The piglet,
Who learned to feed his mind.
Hi there little dreamer.
If your eyes feel sleepy,
They can gently close.
If they're still open,
That's perfectly okay too.
You can just listen.
Let's take a slow breath in together,
Like you're smelling something warm and cozy.
And now let it out,
Softly,
Slowly.
Good.
What if your mind ate food the same way your tummy does?
What if every thought you hear,
Every show you watch,
Every word you repeat inside your head was like a tiny snack for your mind?
Some snacks help you feel light and happy.
Some make you feel calm and strong.
And some are a little too sugary and noisy to have all the time.
As you get cozy and still,
Let that question float softly around you like a feather drifting down.
Your breathing can stay slow,
Your body can rest,
And when you're ready,
We'll begin.
In a quiet corner of a sunny farm,
Where the grass felt soft under the hooves and the air smelled like hay and warm earth,
Lived a small piglet named Pip.
Pip was round and pink,
With a curly tail that usually bounced when he walked.
And Pip loved snacks.
He loved cookies that were crunchy,
Candy that stuck to his teeth,
Chips that crackled loudly when the bag opened.
If it crunched or crumbled,
Pip was already munching.
Oink,
Oink,
Yum,
Yum,
He'd say happily,
Cheeks puffed out,
Crumbs sprinkling the floor like tiny stars.
But Pip loved something else too.
Screens.
Every afternoon,
Pip would plop onto the couch,
Tablet balanced on his belly,
Snack bowl close by.
He watched shows where animals shouted BORING and NOT FAIR over and over and over again.
He watched wiggly videos that never really went anywhere.
He watched silly pranks that always ended up with someone upset.
At first,
Pip giggled.
He snorted.
He munched.
He watched some more.
And some more.
And some more.
Until the sun slid lower in the sky,
And the farm grew quiet,
And Pip waddled off the couch feeling heavy.
Oink,
Oink,
Irk,
His tummy groaned,
His head feeling a bit buzzy,
Full of the same words bouncing around.
Boring.
That's not fair.
Boring.
Boring.
That's not fair.
Even Pip's curly tail drooped a little.
But Pip just shrugged it off and said,
It's just what I like.
And with that thought,
He reached for one more snack,
And one more show,
Not yet knowing what his mind has been eating all along.
The days went on like this.
Snack,
Screen,
Snack,
Screen.
And slowly,
Very slowly,
Something inside Pip began to feel off.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't scary.
It was just heavy.
When Pip stood up,
His tummy felt full in an uncomfortable way.
Not the cozy,
Full feeling after a good meal,
But the kind that made him sigh,
Oink,
Oink,
Irk.
And inside his head,
The shows kept playing,
Even when the tablet was off.
Boring,
Said a grumpy voice.
Not fair,
Said another.
The words bounced around like rubber balls,
Thump,
Thump,
Thumping,
Inside his thoughts.
When Pip tried to play,
His body didn't feel like moving much.
When someone bumped into him,
He felt cranky instead of giggly.
Even his curly tail,
Usually so springy and proud,
Hung lower than usual.
Pip noticed,
But he didn't quite understand.
He laid on the rug one afternoon,
Staring at the ceiling,
Tablet glowing softly beside him.
I don't feel very good,
He murmured,
But this is just what it's like.
Still,
Something inside of him wondered.
Why did his tummy ache?
Why did his head feel so noisy?
Why did everything feel harder than it used to?
Those questions sat quietly with Pip,
Like little pebbles in his pocket,
Waiting.
That was when Auntie Hen came around.
Auntie Hen moved calmly,
With soft feathers and kind eyes.
She had a way of speaking that made everything feel slower and safer.
She looked at Pip on the couch,
Cookie crumbs on his snout,
Tablets still humming.
Pip,
She chuckled gently.
What are you feeding yourself?
Pip blinked.
Cookies,
He said,
And cartoons.
Auntie Hen smiled.
And how do you feel?
Pip paused.
Then he sighed.
