Sail with Sirens,
In tonight's sleep story,
Inspired by mythology and folklore.
Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.
My name is Laurel,
And I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.
Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,
One part guided meditation,
And one part dreamy adventure.
Follow along with my voice for as long as you like,
And when you're ready,
Feel free to let go of the story and relax into sleep.
If you're still awake,
At the end of the story,
I'll guide you through a relaxing ocean breath meditation.
In tonight's mythology inspired bedtime story,
You've come aboard La Sirène,
A fantastical ship crewed entirely by women.
The captain takes you under her wing,
And you come to learn about the crew's mission.
On board their wondrous vessel,
These mysterious maidens sail the world's oceans,
Repairing and restoring sea life,
Nurturing ecosystems,
And bringing the watery world into balance.
You soon learn that the crew are more than meets the eye.
They are figures out of ancient myth,
Engaged in a long misunderstood quest to protect their home,
The sea.
Swiftly,
Swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too.
Sweetly,
Sweetly blew the breeze,
On me alone it blew.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge,
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner Flecks of sea foam,
Then salt-tinged rain upon your face.
Windblown hair and tender weeds tangled about your toes.
A crack of thunder.
A plunge.
A pair of arms,
Unknown but not unwelcome.
Smooth as any you've ever felt around your body.
A wink of iridescence in the water.
And as you slip,
Slowly to sleep,
A quivering note of song.
You remember,
Little else,
From the day of the wreck,
Just these flashes.
And indeed,
You didn't wake for many days after.
You never saw what remained of your ship,
And it's for the best,
You think.
The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes,
Was a face.
Round and youthful.
Smiling,
Dimpled.
Two great eyes the color of sea glass.
A tangled mess of hair the color and texture of gulf weed washed up on shore.
And skin that glowed with a greenish,
Pearlescent sheen.
You thought you were dreaming then,
Not knowing the incalculable wonders you would soon witness.
With the calm and careful attention of Lorelai,
The young woman whose face greeted you upon waking,
You've at last outgrown the infirmary and been put to work.
It was at your own request that the captain agreed to grant you a job aboard her ship,
La Sirene.
It was the least you could do after they rescued you,
And you have years of experience as a bosun's mate.
But La Sirene,
You now understand,
Is not like other ships.
Its strange and wondrous qualities render your background irrelevant.
Still,
You are determined to repay the crew's kindness in any way you can.
The seas are calm this morning when you step out onto the deck.
The sky sings in hues of sun-kissed coral,
Delicately painting reflections on the gentle waves below.
You are headed to meet with the captain and discuss terms,
But you take just one moment to soak in the sheer miracle of being alive.
You tentatively rest a hand on the gunwale to look over the edge.
The material is soft,
Responsive.
You're still getting used to it.
In all those years aboard a traditional vessel,
Even awash each night in sailors' songs and folklore,
Nothing could have prepared you for the magic of La Sirene.
Like a living,
Breathing creature,
She glides over the waves,
Blooming endlessly.
La Sirene is constructed not of timber,
But of the most spectacular assortment of aquatic flora and fauna.
A hull hewn from diverse coral and marine fungi,
A mast spun from algae,
A patchwork of anemone,
Seaweed,
And lichens that make up the decks and other structures.
She needs no sail nor helm,
For she listens and reacts to the captain's intent.
She is not a ship as you know them,
But a community of organisms bound by some inexplicable sorcery,
Moving as one,
Carrying her crew across the wide world.
There is so much about the vessel and the crew that you do not understand,
And perhaps never will.
Nonetheless,
You feel an unlikely sense of security on board.
As if the ship herself is curling a curious magic around you,
Protecting you.
A silvery voice cuts through the calm of the morning,
A voice that calls your name.
You feel the skin on your neck and arms prickle with goosebumps as you turn to face the speaker.
It's the captain,
Parthenope.
She stands on the upper deck,
Having surely just emerged from her quarters.
You apologize in haste for your tardiness to meet her,
Distracted as you were by the light upon the water.
But Parthenope merely grins and waves off your excuse as she jumps down to meet you.
An acrobatic move,
Pulled off with such effortless ease,
It nearly takes your breath away.
I'm happy to see you on your feet,
She says.
We were getting worried.
You thank her for the concern and hospitality.
I've been thinking about your proposal,
She continues,
Referencing your offer to assist the crew in repayment.
