Hi there,
You've made it,
You're here,
It's time to settle in and let everything go,
And my only job is to help you do just that.
Tonight,
After some gentle relaxation,
I'll share a few soft nature poems by Emily Dickinson,
Simple reflections on the quiet beauty around us.
Even in rest,
The subconscious mind continues to listen and learn.
So tonight,
You'll learn about the softness of the natural world,
Even as you drift into deep healing sleep.
Allow yourself now to take a very slow,
Deep breath in through the nose,
And feel the breath wash away as you breathe out.
Slowly,
Breathing in through the nose,
And feel the breath wash away as you breathe out.
Once more,
And now,
Allow your breath to become natural.
Let the body do its own work without conscious effort.
Feel the breath rise,
And feel the breath fall.
Let the body breathe as you rest.
At this time,
Become aware of your forehead,
And let it soften.
Relax your temples,
Your cheeks,
Soften the lips,
The jaw,
The chin.
Feel the neutral position of your facial features.
There is nothing to express right now,
Nothing to communicate.
There is only existing,
Only being.
Rest in the softness of your existence.
Become aware of your scalp,
And let any tension there dissolve,
Softening the scalp.
Relax your neck,
Your shoulders,
Your arms.
Feel the softness of the hands.
They have nothing to hold,
Nothing to grip.
The hands are empty and relaxed.
Let the chest go.
Let the belly go.
Relax the back.
Relax your hips and legs.
Feel the softness of the feet.
They have nowhere to go,
Nowhere to travel to.
The legs have nowhere to be but here.
And now,
I'll share some simple reflections of nature,
Carried through the soft voice of Emily Dickinson.
A Day by Emily Dickinson.
I'll tell you how the sun rose,
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst.
The news like squirrels ran.
The hills untied their bonnets.
The bobble links begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
That.
But how he said,
I know not.
There seemed a purple style,
That little yellow boys and girls were climbing all the while.
Till when they reached the other side,
A domine in grey put gently up the evening bars and led the flock away.
The Grass So Little Has To Do by Emily Dickinson.
The grass so little has to do.
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood and bees to entertain.
And stir all day to pretty tunes the breezes fetch along and hold the sunshine in its lap and bow to everything.
And thread the dews all night like pearls and make itself so fine.
A Duchess were too common for such a noticing.
A Bird Came Down The Walk by Emily Dickinson.
A bird came down the walk.
He did not know I saw.
He bit an angle worm in halves and ate the fellow raw.
And then he drank a dew from a convenient grass.
And then hopped sideways to the wall to let a beetle pass.
He glanced with rapid eyes that hurried all abroad.
They looked like frightened beads,
I thought.
He stirred his velvet head.
Like one in danger,
Cautious,
I offered him a crumb.
And he unrolled his feathers and rode him softer home.
Then oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam.
Or butterflies off banks of noon leap plashless as they swim.
A Light Exists in Spring by Emily Dickinson.
A light exists in spring,
Not present on the year,
At any other period when March is scarcely here.
A color stands abroad on solitary fields that science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.
It waits upon the lawn.
It shows the furthest tree upon the furthest slope you know.
Then,
As horizons step or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes.
And we allow these images of soft grasses,
Gentle light,
And quiet creatures to stay with you,
Guiding you gently into dreams.
There is nothing more to do.
Only to float.
To drift.
To rest.