Oink,
Oink,
Ergh.
Auntie Hen nodded.
That makes sense.
Pip tilted his head.
Huh?
Well,
Auntie Hen said,
Too much candy makes your tummy feel yucky,
And too much junk for your mind can make you feel tired,
Cranky,
And stuck.
Pip's eyes widened.
Wait,
He said slowly.
My mind eats too?
Of course,
Auntie Hen replied.
Your mind eats whatever you watch,
Whatever you listen to,
And whatever thoughts you repeat inside.
She tapped her beak lightly.
Junk in,
Junk out.
Pip imagined it.
A big,
Squishy,
Boring donut bouncing around in his head.
A fizzy,
Not-fair soda bubbling and popping inside his brain.
A melting scoop of I-can't-do-it ice cream dripping down his ears.
Ew,
Pip squealed,
Jumping up.
That's gross.
Auntie Hen laughed softly.
But here's the good news,
She said.
Just like food,
You can choose something better.
She leaned close.
A kind story,
A hopeful thought,
A game with friends.
Those are like fruit and vegetables for your mind.
They help you feel strong and light and calm.
Pip felt a warm spark inside his chest.
He could choose.
And that tiny thought,
Quiet and gentle,
Was the first good meal his mind has tasted in a long while.
That afternoon,
Pip decided to try something new.
Not forever.
Not perfectly.
Just for now.
He reached out and gently turned off his tablet.
The screen went dark,
Quiet.
For a moment,
Pip felt a tiny tug.
The wiggly video still wiggled in his memory.
The cookies still crunched in his imagination.
But then Pip heard another thought.
A softer one.
I can play.
Pip slid off the couch and trotted outside.
The sun felt warm on his back.
The grass tickled his hooves.
He spotted the ducklings near the pond and made up a silly game where everyone has to waddle as slowly as possible without laughing.
Oink,
Oink,
Hooray!
Pip laughed,
Waddling and wobbling.
Later,
He munched on a crunchy carrot.
Crunch,
Crunch.
It tasted fresh and clean.
And when a little frustration popped up instead of saying,
Not fair,
Pip tried something else.
I can try again,
He said softly.
Something amazing happened.
His tummy didn't groan.
His head didn't buzz.
And his curly tail?
It gave a tiny curl.
Then another.
Until it bounced again like it used to.
That evening,
The farm settled into its quiet sounds.
Crickets hummed.
The breeze whispered.
Pip climbed into his bed,
A cozy little nest of blankets and hay.
This became Pip's special place,
His calm corner where good thoughts liked to visit.
Pip snuggled deeper into his blankets.
They felt warm and safe,
Like a hug that didn't squeeze too tight.
His tummy felt easy.
His head felt calm.
The noisy words were gone,
Replaced by softer ones.
I can choose.
I can try.
I can rest.
Outside,
The moon watched quietly.
Inside,
Pip's body grew heavier in the best way.
His curly tail relaxed.
His ears softened.
His thoughts slowed,
Like leaves floating down onto still water.
Just before sleep found him,
Pip whispered to himself,
What I feed my tummy matters.
What I feed my mind matters too.
Oink,
Oink,
Hooray,
He murmured,
And drifted into the coziest sleep he had in days.
And now,
Little dreamer,
The farm is quiet,
The stars are blinking slowly above,
And Pip is resting peacefully in his cozy bed.
Before sleep fully arrives,
Pip remembers the gentle lesson he learned.
Not as a rule,
Not as a rule at all,
But just a soft reminder he can carry with him.
He whispers it once slowly and calm.
What I feed my mind helps me grow.
The words feel warm.
They feel kind.
They feel true.
So Pip whispers it again,
Even softer this time,
Like a lullaby just for himself.
What I feed my mind helps me grow.
And as those words settle,
Nothing more to do,
Nowhere else to go.
Your mind can rest.
Your body can rest.
Good night,
Pip.
Good night,
Little farm.
And good night to you.
Sleep easy.