You're sure we can't simply take you home?
The sea is my home,
You say reflexively.
Parthenope's eyes soften.
We have that in common,
Then.
Of course,
She says,
We have no need of a bosun.
La Sirene requires no upkeep,
Not in the ways you're accustomed to anyway.
But I think we could make use of you yet.
Her eyes sparkle,
Dark as the ocean under starry skies.
There is something you need to know,
She says,
Before we shake on our agreement.
Something about us.
You turn to look at the crew members emerging from their cabins below deck.
Marrow,
Yara,
Andine,
And Lorelai.
These women who seemed,
From the moment you came aboard,
Not entirely real,
Not entirely human.
The sea-glass eyes,
Gulfweed hair and pearly skin.
You must have known it,
All this time,
Without consciously believing it.
When you grow up in the company of sailors,
The stories are difficult to avoid.
But you always consider them outdated folklore.
Exaggerated warnings about the dangers of the sea.
The way nautical maps paint sea monsters in place of natural hazards.
A jagged rock becomes the sharp-toothed scylla.
And a whirlpool the ever-hungry charybdis.
And anyway,
The crew of La Sirene seem nothing like the villainous,
Seductive creatures from myth,
Known for luring sailors into the murky depths with the magic of their song.
But Parthenope begins to speak,
And she confirms your suspicions.
You've been sailing in the company of Sirens.
But Parthenope assures you that there's nothing to fear.
That name,
Siren,
Which the crew has adopted as the moniker of their fantastical ship,
Is one placed upon them by people who know very little about their true nature.
And they've been handed so many names by outside observers over the generations.
Harpy,
Morgan,
Rusalka,
Nixie,
And countless others.
They've been labeled harmful seductresses,
Demons,
Monsters.
But these characterizations are false and born of fear.
Our only desire,
Parthenope says,
Is protection,
Restoration.
We are the guardians of the ocean and all her creatures.
We defend the balance in the unseen worlds.
Each of us has our role,
Our gift.
Now,
Each member of the crew comes forward to explain their place in the ecosystem of La Sirene.
Lorelei,
As is already evident to you,
Is a healer.
She tends to the sick,
Patches the wounded,
And comforts the heartbroken.
Mero,
Meanwhile,
Is a kind of doula.
She assists with transitions in and out of life.
Ondine,
As a gift for communication.
She speaks all the languages of the sea and sky.
Able to converse fluently with fish and birds,
But also currents,
Wind,
And waves.
She can speak to the stars if she concentrates hard enough.
And Yara is an expert navigator,
Bestowed with uncanny memory for the waterways of the earth.
From winding streams to deepest oceans.
But it is Parthenope,
The captain,
Who has,
You think,
The most extraordinary gift of them all.
A voice so clear,
So lovely,
That it can both conjure storms and calm them.
It can unite warring factions or stir unrest among comrades.
The power of her song,
In concert with the moon,
Can change the tides,
Uncovering lost cities and civilizations.
Hers is the spellbinding voice that sailors warn of.
But she has no appetite for human souls or petty havoc.
Parthenope's voice is employed in service of greater forces than the torment of humankind.
She sings to force a harmony with the music of the celestial spheres.
She sings to soften quakes,
To repair rifts in the ocean floor,
To filter poisons from the air and water.
Such awesome power to transform,
Transmute the very matter of existence.
And,
Perhaps,
Even more amazingly,
To change minds.
Makes you feel small.
You wonder what you could do with that kind of power.
Could you be trusted?
It is a heavy burden,
Parthenope tells you.
A great responsibility,
Which she does not take lightly.
And the world is wide.
She and her crew of sirens,
With all their skill,
Can only do so much.
They hold back the tide of destruction that threatens the ocean and all its inhabitants.
Those that dwell beneath the waves and those who skim its surface.
But the antagonistic forces grow stronger every day.
There are times when it feels like a losing battle.
Still,
It must be fought.
For the world is worth it.
But where,
You wonder,
Does that leave you?
Among the supernaturally gifted sirens,
What role can you play?
You have nothing to offer besides a lifetime at sea and a love of its mystery.
You have more than that,
Parthenope says.
You have an open heart and a place on land.
That's a gift none of us have,
And something we sorely need.
You don't understand yet.
