Speaker 1: You are in a library. The library is very old.
Speaker 1: The library is very large. The library has the quality
Speaker 1: of a place that has always been here, that will
Speaker 1: always be here, that exists outside of time. The shelves
Speaker 1: go up. The shelves go up further than you can see.
Speaker 1: The shelves are made of dark wood, polished smooth by
Speaker 1: years of hands reaching for books. The shelves are filled
Speaker 1: with books. The staircase is the spine of the house.
Speaker 1: The staircase connects all the rooms, all the floors, all
Speaker 1: the moments that have ever been lived here. At the
Speaker 1: end of the hallway you reach the window. Oh, the
Speaker 1: window is large. The window is tall. Through the window,
Speaker 1: you can see the garden. It is the same garden.
Speaker 1: It is always the same garden. The garden is the
Speaker 1: place you return to in dream after dream. But the
Speaker 1: chair is there just in case, just in case you
Speaker 1: change your mind, just in case you want somewhere to
Speaker 1: rest that is not your pet. The chair is a
Speaker 1: quiet promise that the room is generous with its comfort.
Speaker 1: There is a window in the room. Through the window
Speaker 1: you can see the night. The night is dark, but
Speaker 1: the dark is not heavy. The dark is so The
Speaker 1: book is closed. The book is waiting for someone to
Speaker 1: read it. But the someone does not need to be you.
Speaker 1: The room is for someone. The room is not for
Speaker 1: you tonight. You only need to see it. You only
Speaker 1: need to know it is there. You walk on. You
Speaker 1: come to another door. This one is also open. Through
Speaker 1: this door, you can see a sitting room. There is
Speaker 1: a fireplace. The chairs hold the shape of the people
Speaker 1: who have rested here. You sit in one of the chairs.
Speaker 1: The chair receives you. The chair has been waiting for you.
Speaker 1: The leather is cool at first, then warms to your body.
Speaker 1: On the desk in front of you, there is an
Speaker 1: open book. You do not remember opening it. The book
Speaker 1: is open to a page with no words, only an image.
Speaker 1: The image is of a window. You do not need
Speaker 1: to read. You only need to hold the book. You
Speaker 1: only need to feel its tape. You put the book back.
Speaker 1: You pull another. This one is larger. This one is
Speaker 1: bound in green. The pages are heavier. The pages are
Speaker 1: edged in gold. You open it to a random page.
Speaker 1: There is an illustration, a woodcut of a tree of
Speaker 1: a figure walking beneath the tree of a sky full
Speaker 1: of stars. The illustration is simple. Feel it steady, feel
Speaker 1: it sure, You do not need to do anything about
Speaker 1: your heart. Your heart knows what to do. Your heart
Speaker 1: has been beating since before you were born. It will
Speaker 1: beat long after this moment has passed. Trust it, Trust
Speaker 1: it to keep going while you rest. Let your attention
Speaker 1: sink to your belly. Let your belly soften, Let it
Speaker 1: rise with thee in breath, Let it fall with the
Speaker 1: out breath. Let your tongue rest against the roof of
Speaker 1: your mouth, or curl softly at its bottom, whichever feels
Speaker 1: more natural. Either way, the muscles of your face are
Speaker 1: learning to release. Now, let your attention drift to the
Speaker 1: back of your head, to the place where your head
Speaker 1: meets the pillow. Feel the weight of your head being held,
Speaker 1: Feel the pillow receiving you, feel the give, feel the support.
Speaker 1: Your feet sink slightly into it as you walk. You
Speaker 1: Rea chuck and pull a book from a shelf. The
Speaker 1: book is small. The book is bound in soft brown leather.
Speaker 1: The title on the spine is in gold, but you
Speaker 1: cannot read the language. You open the book. The pages
Speaker 1: are thin, the pages are creamy. The pages are filled
Speaker 1: with words in a script you do not know, but
Speaker 1: you do not need to know the words the quiet hums.
Speaker 1: The quiet has a texture. The quiet is the texture
Speaker 1: of centuries of words held in one place. There is
Speaker 1: a smell in the library, the smell of paper, the
Speaker 1: smell of leather, the smell of dust that is not unpleasant,
Speaker 1: the kind of dust that means age, that means care,
Speaker 1: that means books have lived here for a long time.
Speaker 1: The light in the library comes from lamps set on
Speaker 1: long wooden tables. The path winds gently between beds of
Speaker 1: plants you cannot quite name. The plants are not exotic.
Speaker 1: The plants are the kind of plants you might find
Speaker 1: in any quiet garden, leafy, soft, varieded in their greens.
Speaker 1: You walk the path slowly. You do not have to
Speaker 1: reach any destination. You are walking because walking feels good.
Speaker 1: The stones massage the soles of your feet. The air
Speaker 1: is warm. The fireplace is not lit, but you can
Speaker 1: imagine the fire. You can imagine the warmth. You can
Speaker 1: imagine sitting in the chair beside it, reading, listening to
Speaker 1: the rain. The sitting room is for winter evenings. The
Speaker 1: sitting room is not for tonight. You walk on. You
Speaker 1: come to a staircase. The staircase goes up the staircase
Speaker 1: goes down. You do not need to take the staircase,
Speaker 1: You only need to see it. But the garden does
Speaker 1: not feel smaller. As you go deeper, the garden feels larger.
Speaker 1: The garden seems to expand as you move through it,
Speaker 1: the way a dream expands as you move through it.
Speaker 1: The garden has no edges. The garden has no end.
Speaker 1: There is always more garden. There is all