Welcome.
Make yourself comfortable in whichever position you choose.
Feel the weight of your body being held by the surface beneath you.
Let yourself sink into that support,
Slowly,
Like settling into soft earth.
Imagine the world outside your window wrapped in the longest night of the year,
A night stretched wide and deep,
Holding everything in quiet pause.
Allow yourself to settle into this stillness,
Not hiding from the dark,
But resting inside it.
Bring awareness to your breath,
Inhale lightly through your nose,
And exhale slowly through your mouth.
Feel your chest rise,
Then fall,
Your belly expand,
Then soften.
Let your breath slow,
An ocean's tide drawing back then returning.
Each exhale softens your shoulders a little more,
Releases your jaw,
Lets your eyelids grow heavier.
Let your awareness drift to the top of your head.
Feel the space across your forehead,
The tiny muscles around your eyes,
Your cheeks softening.
Move down through your neck and throat.
Invite spaciousness there,
Space for breath,
Space for voice,
Space for truth.
Travel into your shoulders,
Notice what you've been carrying here,
Physically,
Emotionally,
Energetically.
With each exhale,
Imagine warmth flowing down your arms,
Through your elbows,
Into your palms and fingertips.
Let your torso loosen,
Ribs expanding gently as air arrives,
Softening as breath leaves.
Bring awareness to your abdomen and lower back.
Feel the natural rise on the inhale and release on the exhale.
If tightness is present,
Let it be acknowledged with compassion,
Not fixed,
Just seen.
Let your hips grow heavier,
Like stones settling at the bottom of a lake.
Move downward through your hips,
Your knees,
Your calves,
To your feet and toes.
Invite every part to rest.
Notice any weariness you've been holding.
The end of the year can collect fatigue,
Grief,
Uncertainty.
Name what's here quietly,
Gently,
Without judgment.
Imagine yourself in a dark room,
A darkness that is not empty,
But rich,
Velvety,
Alive.
This darkness is like winter soil,
Holding seeds through months of cold,
Nurturing life that is not yet visible.
In front of you sits a single candle,
Its flame small,
Steady,
Unwavering.
A circle of warm light surrounds it,
Holding back the dark in a gentle balance.
Approach the candle,
Feel its warmth reaching toward you.
This flame is yours,
Your inner life force,
Your inner knowing.
Perhaps this year the flame dimmed at times,
But it never went out.
Inhale and feel the flame brighten.
Exhale and feel it steady.
If it feels right,
Cup your hands around the candle,
Not to cage it,
But to tend to it.
Feel the warmth on your palms,
A pause of heat against your skin,
Like a heartbeat made of light.
Whisper softly,
I carry a flame that never goes out.
Let that truth settle in your chest,
A recognition rather than a wish.
With each inhale,
Imagine feeding the flame.
With each exhale,
Releasing old ash,
Old stories,
Old exhaustion,
Old efforts.
Allow the flame to speak to you in its own quiet language.
Maybe an image arises,
A word,
A feeling,
A color,
A sensation.
Perceive whatever comes,
There is wisdom in the stillness.
Notice what the flame illuminates around you,
Perhaps parts of your year that were heavy or painful.
Let them be gently lit,
Not scrutinized,
Not judged,
Just acknowledged.
If it feels right,
Offer these pieces to the flame.
Trust its warmth to transform what you release.
Repeat softly,
Even in darkness,
There is a seed of light.
Feel how that phrase resonates through your body,
A quiet truth returning home.
Imagine now holding a small seed in your hands,
A seed containing the light of truth.
Imagine the quality or guidance you receive.
See yourself placing the seed into rich winter soil,
Covering it gently,
Trusting the unseen growth.
Just as winter protects new life underground,
There's something growing in you now that is not yet visible.
You don't need to rush its emergence,
Cycles unfold in their own timing.
Trust the rhythm,
Trust the dark,
Trust the seed.
Expand your awareness beyond the candle,
Beyond the sea,
To a distant horizon.
On this longest night,
Imagine the very first hint of dawn,
A faint blush of light touching the dark.
Not sudden,
Not dramatic,
Subtle,
Quiet,
Patient.
Light does not replace darkness all at once.
They coexist for a time,
A blending,
Not a battle.
Feel your breath mirror the cycle.
Inhale like dawn emerging,
Exhale like night returning.
I am becoming the one who trusts the return of dawn.
Let that trust spread through your whole body,
Softening resistance,
Loosening old armor,
Inviting ease.
Sense the inner flame expanding subtly,
Warmth spreading from your chest to your shoulders,
Arms,
Belly,
Down through your legs.
This is not a blaze,
Just a soft,
Steady glow moving outward.
Feel a gentle sense of direction forming,
Not specifics,
Not planned,
Just orientation.
Direction toward growth,
A quiet belief in the cycle of light returning.
Begin to return awareness to your physical body.
Feel the points of contact,
Your head,
Shoulders,
Back,
Hip,
Leg.
Feet.
Notice the air against your skin,
The sounds in the room,
The rhythm of your breath.
The inner flame remains,
But you are returning gently to waking reality.
If you like,
Place both hands over your heart.
Feel the warmth you've cultivated.
Whisper one last time,
I carry a flame that never goes out.
Or even in darkness,
There's a seed of light.
Let these words anchor you,
Steady you,
Guide you.
Take a deeper inhale,
Let your ribs expand,
And exhale with a soft,
Releasing sigh.
Begin small movements,
Wiggle your fingers,
Your toes,
Roll your shoulders,
Stretch in any way that feels good.
And when you're ready,
Slowly open your eyes and let the world return.
You may want to take a few moments after this experience to journal any images or words that came to you,
Letting the guidance root more deeply.
Carry this quiet hope and inner steadiness with you into the days ahead,
Trusting the rhythm of cycles and the power of your own life.
