Settle into your body. Let it rest fully where you are, supported by the surface beneath you. Close your eyes, and take a long, slow breath. In through the nose… and out through the mouth. Let the tension start to melt. Let the mind begin to drift.

Now, imagine the air around you warming. It’s thick, almost heavy. Not oppressive, but full. Alive. Every breath you take feels rich, humid, like a jungle mist that coats your skin and fills your lungs with warmth.

You are standing at the edge of a tropical rainforest. The light is golden and broken, filtering through wide green leaves. The air hums, not with silence, but with a thousand tiny sounds layered together—the drone of insects, the call of unseen birds, the rustle of creatures moving in the undergrowth. VVCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

You take a step forward. The ground is soft beneath your feet, damp and mossy. Each footfall sinks slightly, as if the Earth is welcoming you in. You’re surrounded now. Thick trunks rise like pillars around you, vines curl from above, and droplets fall occasionally from high leaves, tapping the ground like soft drums.

Everything is slow here. Lush. Abundant. Nature doesn’t rush, and neither do you. You walk gently, not to arrive anywhere, but to be part of this place. You feel the humidity cling to your skin, the way your body loosens in the warmth. A thin sheen of sweat appears—not from effort, but from immersion.

Somewhere in the canopy, a howler monkey calls. Farther off, a branch cracks. But you are not afraid. This is not a wildness that threatens—it embraces. It moves according to laws older than thought. There is no chaos here, only the pure logic of life continuing, moment by moment, season by season.

You pause. And breathe.

And as you stand there, surrounded by this dense, vibrant world, a realization rises within you—not in words, but in feeling. That you, too, are part of this. Your breath, your pulse, your quiet awareness… it all belongs. You’re not outside nature looking in. You are nature, remembering itself.

Let yourself feel that.

There is nothing to change here. The dampness. The buzz. The stickiness. The beauty. It’s all part of the same whole. And you? You’re not trying to control it. You’re learning to move with it. To walk like the jaguar—calm, poised, deliberate. To listen like the trees—deep, slow, patient.

This forest, in all its tangled glory, teaches acceptance. It says: don’t rush. Don’t resist. Grow where you are. Trust the rhythm of the rain.

Take a breath.
Feel the stillness underneath the noise.
Take another.
Feel the life around you—and within you—pulsing to the same beat.

Now, gently, begin to return. You don’t need to forget this place. It’s with you now. In your breath. In your awareness. In your sense of timing.

When you feel ready, begin to move your fingers and toes. Open your eyes slowly. Let the light return.

And as you return to your day, remember:
You are part of something wild.
Something ancient.
Something beautiful that doesn't need to be tamed.

Take care, my friend.
May you walk with the calm of the trees and the rhythm of the rain.