Hello my friend,
Welcome to your meditation.
My name is Stephen Dalton and it's my great privilege to meditate with you today.
You find me today.
In a beautiful old barn.
In the countryside.
It's summertime.
And you can probably feel it around me.
The warm air,
The light coming in,
The easy quiet of a long day.
Today we are going to do a visualization.
You are going to imagine.
That you are here.
In this beautiful place.
There's nothing you need to do for the next while.
Nowhere else to be.
This isn't sleep.
And it isn't worth.
But if you fall into a sleep.
That's okay too.
But really it's just meant as a time for coming back to yourself.
And maybe to start something fresh.
So get comfortable.
Wherever you are.
And when you're ready.
Let your eyes close if you want to,
Or you can keep watching the screen.
But let my voice take it from here.
Let's begin by simply arriving.
You don't have to relax yet.
You don't have to feel anything in particular.
For now.
All I'm asking is that you stop moving.
And let the day set itself down for a while.
Take one slow breath.
In through your nose.
And when you're ready,
Let it go.
There's no right way to do this.
If your mind wanders,
That's fine.
If you fidget,
That's fine.
You can't get this wrong.
Let's take another breath in together now.
And out.
Slowly.
And one more.
And all the way out.
Notice the weight of yourself.
Wherever your body meets the chair or the floor or the bed.
By the way,
You can be sitting or lying down for this.
Whatever you want.
Notice that you're being held.
You aren't holding yourself up.
The ground is doing that.
Something solid is underneath you.
And it isn't going anywhere.
The earth.
Is there.
Our constant support.
Now feel the backs of your legs.
Your seat.
Your spine.
Your hands resting.
Wherever they may be.
You can let them be heavy.
Coming into the body now.
Let's move through the body slowly.
From the top down.
I'll name each part.
And as I do.
Let your attention rest there for a moment.
The way warmth rests on skin without pressing.
Bring your attention to the top of your head.
Soften the scalp.
Let go of the small muscles around your eyes.
There's a lot of holding there we never noticed.
Let the eyes feel heavy.
Unclench the jaw.
Let the back teeth come apart.
Just slightly.
Let the tongue rest soft against the floor of the mouth.
That your shoulder is dropped.
Not pushed down.
Just released.
Let them fall away from your ears.
Feel the arms grow heavy.
The upper arms.
The elbows,
The forearms.
To rest.
All the way down into the hands.
Into each finger.
Heavy.
Warm.
Still.
Bring the breath into the chest.
And let the ribs widen as you breathe in.
And soften as you breathe out.
Let the belly.
Peace out.
You don't need to hold it in.
No one's looking.
Feel the hips.
Settled and heavy.
The thighs released.
The knees.
The shins and calves.
The ankles.
And the feet.
Let the feet be completely still if you can.
And just feel your back now.
Supported by the Earth.
Your back and neck.
Allowing whatever tension is in there.
Just let go now.
To know that it's supported.
The whole body is supported now.
The whole body.
Is allowed to be heavy.
While your body rests.
Your mind is going to take a short walk.
Picture a track,
If you will.
A simple country lane.
In the middle of a warm,
Summer afternoon.
The sun is high and easy.
The light is broad and warm.
And everything it touches.
Looks alive.
The green of the verges.
The gold of the long grass.
The deep blue of the sky above.
You're walking along this lane.
In no hurry at all.
There are hedgerows on either side of you.
Thick and full with summer.
Blackberries and elderflower.
Bees working the blossom.
The grass at the edges is tall and seeding.
Sway.
When the breeze moves through it.
Hear your own footsteps.
On the dry,
Warm earth.
There's a smell to a day like this.
Warm grass.
The green smell of growing things.
A little dust from the lane.
Lifting thee.
Breathe it in.
Up ahead.
Where the lane bends.
You can see the roof of an old stone barn.
It sits at the edge of a meadow that's full and golden.
The grass nearly ready for cutting.
Moving in slow waves.
Whenever the wind crosses it.
You walk toward it.
The barn is old.
Older than anyone you could ask?
There is stone and wood.
With ivy climbing one wall,
And swallows wheeling high above the roof.
The big timber door stands half open.
It has stood like that all summer.
There's no luck on it.
There never needed to be.
You step inside.
The outside warmth softens.
Inside.
The air is cool and soft.
After the heat of the lane.
There is a particular kind of coolness in a barn like this on a hot day.
It takes your eyes a moment to adjust.
And then you see it.
The afternoon sun.
Coming through the high windows.
And the gaps in the old boards.
Falling in long,
Slanting columns across the floor.
The light is full of dust.
Tiny moats drifting.
Turning gold where the sun catches them.
Moving so slowly they seem almost still.
Watch them for a moment.
There's nowhere they need to be either.
The floor is old timber.
Worn smooth.
With fresh straw scattered across it.
And old stones as well.
And the whole place smells of summer kept indoors.
Or may.
Dry wood.
Coolstone.
The honest smell of a place that has sheltered things for a hundred years.
And asks for nothing.
In the corner.
There's a stack of hay bales.
And someone.
Maybe you.
Maybe someone long before you.
Has laid a soft blankish across the lowest of them.
As if they knew you'd come.
You go to it.
And you sit.
And then you lie back.
The hay gives beneath you.
Just enough.
Above you.
Far out.
Are the great old roof beams,
Dark with age.
Crossing the open space.
And through a gap near the top.
You can see a single bright square of summer sky.
You are completely safe here.
No one knows where you are.
And no one needs anything from you.
The door is open.
But only the breeze comes through it.
