and I will be your guide tonight.
As always,
There's no pressure to fall asleep tonight.
Deep breaths might be exactly what your body needs.
My voice may drift in and out of your awareness.
And that's okay.
There's nothing to keep up with here.
Nothing you need to remember.
Just allow yourself to rest.
By day,
The village is busy.
Full of life,
Laughter,
And love,
And the familiar rhythms of the daytime.
The special thing about the village is when the moon takes over from the sun,
A heavy blanket of calm settles in the air.
At night time,
The lantern paths awake.
And those who choose to follow them experience deep rest.
Tonight the village square is beginning to close.
A fine drizzle has settled across the cobbles,
Softening the glow of the lanterns across the bakery and turning the windows of the little shops into warm pools of amber gold against the dark.
Near the corner of the square,
Tucked between the bookshop and the florist,
A small lamp still glows inside of salt and cedar homeware.
We will follow Lucy there tonight.
She's waiting for us at the edge of the lantern path.
Before we join Lucy.
Let's get comfortable.
And if you've not done so already.
Close your eyes.
Take a deep breath.
And let yourself rest.
Allow the body to settle a little more heavily where you are now.
Perhaps softening the space between your eyebrows.
Softening your temples.
Relaxing your face.
Relaxing your shoulders.
Notice the surface beneath you.
The quiet support of it,
The way it rises patiently to meet the body without needing anything back from you.
The head.
Goodbye.
The arms.
The chest and belly.
The hit.
And the legs.
Let the surface beneath you hold all of you.
You don't need to hold yourself together.
Anymore.
The body already knows how to rest.
Sometimes it simply needs the world around it to slow down first.
Notice the breath now.
How it gently flows in and out of the body.
And if it feels right.
Slow the breath down.
Just taking a few rounds of breath.
In and out through the nose where the exhale is slightly longer.
And the inhale.
Perhaps you breathe in for the count of three,
And out for the count of four,
In your own time,
At your own pace.
I will go quiet for a few moments to give you time to feel this mind body.
Bye.
Connection.
There,
Let's begin our journey.
Lucy is waiting beneath the first lantern at the edge of the village.
Its amber light rests gently over her coat,
Over the wet cobbles.
Over the fine silver drizzle floating through the evening air.
The air is cool against her skin,
A welcome contrast to the daytime heat that has long since faded from the stones.
Behind her.
The village is lowering its voice.
The bakery has sold its final loaf of the day.
Through the rain-speckled window,
The last iron chair is lifted onto the last wooden table.
The florist gathers the final buckets of flowers from the pavement.
The cafe door opens once,
Then closes.
Everything is dimming.
Everything in the village is softening.
Lucy walks slowly,
Her boots making soft rhythmic sounds against the damp ground.
The lanterns glow above the path,
Suspended from curled iron brackets.
Lie.
Shadow.
Light again.
Each pool of amber leads seamlessly to the next.
Creating a safe golden corridor through the darkness.
The air smells beautifully of whetstone,
Of distant wood smoke from a chimney down the lane.
Salt and cedar come slowly into view at the end of the lantern path.
At first Lucy only notices the glow of a soft inviting smudge of amber light through the mist.
Then the misted windows appear,
Frosted with condensation at the edges,
With soft lamps shining amongst the shelves of folded textiles.
The shop looks like an old house that's already curled into the evening,
Waiting to welcome Lucy home.
Reaching for the solid brass handle,
It's cool and smooth beneath her palm.
The door opens with a gentle sigh.
Warmth meets her immediately rolling out into the cool night air.
It smells of rich cedar wood.
Of sweet honeyed beeswax.
Of heavy,
Folded wool blankets and sweet tobacco mixed with vanilla.
By the door there's a basket full of lavender soaps wrapped in coarse brown paper.
Reminding Lucy of things made slowly,
By hand and chosen with care.
She steps inside and lets the heavy timber door close softly behind her.
The iron latch settles into place with a deep,
Satisfying thud.
And just like that,
The village square becomes distant.
Lucy slips off her heavy coat and hangs it on a wooden peg beside the door.
For a moment,
She stands perfectly still and lets the peaceful atmosphere of the shop gather around her.
Salt and cedar is small,
But it feels spacious in its quietness.
The shelves rise from the creaking floorboards right up to the low-ceilinged beams.
The wooden edges are worn smooth by time,
Showing the beautiful natural grain of the oak.
The handmade ceramic mugs sit on shelves in uneven little groups.
Some are wide and round,
Designed to be held with two hands on a cold morning.
Are tall and narrow.
A few still show the subtle,
Gentle ridges where a potter's thumb shaped the wet clay on the wheel.
The blankets rest in high,
Folded piles.
Cream.
Soft grey and deep forest greens.
Low-wattage lamps glow in the quiet corners of the shop,
Each one casting a small protective circle of warmth onto the wood below.
