I’m thinking of you, my friend. You are deep in the struggle and it is the middle of the night. It is hard to sleep. I know you don’t want to wake anyone. They need their sleep. But you are not alone. Many of us are awake with you.

I’m imagining spaciousness for you. Seconds, moments, of ease. Maybe the space between the in breath and the out breath, where there is no work to be done.

These beautiful, troubling bodies of ours. They have needs. We love them like our babies. We are tethered to them and are not ready to let go. It’s okay.

I’m imagining you remembering the children when they were young, how you see them now in the grandchildren and how, even now, you can know such joy.

I hope you can think of one of the most joyous moments of your life. There are so many to choose from. What did it look like, sound like, taste like? What was above you, beside you, in front of you, beneath you? Imagine the floor, the earth, the perfection of gravity. It holds you now. Wrap yourself in the memory like a time-worn quilt just in from the clothesline, smelling of sunshine and fresh air. Or maybe your quilt has just come from the dryer and is just warm enough, just soft enough, perfectly weighted to curl into and rest.

Let’s sleep now, and if we can’t, we will rest.