Begin by finding stillness. Let your body settle. Feel the ground beneath you—the weight of your presence, the calm gravity of being held.

Take a deep breath in… and exhale slowly. With each breath, imagine yourself rising slightly - just being gently lifted, as if the air itself is lightening your body.

Now close your eyes, and in your mind’s eye, begin to imagine a mountain path beneath your feet. Stones and dust. Crisp air. Sunlight flickering through thin clouds. You are walking alone, but you do not feel lonely. There is only silence, and wind, and altitude.

Step by step, the noise of the world fades below you. With each breath, the landscape opens wider. Valleys drop away. Forests become green swaths of texture. What once seemed large from below now seems smaller. You are not escaping the world—you are rising above it to see it more clearly.

After a time, you arrive.
You are standing on the side of a high mountain.
The wind brushes your face, clean and cold.
The sky feels closer here, vast and infinite above you.
Clouds drift slowly across blue. The earth stretches far in every direction.

This is where perspective lives.

You are exposed to the elements—but not threatened by them. The mountain does not flinch at the weather. It does not ask the wind to be still. It simply stands. Anchored. Present. And in this moment, so do you.

You take a deep breath. The air is sharp, almost electric. It wakes something in you. A kind of alertness that is not tense, but deeply aware. From this height, your worries seem smaller. They are shapes in the valley, not the horizon itself.

You sit down. The rock beneath you is solid, ancient. You place your hands on it. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t yield. This stone has been here for ages, through storms and sun, through the changing of everything around it. It has witnessed time without being swept away by it.

And you realize—there is a part of you that is like this.
A mountain within.
Unaffected by passing moods.
Unmoved by passing storms.
A still point that watches, and knows, and waits.

Let yourself connect to that now.

From this altitude, you are not disconnected—you are simply no longer overwhelmed. You understand what is yours to carry, and what is not. What is permanent, and what is passing. What deserves your energy, and what can be released like breath into cold air.

This is not detachment—it is discernment.
This is what elevation brings.
Not distance from the world, but deeper presence within it.

Stay here a moment longer. Breathe with the mountain. Let the wind move through you. Let your thoughts come and go like weather over peaks—clouds passing, light shifting, all part of the rhythm.

And when you feel ready, begin your descent—not with reluctance, but with quiet strength. You are not leaving the mountain behind. You are bringing it with you. Its clarity. Its calm. Its presence.

As you return to your breath, to your body, to the room around you, carry the altitude within. Let it shape the way you move through the day. You can be grounded, even when things swirl. You can remain high, even when the world presses low.

So… I’ll let the music continue for a few more minutes. Take your time. Let the mountain settle in your bones.

Take care, my friend.
And walk forward with the presence of stone and sky.