Welcome.
Take a moment to settle.
Perhaps set an alarm if you need to.
And let this be easy.
Find a position where your body can be held.
A chair that takes your weight.
A couch,
The floor.
Or a bed.
Let your feet rest flat.
Or your legs fall loose.
And let your hands lie wherever they land.
If it feels good to lower your gaze or close your eyes,
Let them close now.
Take one slow breath in through your nose.
And let it out through your mouth,
Along with a little sound if you like.
One more like that.
Drawing the air down past your chest into your belly.
And letting it go.
Your shoulders dropping as you exhale.
Now let your breathing find its own pace.
There's nothing to manage,
It moves on its own.
The way it always has.
Bring your attention to where your body meets the surface beneath you.
The backs of your legs.
Your hips.
Your spine.
The back of your head.
Notice how completely you are being held.
How little you actually have to do to stay right here.
Let the surface take you full weight.
Let it carry you.
Now let a slow warmth move down through you.
Softening everything as it goes.
Feel it loosen your forehead.
And smooth the space between your eyebrows.
Your jaw lets go.
Your tongue rests low and soft.
Your shoulders melt down and away.
The warmth flows along your arms.
And pulls in your hands.
Until your fingers are too heavy to lift.
It spreads across your chest.
Into your belly.
And settles low in your hips.
And it pours down through your legs.
And out the soles of your feet.
Until your whole body feels heavier.
Or warmer.
And more still.
Than it did a breath ago.
Now picture a warm afternoon in early summer.
You are laying in a long,
Soft grass at the edge of a quiet field.
Beneath a single old tree.
The sun is high and easy.
And the leaves overhead.
Break it into a slow pattern of life.
And shame.
That drifts across your skin.
The air is warm and still.
Somewhere far off,
The grass moves in a soft wash-off wind.
A bird maybe.
Once.
And then quiet again.
The earth beneath you is warm from the long day of sun.
And you can feel that warmth.
Rising up.
To meet your path.
Soaking in.
Loosening you from underneath.
The grass is soft against your arms.
The tree above you has stood here a long time.
In no hurry at all.
And something about its stillness seeps into you.
A slow breeze moves through the branches.
And the light shifts and sways with it across your face.
You could watch it for hours.
Let your breathing fall into the ease of this place.
Each breath in the warm air.
Each breath out.
A little more of you settling into the ground.
Your body grows softer.
Heavier.
Sinking gently into the grass.
As though the Earth itself were drawing you down into rest.
There is a deep Simple pleasure in this.
And being how?
And being warm.
And being so completely at ease.
If your mind drifts,
Let it.
A thought might cross by,
Like one of the high,
Slow clouds.
You don't have to reach for it.
And you don't have to push it away.
Just let it pass over and move on.
And bring your attention back.
To the warmth at your back.
The light on your eyes.
The soft sway of the leaves.
Each time you come back.
You sing.
A little deeper.
You may fall asleep,
Or you may not.
Simply let yourself rest here.
Held in the warmth and the shade.
Your breath slow.
And your body heavy.
And if sleep comes for you.
Let it carry you off without a sound.
Even a few minutes of rest like this.
Is enough to fill you back up completely.
Your body knows just what to do with it.
So stay.
The warm grass beneath you.
The patient tree.
The light moving gently over your closed eyes.
Nothing to hold,
Nothing to reach for.
No edges to your rest.
Just the warmth.
The breeze.
And the easy rise and fall of your breath.
Rest now.
Let the field hold you.
Let yourself be exactly this still.
And when you are ready.
Not yet.
But when you are ready.
You will rise back up on your own,
Slowly,
Gently,
Light and clear,
And warm all the way through.
But that's later.
For now.
There is only this.
Rest.
