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The Garden for Deep Sleep. A Spring Meditation for Drifting Off (Inner Peace Meditations Episode 100)

Description In this special 100th episode of Inner Peace Meditations, meditation teacher Steven Webb invites you into a small walled garden that only grows at night, and only when someone is resting there. Tonight, that someone is you. You settle onto a cushioned old bench, your body softens with each breath, and the garden quietly fills in around you. Bare earth becomes green shoots. Climbing roses thread the stone walls. Lavender and jasmine drift through the night air. There is nothing to do tonight except rest. Your stillness is the gardening.

A soft, slow meditation with a quiet nod to spring, designed to send you to sleep. Listen somewhere safe. You are not meant to make it to the end.

Who this meditation is for

• Anyone who struggles to fall asleep
• People with overactive minds at bedtime
• Anyone who feels they should still be doing something, even at rest
• Listeners who love gentle nature visualisations
• Anyone marking the turn of the season into spring

Key benefits

• Helps the body let go of the day
• Quiets the mind enough for sleep to find you
• Releases the pressure to make sleep happen
• Encourages the listener to feel held by something gentle and unhurried
• A soft place to land at the end of a long day

If you'd like to contact Steven or support his work, go to https://stevenwebb.uk

Foreign.

Webb.

And welcome to sleep in the Night Garden.

And just a quick, gentle reminder before we begin totally, this meditation is designed to send you to sleep.

So only listen to this.

If you are somewhere safe, not while driving, not while doing anything that needs your attention, because you will fall asleep.

So just allow yourself to become comfortable somewhere quiet enough that you can drift off part way through.

And that's totally allowed.

And that's the whole idea, is that you don't make it to the end.

And let your head rest on something soft and let your eyes gently close.

There's nowhere to be after this except in a deep, healing sleep.

Something that's worth saying while you're still settling in.

Falling asleep is a skill.

We often lie in bed and just hope it happens.

We think, we worry, we try to make something happen.

But falling asleep isn't something you do, it's something you allow.

And when you feel safe, when you feel comfortable, the body falls asleep on its own.

It knows how.

And once the body has fallen asleep, you simply allow the mind to follow.

Your body.

And your mind already know how to sleep.

They've done it many times.

When you're absolutely exhausted and it's time to go sleep, they'll just do it.

So the only thing you need to do tonight is allow your body to relax.

Nothing to fix, nothing to force, nothing to achieve.

Just listen to my words, follow where I take you, and let sleep come whenever it's ready.

It doesn't matter when you fall asleep, really.

It doesn't let go of any goal.

So we're going to do a small release throughout the body.

And I always do this because I find it really helpful.

And it allows the body to fall asleep.

So just tense up your feet and your toes and your ankles and then let them go.

And now we're going to tense up the legs and hold them really tight.

And now just let them go.

And then just do it with your torso and your bum.

And then let it go and soften.

And now we do the shoulders and the arms and your hands, fingers.

Tighten it all up, hold it.

And now just let it go and become really heavy.

And now we're going to do the whole body.

1, 2, 3.

And the whole body.

Your toes to your forehead, eyes, tense, everything, everything.

And now just let it all relax as if it's heavier than ever.

And soften in this moment, Allow your body to soften.

Breathing in sleep, breathing out the day.

There's a garden somewhere, a small one.

It's all walled in stone.

And this garden is A little bit different.

It only grows at night, and it only grows when someone rests there.

Tonight.

That person is you.

You find yourself at a wooden gate.

It's just slightly open.

The last of the light is low and gold and soft, and it's just fading.

You step through the gate.

You don't have to push it.

It opens for you.

Everything here just happens.

Inside, the air is cooler.

There's a path of flat stones, still warm from the day.

You walk along them slowly.

No hurry.

The walls are gently all around you.

There's ivy on some of the stones.

There's moss.

In other words, At the middle of the garden there's a low bench.

It's cushioned, old, and it's worn and very smooth.

It's been waiting.

You sit down and you let your weight sink into it.

You let your shoulders come down, let your hands rest in your lap.

And as you look around, the garden is quiet.

You can see the little plants, but nothing is blooming yet.

A few slender stems.

And then you notice something.

Something small.

Something very slow.

As you breathe out, a single leaf unfurl somewhere in the beds around you.

Just one.

Gentle, like a hand opening.

And as you breathe in, somewhere, a seed shifts, settling a little deeper into the earth.

And as you breathe out, a curl of green finds its way through the moss.

You don't have to do anything with this.

You don't have to try.

You're already doing the work.

The work is resting.

Breathing in quiet, breathing out.

Sleep.

And as you settle, the garden begins to grow more around you.

Quietly.

You don't have to watch it.

You don't have to help.

You begin to notice a scent.

Lavender maybe, or jasmine.

Something soft and warm.

The kind of scent that makes your shoulders drop a little more.

And somewhere above you, the first star appears.

You don't see it.

You just feel the sky getting a little deeper.

And all around you, the garden is filling in.

It's all happening ever so slowly, almost like when you look, you can barely see it.

You have to really slow down.

You have to just be aware of your breath.

And then you notice the climbing roses threading the stone.

The honeysuckle along the wall.

Long grass is soft against your legs.

A pear tree somewhere, all in slow growing flowers.

A small pond that you hadn't noticed.

And it now has the water and lilies.

None of it needs you to look.

None of it needs you to wake.

It grows because you're here.

It grows because you're falling asleep.

The stillness is the gardening tonight.

And you've been trying so hard for so long.

All the doing, all the fixing, all the carrying.

Tonight you get to put it all down.

You get to be the thing that rests the garden that does the rest.

Breathing in, breathing out.

The light has gone.

The walls around you are soft in the dark.

The garden is now becoming full.

Every space has something gentle growing in it.

It's your perfect kind of garden.

You can't see most of it.

That's fine.

It doesn't need your eyes.

Your body is heavy.

It's warm and it's held.

The bench is holding you.

The garden is holding you.

The night is holding you.

There's nothing left for you to do tonight.

The garden has what it needs.

It has your rest.

It has your breath.

It has your stillness.

Breathing in, breathing out, just allowing.

And the garden grows a little more and you soften a little more.

Breathing in, Breathing out.

Nothing to do, Nothing to be.

Just rest.

The garden is growing.

And you are sleeping.