The captain seems poised to explain,
But a deafening splash and a chorus of something like laughter breaks the group's concentration.
Ondine,
Instantly alert,
Rushes across the deck and climbs nimbly onto the bowsprit.
Clinging to the spar with her hair hanging down,
She reminds you of one of the half-woman,
Half-fish figureheads on conventional ships.
Dangling your head to see better,
You realize that Ondine is conversing with a pair of dolphins whose heads protrude from the water.
Even before Ondine returns to translate,
A flurry of activity is commencing amongst the crew.
Parthenope signals something to Lorelai,
Whose eyes first light up,
Then flick to you.
But before you can ask what's happening,
Lorelai disappears below deck.
She's back only moments later with a tiny flask of clear liquid.
Drink this,
She says,
Placing the vial in your hands,
Quickly.
What is it?
You ask.
But Lorelai is already off again,
Helping Ondine clamber back onto the deck.
Parthenope directs the others into position with confident command.
But she turns to you with teacherly softness.
I promise,
It's safe,
She says.
If it's really your wish to stay with us,
You must drink it,
Now.
Though she isn't singing,
Nor,
As far as you can tell,
Invoking her powers of persuasion,
The tender reassurance of Parthenope's voice is all you need.
You trust her,
And all the sirens indeed,
After the kindness they've shown you.
You have no reason to doubt them now.
You lift the flask to your lips and drink down the liquid inside.
There's only the faintest tinge of a familiar flower upon your tongue.
The tonic makes you feel slightly lightheaded,
But it's not entirely unpleasant.
You'll want to hold on to something,
Parthenope says.
You search for a foothold,
As La Sirene gives a great,
Unsteadying lurch.
Then you feel a hand in yours.
Marrow squeezes your hand firmly.
It's all right,
She says.
A feeling of warmth and calm settles over you at her touch.
You feel ready for what is about to happen,
Whatever it may be.
From deep within the belly of La Sirene,
This assemblage of marine life in the likeness of a ship,
Comes a creaking groan,
Like the sound your former ship would make when turning its great girth against the wind.
And then,
As Marrow holds tight your fingers,
La Sirene plunges beneath the surface of the water.
You should fear this,
Being a creature of the land,
A devoted breather of air.
But there isn't time to feel fear.
Cool water caresses your skin and flushes through your hair,
And filters,
Refreshingly,
Through your gills.
Whatever was in the flask Lorelei gave you,
It's prepared you for this,
Granted you the ability to breathe underwater.
The hand in yours changes quality,
Becomes smoother.
You turn to behold Marrow,
Who has,
At the touch of salt water,
Undergone a miraculous transformation.
The skin between her fingers is webbed,
And a cluster of iridescent scales gather at her shoulders,
Elbows,
Knees.
Her feet are elongated,
Almost flippers.
And her hair blooms like seaweed asway.
The others have changed,
Too,
Adapting to the environment.
But the transformation expresses itself differently across the crew.
Lorelei might be sculpted in Mother of Pearl,
Her skin exuding topographical rainbows,
Two sea-glass eyes still shining through.
Ondine's extremities drip with leaf-like fins and frills.
Golden-eyed Yara,
Unchanged above the waist,
Now bears a slender fish's tail.
Parthenope,
Most striking of all,
Also has the iridescent,
Emerald tail of a fish.
But her skin takes on an eerie,
Blue-green glow,
And folded about her waist are,
Unmistakably,
Wings.
The ship descends and pushes forward,
Gliding effortlessly through the darkening water.
It's as if the vessel,
A heretofore sleeping giant,
Wakes up,
Unfurling its anemones like a hundred clenched fists relaxing their grip.
You peer over the edge to see what looks like a narrow,
Rippling fin the length of La Sirène,
Propelling her movement forward.
In all your years as a ship's mate,
All those endless days and nights at sea,
You've never seen the depths that wait below.
Never so much as dreamt what wonders lie beneath.
Your heart flutters as the ship dives through schools of glimmering fish whose colors are brighter and more saturated blues and oranges and yellows than any you've seen on the surface.
It's as if all color is amplified by the medium of clear ocean water.
The sea is deeper than you ever imagined,
An unknowable abyss lying below as La Sirène finishes her descent.
Might it extend on forever,
Holding other worlds entirely and even more fantastic creatures than the ones residing on your level?
