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 rest might be exactly what your body needs.
My voice may drift in and out of your awareness and that's okay.
There is nothing to keep up with here.
Nothing you need to remember.
Just allow yourself to rest.
Tonight the village is holding one of its softer secrets for you.
For me and Silke.
She is waiting for us there.
Beyond the cottages.
Beyond the lantern path.
Beyond the little lanes where the windows glow gold behind the thin curtains.
There's a cove.
That cannot be found by daylight.
People have tried,
Of course.
Villagers have wandered down there towards the cliffs on clear mornings with flasks of tea and very good intentions,
Only to find nothing but brambles and sheep tracks.
But at night.
When the village grows quiet.
And the moon begins to lift itself over the water.
A narrow lantern path appears between the grasses.
A lantern path that curls gently towards the sea.
Before we join Silke,
Let's get comfortable.
If you've not done so already.
Close your eyes.
Take a breath.
And let yourself rest Let the body settle a little more heavily where you are now.
Making any small movements your body needs to find ease.
Maybe allowing the shoulders to shift slightly.
The jaw to loosen.
The hands to uncurl.
Notice the surface beneath you.
The way it rises quietly to meet the weight of the body.
The head.
The shoulders.
The bath.
The arms.
The chest and belly.
And the legs.
Let the surface beneath you cradle you.
There's no need to hold yourself together any longer.
Imagine now the breath landing lower in the body.
So your belly rises a little more than the chest on the inhale.
Then let the belly fall on the exhale.
And as you breathe this way,
Feel how much work the body can stop doing breathing lower and easier.
Stay with that rise and fall for a few moments longer.
That mind,
Body and soul.
Connection.
Now we have fully arrived.
Let's begin our journey.
Tonight we are following Silke along the lantern path towards the secret cove.
The path begins just beyond the last cottage at the edge of the village.
Where the stone walls grow lower.
And the fields open out beneath the moon.
The evening is warm.
The kind of warmth that stays in the air.
After a long,
Bright day.
Silke walks slowly.
Her sandals making gentle brushing sounds against the path.
Brush step.
Brush.
The lanterns are fewer out here.
One besides the old gate.
One near the leaning hawthorn.
One further ahead,
Hidden by the tall grasses.
Nothing more than small golden pools of light resting quietly in the dark.
The path begins to wind steadily down and out.
Each soft turning is an invitation to sink deeper into the stillness of the night.
Around the bend,
The scent of rosalias rise from the edge of the path.
Simping.
Some wine.
Some deepening towards red.
Where the shadows gather.
Silka slows as she passes them.
Pausing for brief moments.
Letting the scent meet her.
Sweet.
Warm.
A little earthy beneath it.
The way flowers smell at night when the breeze settles and their perfume can linger under the moonlit sky.
Beyond the azaleas,
Seagrasses lean and rustle gently in the breeze.
Are hushed.
A sway.
A whispering sound that comes and goes.
The village behind her grows quieter with every step.
The last visible windows sink lower behind the rise of the hills.
The bakery chimney disappears.
The clock tower becomes only a soft shape.
Above the rooftop.
Until the whole village disappears.
Only the path now.
Only the lanterns.
Only the grasses moving lightly beside her.
The sound of the sea begins before she sees it.
At first it's barely there.
And low breath.
Somewhere below the cliffs.
Then a little clearer.
Water folding itself into the sand.
Drawing back.
Returning.
Folding again.
The path narrows beneath her feet as it descends.
Silke places one hand lightly against the wooden rail besides her.
Wood is smooth from weather,
Hands and years of villagers finding their way.
In the doll.
The air changes slowly.
Closer to the skin.
Saltier as the sea touches the warmth of dark spaces.
The lanterns along this part of the path are small and low.
Their light tucked into little glass boxes fixed to the posts.
Brightening the path just enough to see a few steps ahead.
A step.
A curve.
A step.
A patch of sand beginning to gather at the edges.
The sea breathes below.
In.
The secret cove waits beneath the moon.
A small hidden curve of white sand held between two dark arms of rock.
The cliffs rise around it.
Soft with grasses and trailing plants.
Protecting it from the wider sea beyond.
The water is calm here.
Almost still.
Only small waves moving towards the shore.
Lifting and lowering themselves against the sand.
The moonlight rests across the surface in a long silver path.
Silke stands at the bottom of the path for a moment.
Just looking.
The cove is quiet,
In the particular way hidden places are quiet.
Everything feels untouched.
Calm.
Safe.
And soothing to the soul.
As though the night has kept this little place aside She steps down onto the sand.
It's warm beneath her sandals.
She pauses.
Slips off one sandal.
Than the other.
And leaves them beside a smooth piece of driftwood near the path.
Her bare feet sink slightly.
The sand holds the shape of her,
Soft.
Warm.
She walks towards the water slowly.
The sun changes beneath her feet as she goes.
