Snuggle and find comfort with tonight's guided sleep meditation created to offer solace as you carry grief toward rest tonight.
You are listening to The Garden Where Love Remains.
Grief may stand between you and sleep.
Moving through your mind long after the lights are turned off.
Even when you feel tired.
Whether you are grieving someone you love.
A chapter of life that has ended.
A dream that has changed.
Or something your heart is still yearning to hold.
You have arrived at the right place.
There's no requirement to move past your grief tonight.
You are here to rest beside it.
It's normal for these thoughts to stir in the deep of the night.
When questions rise that may never have answers,
When moments replay and you start to ponder what should or shouldn't have happened at all,
And suddenly,
Even though your body is tired and longing for rest,
Sleep feels impossibly far away.
But as you tuck yourself in.
You will find a healing approach.
To tucking your grief in as well.
Revel in this journey with compassion.
Because this is one of the most deeply human experiences we'll ever know.
As relatable as this experience is.
No path is the same.
And you are doing your very best.
You have always done your best.
In any given moment.
And you may honor that.
And all the love that remains.
With a visit to the private garden in your mind.
That you carry wherever you go.
Sleep will find you as peace arrives.
One breath at a time.
It's time to dream away.
Welcome to Michelle's Meditation Sanctuary.
I am Michelle and I hope my voice meets you as a supportive friend.
Who reminds you to honor yourself tonight.
I hope to help soften this time.
And offer you a different way of holding what you're carrying.
It's okay to let it down tonight.
Gently.
And however it feels right for you.
None of this is easy.
And it's okay to take a break from the hard work.
And approach these feelings with self-care.
Learning to tend to them.
In your own way.
What if Gris?
Had its own garden.
Imagine it.
As a special place.
Quiet and softly lit.
Rather than a weight or burden.
Think of it as a special place to visit.
Nestled somewhere near your heart center.
This garden is tended to with love.
Watered by favorite memories.
And made beautiful because of the love that gave it life.
Every flower here holds a multitude of stories.
Some blooming with laughter you can still hear if you listen closely.
Others might gently cup.
The unrelenting or maybe hard to release tears of your sorrow.
Some may carry the familiar warmth.
Of a cherished voice.
The heartwarming comfort of shared traditions.
Familiar smells.
Bring a world from long ago.
Vividly to life.
This garden of remembrance.
May cradle dreams you wish could go on forever.
And in the light of a rising moon.
As you drift to sleep.
They very well may.
This will never be a garden of endings.
It is your garden of continuing love.
Grief like the sea arrives in waves.
And its own schedule.
Indifferent to how tired you are.
Or how much you'd like it to wait until morning.
Some night.
Barely brushes the shore of you.
Other nights it rises without warning.
Tall and insistent.
Stirring things you thought were settled.
Only you know the tides of your grief.
And its unexpected swells.
The anniversaries.
A song or movie that stirs a memory.
A quiet night.
The Ordinary Tuesday that somehow becomes the hardest.
These tides are yours to sail.
I'm so sorry for all you may yearn for.
" for all we may miss.
But I invite you to settle into the soft intentions.
A releasing judgment.
Be it from the inner voice that disrupts your sleep.
Or the words of others that land.
No longer deserve your attention.
Tonight you may make room.
For whatever tide happens to be moving through you.
Right now.
Without asking it to be smaller.
Further along than it actually is.
Let this garden hold the rest of what you don't have.
The energy to hold alone.
Just as every garden welcomes the daylight.
Every garden also deserves the peace of night.
And some flowers bloom best in moonlight.
And furling in the cool air.
And holding the promise.
The night's quiet song.
And yours is no exception.
Even now.
Even like this.
You are simply here.
To walk the winding path.
To visit whatever calls to you.
To honor each bloom with the tenderness it deserves.
And when each visit feels complete.
Gently lower the soft light surrounding it.
Not to say goodbye to what it holds.
Because every living thing has a price.
Including things like grief.
Benefit from rest.
The flowers will still be here tomorrow.
Memories as well.
Your love.
Exactly as large and intricate.
Real as it is tonight.
Will still be here tomorrow.
Right now.
You're simply helping your garden settle beneath the stars.
So that while it rests,
You may finally rest too.
Let's begin with your breath.
Since it's often the first thing grief disturbs.
The first thing.
That can gently call you back.
Breathe in once more.
Slowly and let the inhale travel down into your chest unhurriedly.
The way you might breathe in air,
The feeling of being underwater.
Grateful simply that it's here for you.
And as you exhale.
Imagine hundreds of moonlit cherry blossom petals.
Lifting from your shoulders.
Drifting up into a warm night sky.
They carry away the tension that's been gathering in your body.
For molding so much.
For so long.
They alleviate the pressure.
To be somewhere other than where you are.
Truly.
There is no timeline.
Quiet the exhaustion.
Explaining.
Are excusing.
Minimizing what you feel.