You marvel as a series of specks in the distant water draw nearer,
Revealing themselves to be a bale of green sea turtles,
Some adults with shining eyes and ancient,
Wise expressions,
Some small enough to sit,
You think,
In the palm of your hand,
Babies following the elders into endless sea.
You think of how these little ones must have crawled from the nesting grounds,
Knowing nothing but an interminable thirst,
A desire to crawl into the ocean and seek out their community.
What wave-woven magic must have drawn them back together,
The turtles glide overhead,
Passing through the golden shafts of light that penetrate these depths,
Casting momentary shadows over La Sirène.
And your comrades,
The sirens,
Wave and sing,
Greeting the flotilla as old friends.
The ship moves with elegant efficiency,
And before you've even gotten your sea legs,
So to speak,
It has come to a drifting stop.
In the relative stillness,
The ambient sway of the water,
You tune in to the frequencies of the ocean,
The sound of the sea.
Much like La Sirène,
The living ship,
The ocean is a tangled web of life,
Of sound,
A silver symphony of countless voices and elements brought together in harmony.
Your senses,
Still growing accustomed to this strange new environment,
Isolate a set of sounds,
A low rumble,
A trilling descant,
A song.
And then you see them,
The orchestral producers of the spectral song,
A pod of whales.
They are so immense,
So unfathomably enormous,
It tugs at your heart.
They are impossibly beautiful,
Too,
Strange and stoic,
Slow-moving.
You feel smaller than ever,
Fragile,
Like a blade of sea grass compared with these masters of the unseen ocean realm.
But something is wrong.
You sense it in the way the crew moves and whispers.
There's a tension in the water.
Parthenope begins to sing,
Her cadence twining with the whale song,
Until they form an almost visible cord of kinship,
And the static in the water seems to soften,
As if Parthenope's voice has built a bridge,
An opening for communication,
A ritual of welcoming and initiation.
La Sirene keeps a safe distance from the pod,
But Andine and Lorelai swim out to meet them.
What is happening,
You ask the captain,
Your voice a watery murmur.
Hunters,
Parthenope responds,
The pod escaped,
But the matriarch was wounded.
Lorelai will try to help her.
You watch as Lorelai,
Luminescent under the scattered light,
Approaches the largest of the whales.
She'll be able to save her,
Won't she,
You inquire.
I hope so,
Parthenope says.
But it may be too late,
And in that case,
She turns to Mero,
Who observes the whole situation with sharp focus.
You understand.
Mero's domain is the transition.
She held your hand as you plunged beneath the waters,
Moving from one world to another.
If Lorelai cannot save the injured whale,
Mero will be her guide through the greatest transition.
This is the work the Sirens do.
They are the gentle hands and reassuring voices of the sea.
Healers,
Restorers,
Listeners.
Psychopomps.
When you sail with us,
The captain says,
You will see some things that look like miracles,
But they are only kindness,
And you will see injustice,
Too.
It's just as important to witness that.
And that is what I hope you'll be for us.
A witness.
Your breath,
Your body,
Is beginning to synchronize with the rhythmic sway of the ocean's depth.
You are beginning to feel at home among the Sirens.
From your place on the ship,
You can see Lorelai placing her hands on the body of the injured whale with deliberation and,
You think,
Devotion.
The Sirens protect and restore their home,
Their worldwide community,
And it's humankind,
You realize,
With some pain that inflicts the most grievous harm.
This is your purpose,
Then,
To be the first to see the Sirens' work,
To believe them,
To trust their generosity,
Rather than generations of twisted myths,
To bear witness,
To rewrite the story of the sea.
Then,
Something wondrous happens.
This small section of the vast ocean erupts with songs and scales and play.
Even to you,
So new to this underwater world,
Can understand it.
It's a celebration.
Come on,
Yara says,
Taking your hand and propelling herself forward with her mighty,
Dolphin-esque tail.
Mero and Parthenope follow until you and all the Sirens are swimming alongside the jubilant whales.
Yara encourages you to take hold of one of the little one's backs.
Hold tight,
She says.
You do,
And just in time.
The whales frolic,
Swim in circles,
And,
With great bursts of joy and energy,
Reach the surface.
For a towering instant,
You take flight on the littlest one's back,
Tasting air again briefly,
Before splashing back down,
Finding that you crave the water.
