Find a quiet position where your body can rest without effort. Let your shoulders drop. Let your breath deepen. No rush. No goal. Just presence. The kind that arrives when you stop chasing.

With each exhale, feel yourself letting go of the day's pace—the small deadlines, the buzzing thoughts, the pressure to keep up. Let them float away like dust in sunlight. You're here now. Not to race. Not to fix. But to simply be.

Now, imagine yourself drifting gently through the far reaches of space. Beyond the familiar brightness of the inner planets. Past the golden rings of Saturn. Past the ice winds of Neptune. Out where time feels stretched thin and the light takes its time to arrive. Out where Pluto drifts in its long, lonely arc.

You can’t hear it move. There’s no trail, no sound, no drama. Just a cold, blue hush and the faint shimmer of distant stars. Pluto glides along its path as if eternity were its companion. One quiet orbit that takes nearly 250 Earth years to complete. A single revolution longer than a lifetime. And yet—it moves. Quietly. Faithfully. Without the need to prove anything.

Let this image stay with you. A planet that takes its time. A world that has never rushed, and never needed to. Its patience is not hesitation—it is harmony. A deep alignment with the rhythm of nature, not the pressure of noise.

There’s a lesson here, not written in words, but woven into the tempo of the cosmos: you are allowed to go slowly. Life is not behind you. You are not late. There is no cosmic stopwatch measuring your worth. You belong to a larger unfolding, one that doesn’t need your urgency—only your presence.

Feel into that truth. Let it loosen something in you. That tight place that thinks growth must always be visible. That restless voice that wants everything now. Soften it. Remind it that wisdom has the patience of orbits. Real change often happens quietly. Silently. In the background. Like Pluto, tracing its curve in the dark.

Take a breath, long and slow. Feel the vastness around you. And another, slower still. Let each inhale be space. Let each exhale be surrender.

There is no finish line. Just movement. Just turning. Just becoming.

And as you begin to return to your body, to the room, to the world of clocks and plans, carry with you this deeper rhythm. A trust in slowness. A reverence for the unseen pace of your own unfolding.

Let the others hurry. Let the noise pass. You are in orbit. You are in motion. And you are right on time.

Take care, my friend. Move like the outer planets—quietly, steadily, without fear. The universe is in no rush with you.

So… I will let the music go for another few minutes, take your time