This is a sheltered place.
A held place.
For the next world.
It's entirely yours.
Stay here.
Lying back in the warm light.
And let me draw your attention to the simple things.
The warmth of one column of sunlight.
Falling across your legs.
The way you'd feel on a real summer afternoon.
That brood Generous heat.
The coolness of the barn-shaded air on your face.
Where the light doesn't reach.
Warm body.
Cool air.
Both at once.
And both completely fine.
Listen to how quiet it is in here.
Not empty.
Full of a calm that has been gathering in this building.
Through summer after summer.
Longer than you've been alive.
Old places hold their peace.
You can borrow some of it.
Outside.
A long way off.
The meadow moves in the wind.
These sounds that you hear in the distance.
They have nothing to do with you.
They ask nothing of you.
Let them come and go.
We're going to rest in silence now for a while.
Keep the picture if it helps.
The dust in the light.
The beams above.
The warmth across your legs.
Or let it go and just.
.
.
Rest.
Either is good.
Still here?
Still Hell.
While you've been resting.
The day has carried on without you.
And it has managed perfectly well.
The things you carry.
They can mostly carry themselves for a while.
So let's set a few of them down.
Here on the barn floor.
Where it's safe to leave them.
Think of one thing you've been holding today.
A worry.
Dusk.
A conversation playing on a loop.
You don't have to solve it.
Picture setting it down.
Gently.
The way you'd set down something fragile.
Unto the straw beside you.
It will still be there when you leave.
If you want it.
But for now.
.
.
It's out of your hands.
And if there's another.
Set that down too.
There's room here.
This barn has held heavier things than your worries.
Ugh.
Feel the hands are empty.
Open the palms if they aren't already.
Let them lie open and loose.
Empty hands.
Nothing to grip.
Nothing to manage.
Room now for something new to arrive.
This is Summer.
The season of things growing.
And I want to plant one small idea.
While your hands are open.
And your mind is quiet.
Somewhere in you.
There's something you'd like to begin.
It doesn't have to be large.
A habit.
A kindness.
A change of direction.
Even a small one.
A version of yourself you've been meaning to get back to.
You don't have to name it out loud.
You don't even have to decide on it now.
Just.
.
.
Let the idea of beginning Sit warm in the centre of you.
The way seed sits in warm soil.
Doing nothing.
And yet already alive.
Notice that beginning again is always allowed.
The day is only half done.
The light is still high.
Whatever this morning held.
The afternoon is open.
And so are you.
Let that be enough for now.
A seed in warm ground.
You don't have to do anything but let it rest there.
We'll rest in silence again now.
Stay with the Worms and that small living thing in the middle of you.
I'll meet you again in a few minutes.
Let's come back to the breath for a moment.
Not to change it.
Just to keep it company.
As you breathe in.
Let your gaze in the mind's eye.
Travel up to the high beams.
And the bright square of sky beyond them.
And as you breathe out.
Let it drift back down to the floor.
Up to the light.
Down to the straw.
You don't need to force the rhythm.
Just follow it.
The way you'd watch the dust drift.
Up on the in-breath.
Down on the out-breath.
Let your awareness widen out now.
Beyond the body.
Beyond the blanket.
Feel the whole of the barn around you.
The four old walls.
The wooden frame holding the daisies at bay.
The High Roof.
Far above.
With its beams.
And its one bright window of summer.
You are small.
Warm.
Breezing sing in the middle of a large Come.
Quiet space.
And the space holds you easily.
It was built to shelter.
That's all it has ever done.
And beyond the walls.
Golden meadow.
The lane.
The headdress full of flower.
The high blue sky.
The whole long afternoon.
No hurry to end.
With you tucked safely inside the middle of it.
You don't have to do anything to belong here.
You already do.
Fools and you the same.
As it falls on this straw and this stone.
Without asking who you are or what you've done.
You are simply part of the day.
And the day.
Is full of growing.
We'll rest in the longest silence now.
Stay in the barn as long as the picture holds.
When it fades.
Just rest.
There's nothing to keep hold of.
And nowhere to get to.
And I'll rejoin you in a few minutes Still here.
One image to keep.
Before we begin to come back.
Up in the high windows.
The light has shifted.
Just slightly.
Softer now.
The warm gold the afternoon goes when it's still got hours left in it.
One of the slanting columns of light.
Has moved across the floor while you rested.
It's a hand's width further along than it was.
That's the only clock in here.
Moving slowly.
Across old wood.
Nothing else has changed.
You're as held and as safe as you were.
And that small living thing you set down in the warmth It's still there.
Still yours.
Ready for whenever you are.
We're going to come back now.
Gently.
In our own time.
There is no rush.
To begin by letting the breath deepen just a little.
A slightly fuller breath in.
And a long breath out.
Now start to notice the real room around you again.
The actual place where your body is resting.
The temperature of the air.
The surface beneath you.
The sounds of your own life.
Gently waiting for you.
Let a little movement come back into the body.
Wiggle the fingers and the toes Roll the shoulders if you like.
A small stretch.
Wherever it feels good.
And take with you if you can.
A little of the barn.
The warmth.
The dust drifting in no hurry.
The feeling of being held by something solid.
And asked for nothing.
And the seat you left in the warm middle of yourself.
Carries out gently.
Into the rest of your day.
It's still in there,
That barn.
Whenever you need it.
You don't need the lane or the door.
You only need to close your eyes and remember the light.
The afternoon is still wide open.
So is everything ahead of you.
When you're ready.
And only when you're ready.
Let your eyes open.
Welcome back.
Take the rest.
