Greetings,
Blessed one.
Find a comfortable position,
Either seated or lying down.
Close your eyes and begin to breathe naturally and deeply.
Take a slow,
Deep breath in through your nose and release it gently through your mouth.
Again,
Breathe in,
Feeling your chest and belly expand,
And breathe out,
Releasing any tension you're holding.
With each exhale,
Feel your body becoming heavier,
More relaxed.
Your shoulders drop,
Your jaw unclenches,
Your whole body softens into the surface beneath you.
Breathe naturally now.
Notice the cool air as you inhale,
The warm air as you exhale.
Let your thoughts drift away like snowflakes on the wind.
You don't need to hold on to anything right now.
Simply be here,
Simply breathe.
You are safe,
You are still,
You are present.
You will become aware that you are standing in a winter landscape.
The world around you is blanketed in fresh,
Pristine snow.
Everything is quiet,
That special silence that only comes with snowfall,
As if the earth itself is holding its breath.
It is evening.
The sky above is deepening into twilight,
A rich,
Relevant blue.
The sun has set,
But its memory lingers on the horizon in shades of pale gold and soft purple.
You are dressed warmly,
Wrapped in thick coat,
Soft scarf,
Wound around your neck,
Sturdy boots on your feet.
The cold air touches your cheeks,
Fresh and invigorating,
But you are comfortable,
Protected.
You can see your breath forming small clouds in front of you with each exhale.
The air smells clean and sharp,
Like ice and pine and possibility.
Around you the landscape stretches in gentle hills and valleys,
All covered in snow that glows faintly in the fading light.
Dark evergreen trees stand like silent sentinels,
Their branches heavy with snow.
Everything is still,
Peaceful,
Perfect.
Ahead of you,
You see a path through the snow.
It winds between snow-laden trees,
Leading towards something you can sense but not yet see.
You feel drawn to follow it.
You begin to walk.
Your boots make soft,
Crunching sounds in the snow,
Steady,
Rhythmic,
Meditative.
Each step is deliberate,
Mindful.
There is no rush.
Time moves differently here,
In this winter stillness.
As you walk,
You notice the beauty around you.
Snowflakes rest on evergreen branches,
Like tiny stars.
The bark of birch trees glows white against the darkening sky.
Everything is draped in silence and silver.
The path curves gently through a small grove of pines.
The ascent reaches you,
Sharp and resilious,
Mixing with the cold,
Clean air.
Snow slides off a branch with a soft whomp,
Landing in a small cloud of powder.
You continue walking,
Your breath steady,
Your footsteps sure.
And then,
Through the trees ahead,
You see it,
The bridge.
You emerge from the trees into an open area,
And there before you stretches a beautiful wooden bridge.
It arches gracefully over a frozen stream,
Trailings and boards covered in a thick layer of untouched snow.
The bridge is old and sturdy,
Made of dark wood,
That contrasts beautifully with the white snow.
Icicles hang from its sides like crystal chandeliers,
Catching what little light remains in the sky.
You approach slowly,
Revelantly.
This bridge feels significant somehow,
Like a threshold,
A crossing point,
A place between worlds.
You step onto the bridge.
The wood is solid beneath your feet,
Despite its blanket of snow.
You walk to the center and stop,
Resting your hands on the snow-covered railing.
Below you,
The stream is frozen solid.
It serves as a river of ice that gleams dully in the twilight.
Here and there you can see the dark shapes of stones beneath the ice,
Or the preserved outline of a fallen leaf frozen in time.
The silence here is profound.
It is not an empty silence,
But a full one,
With presence,
With potential.
You stand on the bridge and simply breathe.
The cold air fills your lungs,
The stillness fills your heart.
As you stand on the bridge,
Looking at the darkening sky,
You notice something beginning to happen.
The stars are emerging,
One by one,
Bright pinpoints of light against the deepening blue.
You can see constellations you recognize,
And many you don't.
The Milky Way becomes visible,
A river of stars flowing across the heavens.
Then slowly,
At first,
Then with growing intensity,
Color begins to appear in the northern sky.
A faint green glow emerges near the horizon.
You watch,
Breathless,
As it strengthens and spreads,
Reaching upward like a curtain being drawn across the heavens.
The aurora borealis,
The northern lights,
The green deepens,
Becomes more vibrant,
And now other colors appear,
Hints of purple at the edges,
Whispers of pink,
Touches of blue.
The lights begin to move,
Dancing and swaying like cosmic silk scarves,
Caught in a celestial breeze.
Waves of light ripple across the sky,
Ribbons and curtains undulate in snow,
Graceful motion.
The aurora pulses with a rhythm that seems almost alive,
Breathing,
Dancing,
Singing,
In colors instead of sound.
You stare transfixed on the snow-covered bridge,
Watching this magnificent display.
The northern lights reflect faintly on the snow around you,
Tinged in the white world with subtle greens and purples.
As you watch the aurora dance,
You feel something shifting within you.
The boundary between yourself and the display above begins to blur.
You are not just watching the northern lights,
You are communing with them.
You are part of the same dance,
The same energy,
The same universal flow.
The lights seem to respond to your presence.
A particularly bright wave of green sweeps directly overhead,
And you feel it move through you,
Cool and electric,
Cleansing and energizing all at once.
Any heaviness you have been carrying begins to lift,
Worries,
Fears,
Tensions.
They rise up and are carried away by the dancing lights,
Dissolved into the cosmic display above.
You feel lighter,
Clearer,
More yourself than you have felt in a long time.
The aurora continues its silent symphony.
Curtains of light fold and unfold.
Spirals of color twist and untwist.
Everything is in constant,
Graceful motion,
Never still but yet utterly peaceful.
You understand something in this moment.
You are like the northern lights.
You too are made of light and energy.
You too are capable of this kind of beauty,
This kind of transformation,
This kind of dance.
The lights seem to pulse in agreement,
As if acknowledging this recognition.
A shooting star streaks across the sky,
Cutting through the aurora's display,
A blessing,
A confirmation.
Gradually,
The aurora begins to fade.
The colors soften.
The movement slows.
The lights retreat back towards the horizon,
Like a tide.
And you can slowly wake up.
You can move your fingers and your toes and return back to this reality.