The ocean is alive with the song and laughter of Sirens and whales,
In the glittering light and the water that feels as inviting as it does refreshing.
You feel as if you might never want to return to land.
As time goes on,
You become a part of the crew,
Indispensable as it were.
You may not have a supernatural gift for healing or communicating with other species,
But you make yourself useful nonetheless.
Sometimes,
You assist Yara with navigation,
Knowing as you do the patterns and the movements of stars.
You take time to apprentice with Lorelai,
Learning to distill tinctures and potions from foraged materials.
You sit with Mero in her work,
Providing another caring ear and gentle hand to those in transition.
Together,
You help a seahorse deliver their hundreds of babies and marvel as the tiny creatures disperse.
And you comfort an ancient octopus in the last moments of her glorious life.
You listen to the many tongues of the sea with Ondine.
Though you cannot understand the language of the dolphin or the dialects of cuttlefish,
You begin to grasp their tones,
Sensing jubilee,
Distress,
And compassion.
And then,
Across the ocean floor,
With Barthenopy from time to time,
You fly.
She takes you in her arms and spreads her wings to carry you among the flocks of albatross.
And you sing together.
Her song stitches rifts in coral back together.
Clears oil spills from shallow shoals.
Yours serves only to entertain,
Spun with tails from the surface.
But the sirens appreciate this more than you expected.
They grow to love you,
And you them.
Daily,
You witness these wondrous women perform miracles.
They bring balance to the ocean,
One act of generosity at a time.
They heal.
They harmonize.
They repair.
But soon you feel it,
The sinking sense of futility.
For with every celebration,
Every life saved,
Every breach,
Every new clutch of eggs,
Every rescued wreath,
There are endless calls left unanswered.
There are cries across the ocean,
Acts of injustice everywhere.
And despite the incredible gifts of the sirens,
They are so small compared with the magnitude of the sea.
How do you keep doing it?
You ask Andine one night as La Sirene drifts upon the water's surface.
You are teaching her the constellations,
Those stellar patterns that mark the observer's position in time and space.
How do you strive,
Day after day,
Knowing your effort is only like a raindrop in the vast ocean?
Andine inhales,
Then sighs.
But it isn't with resignation that she answers your question,
Rather with deep resolve.
Because we have to,
She says.
If we can help one creature out of thousands or solve one crisis out of countless,
We have to.
It matters.
You gaze up at the stars and their familiar clusters,
And you imagine new ones connecting the fiery sparks in your mind's eye,
A constellation for each member of La Sirene's stalwart crew.
You think of the tales they tell on land,
Of sirens' wicked wiles,
And of the altogether different stories that echo below the surface of these brave,
Generous beings,
Heroes of the sea.
If only every seafarer could spend a day amongst them,
You think.
If only humankind could hear their songs and be,
Not afraid,
But filled with hope.
In the tranquil night,
Escorted by the lapping of dark waves,
A note of song rises.
It's Parthenope.
She sits nearby,
Close enough to hear your conversation with Undine.
She's singing to the stars.
Maybe it's your imagination,
But it seems the stars quiver lightly in response,
As if the sky itself is rippled by a pebble,
Thrown into its depths.
The sky is like an ocean,
You think,
Vast,
Unknowable,
Mythologized.
Can you hear them,
Undine?
Parthenope asks.
What are they saying?
The stars.
Undine closes her eyes,
Something you've noticed her doing when she's most actively listening.
It isn't words,
She says after some time.
It's not language as we know it,
But I can hear them moving,
Straining against great forces,
Like tides,
Yet aching every moment for closeness,
Connection.
Their very nature is to move,
To hurdle,
To burn,
But they refuse to let go of each other.
Then Undine laughs,
A musical sound you weren't expecting in the midst of her attempted translation.
They're like otters,
She says gleefully,
The way they hold on.
Now Parthenope is laughing,
Too,
And you can see it in your mind.
A family of sea otters,
Hands interlocked as they drift on their backs,
Some sleeping,
Some wakeful,
Always connected,
Even under changing tides.
La Sirene and her crew are like that,
Too,
A constellation.
What an honor it is,
You think,
To have fallen into it,
This crew,
This family.
Your heart feels so full when you are with them,
Working by their sides,
Giving what you can to their gallant cause.
But something tugs at you from deep within.
You've fulfilled your promise to the Sirens,
To bear witness.
