The Weight Of Rest

Let's take a few moments together to explore what rest actually feels like.

Not as a concept,

Not as something you earn,

But as something you already belong to.

Find a way to sit or lie down that feels honest.

Not ideal,

Not perfect,

Just honest.

Let your body arrive before your mind does.

Notice how the ground is already here,

Already holding you.

Notice that the floor or the bed or the chair is not asking you to be better before it supports you.

Can you let your body weigh just a little bit more?

Sometimes you'll hear an inner whisper saying that you have to let go,

But you don't have to let go of anything.

You can simply let your body sink.

Let your bones have their say.

Your muscles have been collecting the demands of your day.

Your jaw has been balancing truth and connection.

Your breath has been expanding and contracting.

Let all of that soften.

Not by force,

Not by will,

But by permission.

Give yourself permission.

What would it feel like to be received by this moment?

Not fixed,

Not improved,

Just received.

Allow yourself to become a little heavier.

Like the way a child becomes heavy in your arms when they finally trust it's safe to sleep.

That's what rest really is,

Not stillness,

But trust.

You don't have to try so hard right now.

You don't even have to try to rest.

Just notice the weight of your body.

And without trying to change anything,

Notice the back of your hips,

The skin on your calves,

The quiet pool of gravity down through the spine.

There is no moral weight to rest.

It's not a reward.

It's not an escape.

It's a natural part of your cycles,

As natural as breathing or laughing.

It's a return to the truth that your body is not a machine.

It is a return to the truth that your body is not a machine.

So,

For now,

Let the weight of your body be your meditation.

In a very simple manner,

Let it teach you how to be here.

Let your breath stay soft and natural.

Let your presence feel low to the ground.

You don't have to rise above anything.

Allow for time to retreat in the simple in-betweens that candidly exist.

You're in no hurry and you're being held in the weight of rest.