Dream Sutra — When Stone Becomes River

Hey,

It's late now.

You made it through another tide of day.

Sit easy for a moment.

Let the river of breath find you again.

In through the nose for four.

Hold one.

Out through the mouth for six.

Slow,

Gentle.

Now,

Let me tell you a story.

There once was a bridge of stone.

Old,

Patient,

Patient,

Proud.

It had held the same river for centuries.

Believing its purpose was to stand,

To hold,

To endure.

Every season the water changed.

Spring rush,

Winter silence.

But the bridge stayed,

Certain that stillness meant strength.

One night the bridge began to dream.

It dreamed of what moved beneath it.

The current spoke in silver voices.

You were never meant to stop us.

You were meant to meet us.

The bridge argued.

Stone is just water that forgot how to move.

The bridge felt something shift inside.

Not breaking,

Just loosening.

Centuries of holding turned into listening.

The wake became warmth.

And that warmth flowed again.

Out,

Six.

Feel the edges of your body melt a little.

Let the shoulders drip toward the bed.

Let the jaw unclench.

Let the mind stop holding the day still.

By dawn the bridge had become river.

Stone turned to memory.

Memory to mist.

And the river carried it all without effort.

Sometimes we stand.

Sometimes we flow.

Both are sacred.

Control is just love that forgot how to trust.

Trust is stone remembering it was water first.

Listen to the sound of your breath.

That's your river.

Every inhale gathers.

Every exhale releases.

Nothing forced.

Nothing missing.

If a thought floats by,

Let it pass like a leaf.

You don't need to name.

You're part of the current now.

Let the spine soften.

Let the eyes turn silver inside their lids.

Let the pulse slow until it echoes water on stone.

In four.

Out,

Six.

Stay with that tide.

The night hums quietly around you.

It's your body's own music.

The bridge is gone.

Only flow remains.

Now let the current take you.

Asleep be the water that finally finds you.

Let dreams travel where holding hands and movement begins.

Float there.

The night will carry you the rest of the way home.