People who couldn't quite understand it.
Let all of that lift into the night with the petals.
And let your body notice.
Even briefly.
What it feels like to set something down.
Breathe in again slowly.
And let this next breath.
Simply be a breath.
Reminding you of your presence here.
Release and a sigh.
Sinking into the support below you.
As it reminds you.
Support is always here.
Even when you aren't noticing.
Allow your breath to take.
Whatever natural rhythm it finds right now.
Easy.
Grief tends to find a home in the body.
Long before the mind.
Able to see it's there.
So take this moment to notice.
Gently and without judgment.
Where it has chosen to settle in you tonight.
Feeling behind the eyes.
In that particular tightness.
That comes from tears held back out of habit.
The heaviness from simple exhaustion.
Gathers around the shoulders too.
And a specific heaviness.
Carrying something too large.
To sit down in front of other people.
Can pull in the throat.
Thick with everything you wish you'd said.
Or hadn't said.
You never got the chance to say it all.
It can hollow out a space low in the belly.
Sometimes it simply spreads throughout the whole body at once.
Tiredness that sleep alone.
Hasn't been able to touch.
Wherever you find.
It has made its home within you.
Don't ask it to leave.
Rush past it.
Simply notice it.
The way you'd notice the tides changing.
Going in and out.
.
.
Still finding a rhythm.
Collected in your hands.
She would cap your hands in the sea.
And feel the salt water slip through your fingers.
Collect the tightness from behind your eyes.
Collect the tension from your neck and shoulders.
Collect what's caught in your throat.
And what's heavy in your belly?
And whatever else has been asking for your attention.
Hold all of it just for a moment.
In your open palms.
And now breathe out slowly.
Let it go.
Out of your body for tonight.
Clearing the space it had been occupying.
So that something softer can rest there instead.
Feel the spaces it leaves behind.
Growing a little lighter.
Little looser.
A little more able.
To simply be still.
Love doesn't disappear when someone or something we love is gone.
It changes shape.
Grief is often exactly that love.
Still fully alive.
Looking for somewhere new to go.
Now that the old way.
Is no longer available to it.
And so it becomes the small things you carry forward.
Without even realizing.
You're doing it.
Particular kindness.
You learned without ever being taught directly.
A laugh that catches you off guard.
Because it sounds like someone you used to know.
Maybe even.
An earlier version of you.
Could be a recipe made the exact way.
It was always May.
Even though no one's watching to notice.
Or a phrase that leaves your mouth.
A voice that isn't quite your own.
Nothing that was truly beloved.
Disappears completely.
Gets folded instead.
The person you continue becoming.
You are the patchwork quilt.
Of all these impressions.
Stitched together by love.
You carry on.
Being some of what you loved most.
Than whoever.
Or whatever you're missing.
Uniquely in your own way.
Wonderfully human.
Always growing.
Think of your whole life.
With all its love.
And all that's lost.
One long careful piece of stitching.
Sewn together.
Into something whole.
Even when it doesn't feel whole from the inside.
Imagine the stitching.
Becomes the garden you're about to walk through.
Where every flower is one of those stitches.
Still holding its place.
Still part of the larger shape of your life.
Still in its own way.
Being tended.
You find yourself.
Arriving in soft,
Billowing clothes.
On a moonlit night.
At the edge of the garden.
A low,
Barely visible mist.
Curls gently along the ground.
Brings a cool reprieve.
To your ankles and calves.
Every time the breeze circulates.
The air is in view.
The soothing perfumes of the garden.
It ranges.
Lean heavily along the path.
Moonflowers gracefully open.
One petal at a time.
As though they,
Too,
Were part of you.
Are finding their way through the night.
Water moves quietly over stone.
While an owl calls once into the dark.
Is answered only by more stillness.
The night garden.
Holds everything in a gentle way.
You wish more things could hold you.
Right now.
And as you reach the heart of the garden.
You notice the blooms carry their own glowing ores.
Suspended just above the petals.
The light is warm.
Intimate.
Like a dimmed Edison bulb.
Cupped beneath a glass sphere.
Each orb protects its flower.
And each flower.
Text a story that matters to you.
You meander.
Soft-footed and curious.
With no direction in mind.
You simply notice which flower seems to be calling to you.
The most urgency.
Drifting toward it.
Without deciding what awaits.
As you get closer.
Take in its particular color.
Fragrance.
The way its petals curve or fold.
And watch the orb above it.
Bright and slightly.
As though it recognizes you.
The way you recognize it.
The orb brightens.
Tiny lights rise around it.
Like those of an old theater.
Before the curtain opens.
And a scene begins.
A place your heart knows how to return to.
You may notice the smallest details first.
Quality of the light.
Feeling of the air.
The sounds that surround the moment.
The little things that make it completely and uniquely yours.
A familiar voice.
Particular expression.
A scent carried through the room.
A season that seems to return for just a little while.