But what is a witness without testimony?
You are bound to a greater purpose now,
You must return to land,
To tell new stories,
To advocate for the wild and wondrous creatures you've encountered,
To change things,
Change minds.
I think I finally understand.
You say to yourself,
To Barthenopy,
I understand why I'm here and why I have to go home.
The captain's eyes sparkle with a mixture of sadness and understanding.
I hope you know,
She says,
How much you've meant to us.
La Sirene drifts under waning moon.
There was a time,
However brief,
When you thought you might remain among the Sirens forever,
Become one of them.
Now you know that these are your final days on board.
You savor them all the more for the realization that they are your salvation.
Each Siren has a parting gift for you as La Sirene approaches the once familiar shore.
From Lorelai,
A tincture for grounding to help you get your balance back on land.
From Yara,
A compass made to point to home.
From Mero,
A bracelet woven from marine plants that hugs your wrist like her comforting grip.
From Ondine,
Flecks of sea glass tumbled smooth by waves.
And from Barthenopy,
An ornate,
Empty conch shell which,
When blown,
She says,
Utters the most beautiful note.
The goodbyes are tearful,
But there is laughter,
Too.
The recognition of memories made amid the waves.
Not far from shore,
You leap from La Sirene and swim,
Relishing the feel of the water against your skin.
The sirens accompany you for a part of the way,
But one by one,
They break off,
Returning to the ship until you are alone,
Straining toward the beaches.
And then,
Before your heart can even grasp the thought,
You are emerging from the water.
Your gills are closing for the last time as the sun dries salty splashes from your skin.
The world tilts as you get your bearings.
The ground seems impossibly still,
Crashed upon by the endlessly churning ocean.
You reach for Lorelei's tincture,
Pull out the stopper,
And drink down the contents of the flask.
Slowly,
Like the undertow pulling back,
The swaying sensation is dragged from your body,
Leaving behind a tranquil stillness like you've never known.
Your gaze skims the beach,
Noticing the clumps of seaweed left in the water's wake,
The empty shells,
The driftwood.
A fling of tiny shorebirds skitter forward to peck at bubbles in the wet sand,
Then rush away,
Nimbly,
As the tide rolls back in.
You imagine turtles nesting nearby.
You are awake now to the diversity and omnipresence of life in every corner of the earth,
From the deepest ocean to the clouds.
You look back out to sea.
Just upon the horizon,
A vessel drifts,
Looking so much like a traditional ship from here,
The casual onlooker might be fooled by its silhouette.
But you know the truth,
That she,
Like the ocean,
Is alive and connected and observing.
As La Sirene begins to sink,
Carrying its crew on to continue their good work,
You retrieve Yara's compass just to see.
The needle points as you suspected,
Straight ahead toward the sirens.
A place can be home even if it wanders.
A person can be home even if you're not together.
No matter where you go,
You are bound like the stars by greater forces,
By the tides.
You watch them go and wonder when,
Not if,
You'll meet again.
But you have work to do,
Witness.
You have new myths to make.
You have hearts to inspire,
Minds to change.
Onward,
Seafarer.
Tell your tales.
Embrace a slow,
Easy breath in like the waves of the ocean.
Feel your belly rise like the ebb and flow of the tide.
Imagine how the waves swell,
Unfold,
And break against the shore.
Notice what shells and treasures are left in its wake.
And as it pulls back along the undertow,
Watch another wave roll in.
Feel how your inhales nourish all the corners of the body,
Bringing sweet oxygen along the bloodstream.
And how your exhales remove unwanted or excess tension,
Signaling to your body that it's time to slow down.
How the inhales bring in fresh,
Clean air,
And the exhales carry out anything that's not useful.
Savor the sweetness and the inevitability of the transition between inhale and exhale.
Feel that softness and relaxation travel over your body like a wave,
Traveling up from the tips of your toes into your legs,
Your hips,
Your belly,
Your back and shoulders,
Your arms,
Your neck,
And all the way to the crown of your head.
And then feel that wave rolling downward from the crown of your head over the neck and shoulders,
The arms,
The hands,
The chest,
The belly,
And the hips,
And the feet down to the tips of your toes.
As you breathe naturally,
Keep tuning in to this wave-like sensation,
Softening and relaxing every part of your body.
Like waves and soften.
Good night.
