Hey,
It's late now.
You made it again.
That means something good.
Let the day fall away.
Unclench the jaw.
Soften the eyes.
Let the breath come home on its own.
In through the nose for four.
Out through the mouth for six.
Slow.
Honest.
Still.
Let me tell you a story.
There once was a star and I forgot its name.
For ages,
It had answered to something bright and sharp,
A sound that told the universe where to find it.
But one night,
In the end,
The name slipped away.
No sound,
No echo,
Just silence vast enough to feel infinite.
At first,
The star panicked.
Who am I without the word that means me?
Without the title,
The record,
The sound of recognition?
The sky said nothing.
The darkness held the star like a hand holds water.
And for the first time,
The star noticed the quiet light beneath the name.
It wasn't gone.
It was wider.
It was what remained when identity fell asleep.
The star began to shine again.
Not brighter.
Just being without a border.
That's the secret most of us forget.
Identity is a useful coat,
But not your skin.
When it falls away,
There's no void.
Let the body feel how big it really is.
Let the ribs widen like constellations.
Let the pulse move like slow orbit.
When the name falls away,
There is no loss.
Stay there.
Let the breath smooth out until it hums like distance.
Let thought drift like cosmic dust.
Let sleep arrive like light earning to rest.
The star doesn't need to be known to shine.
It shines because it can't help it.
It shines because it is.
So tonight,
Let go of your name for a while.
Let go of everything that must introduce itself.
Be what's left when the words stop.
And four,
Rest inside that nameless brightness.
And if you wake in the middle of the night,
Remember,
The universe never stopped whispering you back into itself.
Sleep now.
Sleep as the sky sleeps.
Endless,
Silent,
Whole.