Dry and soft at first.
Then firmer where the tide has brushed it smooth.
At the water's edge,
A small wave slides forwards and touches her toes.
Calling her feet.
And then it's gone Silke lets the water cover her feet for a moment.
The sun shifts slightly beneath her soles.
Tiny grains moving around her toes.
The waves come in.
The waves draw out.
In.
In.
And out.
A little further along the cove.
Tied to a short wooden post in the shallows is a rowing boat.
It rocks very gently in the water.
The rope gives a soft pull,
Then eases.
The boat is small.
And all.
But beautifully kept.
Dark varnished wood.
Glistening faintly in the moonlight.
A pair of wooden oars.
Resting neatly inside.
Silke walks towards it through the shallow water.
Lifting the hem of her loose trousers just enough to keep them dry.
A small wave catches her ankles.
The boat knocks softly against the post.
Wood against wood.
A little hollow sound.
Silke places one hand on the side of the boat.
The wood is smooth beneath her palms.
Swaying gently side to side.
Side to side.
She waits for the boat to steady,
Then steps in carefully.
One foot.
The boat shifts.
A hand presses softly against the side.
Than the other foot.
The boat rocks once beneath her weight,
A slow roll.
Then settles.
Silke lowers herself onto the small wooden seat.
The rope loosens easily from the post.
She places it inside of the boat near her feet and takes the oars in both hands.
The handles are solid.
Warns me.
Where many hands have held them before.
She rests them in the roll-up.
The boat turns slightly.
A small wave.
Laps the sign.
Silka dips the oars into the water.
The blades disappear beneath the silver surface.
She draws them back slowly.
The boat moves with a soft grace.
The water slips from the oars in a thin,
Shining stream.
In the moonlight,
Each falling drop catches bright for a moment before returning to the dark water below.
The cove opens around her,
Wide and spacious.
But at the same time,
The cliffs remain closed.
The moon remains high.
The sun behind her grows pale and soft.
Silk arose without effort.
A gentle rhythm.
With every push and pull.
Yours,
Dick.
The boat moors.
The water gathers.
The droplets fall.
Palm.
Pause.
A small breeze moves across the coast.
Rustling in the grasses.
High above the rock.
Azaleas on the path send their scent down faintly through the night air.
So.
Flowers.
Warm water.
Moonlit water.
The boat glides along the silver path for a while.
And Selka lets the oars rest.
They settle gently across her lap.
The boat continues on its own.
A slow drift.
A soft turning.
The water touches the hull in small,
Patient sounds.
Silke leans back carefully,
Resting her shoulders against the curve of the boat.
The wood is solid beneath her,
Smooth under her hands.
The night sky opens above the cove.
Dark blue.
Almost black near the edges.
A few pale clouds move slowly across the moon,
Soft and loose.
Like torn cotton.
Or candy floss.
From a midnight bear.
Silke lets one hand drift over the side of the boat.
Her fingers touch the surface of the water.
Cool silk.
The smallest ripples move away from her hands.
Than another.
Then gone.
The boat rocks again.
The rope shifts quietly near her feet.
Yours rests.
The sea breathes.
The moonlight moves across Silke's closed eyelids.
A gentle silver warmth through the door.
The boat turns lightly.
The water taps.
The grasses whisper.
The oars give one small creak as the boat shifts beneath them.
Then stillness again.
Silke opens her eyes halfway.
The sky above her is wide and quiet.
A few clouds pass across it slowly.
The moon slips out from behind them again.
Sound in the distance.
Dark rocks.
Silver water.
The little path hidden between the grasses.
Her footprints are still there on the shore.
A soft trail leading from the winding path.
To the sea.
The boat drift.
No effort now.
No rowing.
No deciding.
Only the water holding the wood.
Wood holding the body.
The night holding everything else.
The waves come and go.
4 pause.
Silka's fingers curl loosely against the warm,
Varnished wood.
The scent of salt settles on her skin.
And the air moves softly over her face.
The cove grows quieter still.
Even the grasses seem to lower their voices.
The awls rest beside her.
The moon rests on the water.
The water.
Rests against the boat.
Everything resting against something.
Everything held.
The night deepens around the cove.
The path above the shadow.
The azaleas become pale shapes in the dark.
The sun.
Loses its edges.
Small sounds.
Small movements.
Small silver touches of light.
The boat turns slowly beneath the moon.
The water keeps its quiet rhythm.
Pause.
Pause.
After a while.
Or perhaps quite a long while.
Silke no longer knows whether the boat is moving.
Or the moonlight is.
The sea breathes beneath her.
The wood holds her steady.
The night folds itself quietly around the cove.
And there.
Beneath the moon.
In the secret place that only appears when the village sleeps.
Silk dress.
The boat keeps rocking.
The water keeps whispering.
The cove keeps its secret.
I'm going to drift now.
You can too.
Rest well.
Lovely human.
You
