Each night,
There comes a moment when the visible world loosens its grip and something more ancient begins to stir beneath the surface.
A quieter world begins to hum,
One woven from memory and starlight,
Where your forgotten self moves slowly through the dark,
Listening.
Close your eyes gently now.
Let the lids fall like soft leaves drifting towards still water.
Feel the breath beginning to lengthen,
To deepen,
As though your body remembers something ancient and safe.
You are about to enter the in-between,
Where the edge of night opens a hidden path.
Take three breaths,
Slow and round,
As if each one were drawn from the deep lungs of the earth herself.
Inhale now,
And as you exhale,
Release the names you wear,
The ones given and the ones claimed.
Inhale again,
Deeper still,
And let go of the stories you've told yourself,
The ones woven into your shoulders,
Your spine.
Take one last breath.
As you exhale,
Feel yourself crossing into a gentler space,
As if stepping barefoot onto sacred soil.
Begin to imagine a staircase now,
Made of stone worn smooth by many feet.
See yourself stepping down slowly.
With each step,
Your body softens,
Your breath slows,
Your mind quiets.
Step 5,
The surface world grows dim.
Step 4,
Thoughts loosen like threads undone.
Step 3,
The heart becomes heavy in the most beautiful way.
Step 2,
The air thickens with memory.
Step 1,
You arrive.
You are in a forest now,
Moonlit and ancient.
The trees here hum with life,
Even in stillness.
Their roots reach beneath the soil like memory,
And their leaves carry whispers from those who came before you.
Walk slowly,
Letting your feet make contact with the earth.
The sky above is alive,
Deepened to go,
With stars bright and close,
As if they're watching.
Let yourself be seen here.
Ahead,
Through a curve in the trees,
A clearing opens.
There's a round table made of stone in the center,
And around it,
Several chairs,
Waiting.
Step into the clearing and come closer to the table.
Choose one of the chairs and feel its weight beneath you.
Let your body settle into its shape.
Allow someone or something to arrive now,
Gently in the space you've created.
There is no need to look for them.
They will come when they are ready.
It might be a feeling that has waited years to be felt.
It might be a memory that returns not to haunt you,
But to be held.
Perhaps it is a version of you,
Younger,
Quieter,
Needing your presence.
Or one that lives ahead of you,
A self still blooming into form.
Whatever appears,
Receive it without trying to change it.
Welcome it like a guest who has traveled far to meet you.
Let them sit across from you.
Let your breath stay soft and natural.
Look into their face or simply feel their presence.
What do they carry?
What do they need to say?
There is no need for words.
Let your heart listen.
Let your belly listen.
Let your bones listen.
What do they carry?
What do they need to say?
Stay here a while.
Breathe.
Receive.
And now,
Slowly let the figure rise.
Say thank you,
Even if with no words.
Let them return to where they came from,
Carrying something lighter.
Begin your return through the forest.
The trees haven't moved.
The stones are where they were.
And yet,
Something within you walks differently now.
The staircase appears before you again,
Quiet and steady.
Begin to rise,
Slowly,
As if carrying something sacred back with you.
Step 1.
Breath returns to the chest.
Step 2.
The body begins to stir.
Step 3.
Thoughts gently stretch.
Step 4.
You carry the dream with you now,
Not as a memory,
But as a thread still woven through your breath.
Step 5.
You return,
Slowly,
Fully,
But some part of you remains touched,
Still humming with the silence you met.
Rest now,
Soft traveler.
Let your breath fall into stillness.
Let your body grow quiet and weightless,
As if the stars themselves have taken watch over you.
You are held.
You are witnessed.
You are safe.
Let the thread of dream pull gently,
Carrying you deeper,
Further,
Inward.
Where the night takes you now is where you were always meant to go.