It's not merely a photograph.
It performs itself.
Voices return.
The memory held inside it.
Comes remarkably.
To life.
And you feel the warmth.
Hello.
Polite.
Glow that returns to your face.
Everything held inside this flower.
A room,
A chair.
A smell.
Holiday.
Whatever this particular memory is.
Been quietly protecting for you.
Becomes vivid.
Comforting.
Reassuring.
Reminding you of the depth of your love.
Everything plays out naturally.
With ease.
Arriving as it arrives.
Stay with it.
For as long as you need to.
Let yourself feel grateful.
For having loved enough.
To be given this memory.
Even while the ache of missing it.
Sits right alongside that gratitude.
Because both can be true here.
And neither one has to cancel out the other.
There's no version of this.
You're supposed to feel anyway.
And when you feel ready.
Imagine resting your hand.
Gently over the glowing ores.
And let love pass between you and it.
In both directions.
From you into the memory.
From the memory back into you.
The way it always has.
And then slowly Lower the light around it.
Bringing it almost completely down.
But not entirely dark.
Like the soft glow of a night light.
It makes you feel safe.
But also able to rest.
It settles peacefully.
With a kind of grace?
Might meet you in a dream.
Walk on whenever you're ready.
Toward whatever other flower calls to you tonight.
Let yourself move.
Through the same easy rhythm.
As many times as feels necessary.
Approaching.
Remembering.
Donnering.
You finally let each one rest.
Noticing.
It tends to become a little easier each time.
Not because grief grows smaller.
Because you're learning flower by flower.
You can hold this.
And still be held yourself.
When you feel ready.
You begin to wander onward.
Knowing that this will not be the only flower you visit.
There are so many blooms throughout.
Each one holding its own story in the garden.
Its own expression of love.
And each time you visit.
Can offer the same gentle care.
You can let the memory glow brightly.
Allowing yourself to feel the love it carries.
Just when your heart feels relaxed.
Complete for now.
You can softly lower the light around it.
Not extinguishing it.
Never losing it.
Simply allowing it to rest.
And in the days and nights ahead.
When a memory rises unexpectedly.
When a song Ascend.
A familiar place.
Quiet moment.
Or something entirely unexpected.
Brings a flower back into your awareness.
You can return here.
You can visit this garden.
Honor what it holds.
And gently lower the light again.
When you are ready.
Your memories don't need to disappear.
For you to continue living.
Your love does not need to be dimmed.
You to find peace.
The lights remain.
Safely held.
Above each bloom.
Waiting whenever you need to turn them on.
And as you move between the blossoms.
You begin to feel the truth.
Held quietly within this garden.
Grief is the shape love takes.
And it has nowhere else to go.
And so tonight it waters these flowers instead.
In the garden.
Continues to grow.
You follow a path to the far edge of the garden.
It curves and the mist begins to thin.
To come upon a small cottage.
Waiting for you.
Warm light glows behind its mullioned windows.
Smoke curls gently from a stone chimney.
Wild roses and ivy climb loosely along its walls.
And a rocking chair waits on its porch.
Basking in the pearly moonlight.
You ascend the creaking steps.
And enter the cozy home.
The air here carries the scent of cedar and honey.
Chamomile.
Fresh linen left to dry in the sunny breeze.
And everything about this place.
Feels built for exactly the kind of rest.
You've been needing.
The comfort to be here.
New.
Yet familiar.
You wander past a deep chair.
Set aside a low fire.
Past shelves of books arranged by color.
And soft rugs underfoot.
Beyond tables with vases of flowers.
Until you arrive at a wide bed.
Already turned down.
A weighted blanket is folded at its foot.
And the pillows are stacked high enough.
Disappear into them completely.
Moonlight cascades.
In long silver bands.
Across the wooden floor.
Through the window by the bed.
You can still see the garden glowing softly below.
Every oar resting now.
Now.
Steady.
Nothing is forgotten.
Are left behind.
Everything simply rests.
You climb beneath the blanket.
Feel its weight settle over you.
Not holding you down.
Holding you together.
The way love has always done.
Even when it went unnoticed.
Feel your whole body sink into the bed.
As your breath slows and deepens.
On its own.
Without any effort required from you now.
Outside,
The moon keeps its quiet watch.
Over everything you visited tonight.
You don't have to say goodbye.
For now.
This only good night.
Simply tucking it all in.
The way you tuck in something you love.
Needed to rest.
Trust that your garden knows how to care for itself through the night.
Every flower will be exactly where you left it when morning comes.
Of remembering.
Every token.
Every love.
All of it waiting for you.
Once you've replenished yourself.
With the rest you deserve and need.
Tonight the garden where love remains.
Sleeps beneath the moon.
Because this garden is finally at rest.
You are free to rest too.
Finding safety.
Finding hope.
Finding serenity.
Finding peace.
And finding sleep.
It's time to dream away.
Good night.
