Welcome.
You've arrived.
There is nowhere else to be tonight.
Allow your body to settle into whatever surface is holding you right now.
Feel the bed beneath you,
The pillow,
The weight of the covers.
Everything that needed to happen today has happened.
Everything that belongs to tomorrow can now wait.
And this practice asks nothing of you.
There is no right way to do this.
There is nothing to achieve.
You don't even need to stay awake.
In fact,
The most beautiful thing that could happen is that you drift away and sleep finds you without you even noticing.
Let's begin simply with a breath.
Breathe in through your nose gently.
And as you breathe out,
Let your mouth soften,
Open just slightly and release a quiet sigh.
Let the breath leave you.
And again,
Breathing in and sighing out.
Letting the jaw release.
And letting the tongue rest heavy in the mouth.
One more time.
Drawing breath in.
And as you exhale,
Imagine that your whole body is settling a little deeper into the bed.
If there is something your heart is quietly holding tonight,
A wish,
A prayer,
A simple truth about yourself,
Let it surface now.
Something you need to work for.
Something you already know to be true.
Something deep within.
It might be as simple as I am safe.
Or I am enough.
Or I trust the rhythm of my life.
Whatever arises,
Hold it gently.
And let it rest in the center of your chest.
You may feel the warmth.
You don't need to repeat it or remember it.
It knows where to go.
Now we're going to travel through the body.
Not to change anything.
Not to fix anything.
Simply to visit.
Like walking through a landscape at dusk.
Noticing what's there.
Without needing to do a thing about it.
I'm inviting you now to bring your attention to your right hand.
The index finger.
The middle finger.
The ring finger.
The little finger.
The palm of the right hand.
Soft and open.
Like the center of a flower.
The right wrist.
The forearm.
The right shoulder.
Letting it drop away from the ear like a leaf falling from a branch.
The right side of the chest.
The right side of the belly.
Heavy as the earth.
The shin.
The calf.
The sole of the right foot.
And each toe of the right foot.
One by one softening.
Now the left hand.
The left thumb.
The index finger.
The middle finger.
The ring finger.
The little finger.
The palm of the left hand.
Warm and still.
The left wrist.
The forearm.
The elbow.
The upper arm.
The left shoulder.
Melting downward like wax.
The left side of the chest.
The left side of the belly.
The left hip.
The left thigh sinking deeper.
The left knee.
The shin.
The calf.
The ankle.
The sole of the left foot.
And each toe releasing one by one.
And now the back of the body.
Imagine you are lying on warm sand.
Feel the warmth of the earth rising through the back of your heels.
The backs of the calves.
The backs of the thighs.
The whole of the lower back.
Cradled by the earth.
The middle back.
The shoulder blades.
Spreading wide like wings folded at rest.
The back of the neck.
The back of the head.
Heavy and warm against the pillow.
The top of the head.
The forehead.
Wide and smooth as a still lake.
The right eyebrow.
And the left eyebrow.
And the space between the eyebrows.
Where all thinking rests.
Soft behind closed lips.
As though watching the last light of the sunset fade.
The right cheek.
The left cheek.
The nose.
The tip of the nose.
The upper lip.
The lower lip.
The chin.
Unclenched.
Open as though the mouth has forgotten how to hold tension.
The chest.
Like a landscape.
At rest after a long,
Warm night.
Without changing anything at all.
Simply notice the breath.
The breath that has been breathing you all along.
Without your help.
Without your attention.
And notice where you feel it most.
Perhaps the cool air at the nostrils.
Or the gentle rise of the belly.
Or the soft expansion of the ribs.
Imagine your breath is the ocean.
Each inhale a wave rolling into the shore.
Each exhale.
The water drawing out again.
In and out.
And retreating.
An ancient rhythm that has never once stopped.
There is no effort needed.
The tide does not try.
It simply moves.
And so does your breath.
And if you'd like.
You can begin to count the waves.
Counting backwards from 20.
Each exhale one way of drawing back.
If you lose count.
It doesn't matter at all.
Simply pick up whenever feels right.
Or let the counting go entirely.
There is no wrong way to be here.
And letting go of any counting.
Just be.
Imagine now that you are standing at the edge of a forest.
Just as the evening arrives.
The sky is that soft color between gold.
The air is warm on your skin.
And there is a faint scent of eucalyptus and salt.
You begin to walk.
Barefoot.
The ground beneath your feet is soft.
Fallen leaves.
The occasional smooth stone.
With each step.
You feel yourself becoming lighter.
As though the forest.
Is absorbing all of the weight.
You've been carrying.
The trees are tall around you.
And the canopy rustles gently overhead.
And through the branches.
You can see the first star of the evening appearing.
The sounds of the day are fading.
The birds are quieting.
And in their place.
The soft chorus of crickets begins.
The path curves gently.
And you begin to hear something in the distance.
Water.
Moving slowly over stones.
A creek perhaps.
All the distant murmur of the ocean.
You follow the sound.
Your feet carry you without effort.
And the trees begin to thin.
Opening into a wide quiet beach.
The sand is pale.
In the fading light.
The water stretches out before you.
Vast and calm.
You walk to the water's edge and sit down.
The sand is still warm from the afternoon sun.
You feel it beneath your hands.
Through the fabric of your clothes.
Supporting you completely.
The waves are small and gentle.
They arrive at your feet.
And retreat again.
With a soft hush.
Over and over.
The most patient sound in the world.
The sky is deepening now.
More stars are appearing.
And with each wave that comes and goes.
You feel yourself.
Becoming less and less solid.
As though your edges are softening.
As though you are becoming part of the sand.
Part of the sky.
Part of the sound of water.
You don't need to hold your shape anymore.
You don't need to be anyone.
Or do anything.
You are simply here.
At the meeting place.
Of earth and water.
Dissolving into the night.
And you can't quite tell.
Where the sky ends.
And the ocean begins.
Everything is held.
The waves continue.
As they always will.
There is nothing left to do.