Lucy walks towards the nearest shelf.
One linen napkin has slipped slightly sideways from its neat stack.
She notices it and smiles faintly.
Then she smooths it back into place with the flat of her hands.
Aligning it neatly with the others.
A few steps further in,
An amber glass candle jar has turned slightly away from the others.
Lucy picks it up carefully.
The glass is smooth and pleasantly heavy beneath her fingers.
The wax inside is pale and creamy,
Scented with cedar wood and orange peel.
She turns the label forward,
Facing it towards the room,
And sets it back amongst the others with a tiny soft tap.
She tied his one thing.
Than another.
Then another.
The shop seems to soften each time she touches it,
As if it's thanking her for her care.
Lucy moves quietly between the three standing shelves,
Lifting a handmade stoneware bowl from a display near the counter.
The blue glaze pools darker and thicker near the base,
Fading into pale sky blue near the rim.
She runs her thumb once over the smooth rim,
Feeling a tiny,
Rough place where the glaze didn't quite cover the raw clay.
She places it back besides the other two.
Then,
She turns a small ceramic saucer so its painted sides face outwards.
It features tiny blue wildflowers,
Almost too small to notice from afar.
She notices the corner of a woven throw that has unfolded itself from the pile.
She notices a hand-carved wooden spoon lying slightly crooked across a folded linen tea towel.
She notices a small,
Heavy pair of brass scissors sitting just a little too close to the edge of the counter.
Slowly,
Gently,
She tends to the more.
The throw is folded.
The spoon is straightened.
The scissors are moved safely back to the centre of the wood.
The shop is beginning to feel complete.
Like it's being put to bed and eased into the night.
Lucy walks deeper into the back of the shop.
The old floorboards creak softly beneath her feet.
A low,
Comforting sound that breaks the silence in a rhythmic way.
Palms.
Kri.
Palms.
Near the middle shelves,
The air smells more intensely of spun wool.
Lanolin and natural beeswax.
The lamps are placed lower to the ground.
A large willow basket of woolen blankets sit beside an old dark wooden chest.
One heavy blanket has slipped loose,
Its fringed edge spilling over the side like a sleepy arm.
Lucy bends down and lifts it carefully.
The wool is thick beneath her fingers.
She folds it once.
And again.
Slowly.
As though she is folding the evening itself into smaller,
Softer pieces.
On a low oak table,
A row of small lamps glow beneath the thick linen shades.
One shade sits ever so slightly crooked.
Lucy reaches out,
Making a tiny adjustment with two fingers.
Somehow,
That tiny movement,
The light falls differently afterwards.
It softer.
Woman.
The whole corner seems to breathe out.
Near the back wall,
Tucked safely between shelves of folded quilts and handmade down cushions,
Sits an old armchair.
It's deep,
Why?
And soft at the edges.
The colour of deep forest green.
Besides it stands a tall,
Slender floor lamp glowing beneath a cream linen shade.
A beautifully folded woollen blanket waits across one arm of the chair.
She picks up the blanket from the armrest.
The wool is soft and heavy in her hands.
Then,
She lowers herself slowly into the deep sea.
The thick cushions sink gently beneath her weight.
The high back of the chair curves supportively around her body.
The wide arms rise gently on either side,
Holding her in place.
She draws the heavy blanket up over her legs.
Over her lap.
Her feet soften beneath the wool.
Her knees soften.
Her belly softens.
And one hand rests loosely on the blanket.
The other rests on the smooth wood of the chair's arm.
The rain taps gently against the back windowpane.
Pause.
Pull.
Lucy lets her head rest back against the cushion.
The shop continues holding its little amber lights all around her.
Keeping the darkness at bay.
Cedar.
Amen.
One.
Lavender.
Rain.
The comfort of ordinary,
Beautiful things.
The lamp seems lower now.
Or perhaps Lucy's eyelids have just grown a little heavier.
The edges of the wooden shelves begin to soften into the shadows.
The mugs become soft,
Dark shapes.
The blankets become blocks of muted color.
The candle jars become tiny glowing pools of gold.
Lucy remains there,
In the chair.
For a little while.
And perhaps quite a long while.
There's no real way to tell anymore.
Time feels completely different inside these walls.
The blanket settles a little more heavily.
The chair settles around her body.
And the shop settles around the chair.
And beyond the fogged glass,
The entire village settles too.
Lucy breathes slowly.
The shop.
Breathe slowly.
The village breathes slowly.
All of it drifting together now.
Softening around the edges.
Growing quieter.
Moving further away.
As though the whole shot is slowly disappearing into deep breath.
And salt and cedar keeps watch through the night.
As Lucy drifts fully and completely.
I'm going to drift away now.
You can stay here for as long as you like.
Or drift somewhere softer still.
Rest well.
Of the human.
