The Whispering Forest: A St. John’s Journey to Peace
After a long and demanding day, the members of St. John’s group gathered in the quiet meeting room. The evening was still, and the soft glow of warm, amber lights filled the space, casting gentle shadows on the walls. Outside, the distant sound of crickets chirped, adding to the peaceful atmosphere.
As the members settled in, a calm voice filled the room, carrying with it the kind of warmth that comes from genuine care. It was as if the voice itself was a soft breeze, brushing over each person, inviting them to leave their burdens at the door.
“Close your eyes,” the voice said, slow and tender. “Feel the weight of your body sinking into the chair, your legs heavy, your arms at ease.”
The soothing hum of a flute began to play in the background, its melody slow and enchanting, like a river flowing gently over smooth stones. The members could feel their muscles beginning to relax, the tensions of the day starting to drift away like leaves carried on a soft current.
“Now, imagine you’re standing at the edge of a quiet forest glade,” the voice continued, wrapping them in its gentle cadence. “The air is cool, a soft breeze rustles the leaves above you. You breathe in deeply, the fresh scent of pine and earth filling your lungs, clearing your mind.”
The scene unfolded before their closed eyes. A vast expanse of trees surrounded them, their tall trunks standing as silent guardians. Rays of the setting sun peeked through the canopy, casting a golden glow on the forest floor. In this place, there were no worries, no demands, only peace.
“Breathe in… and out,” the voice whispered. “Feel the breeze on your skin, light and cool, as it carries away the tiredness of your body, the heaviness in your heart.”
Each breath grew slower, each heartbeat softer. Some members could almost feel the gentle caress of the wind on their faces, the whisper of leaves dancing above them.
“Listen to the quiet,” the voice beckoned, “the only sounds are the rustling leaves and the distant song of a stream, gently flowing nearby. The world has slowed, and so have you.”
The flute music wove in and out of their consciousness, like a lullaby. Eyes grew heavier, breaths deeper. The day’s challenges and exhaustion had been carried off by the wind, replaced by a calm that seeped deep into their bones.
The voice softened further, becoming almost a part of the air itself. “In this quiet place, you are safe. Your mind is at peace. Your body is relaxed. Sleep is near, gently calling you, like the whispering wind through the trees.”
One by one, the members drifted into a restful slumber, their minds cradled by the calmness of the story. The forest glade in their imagination became a place of refuge, where only tranquility remained.
And as they slept, the voice faded, leaving only the sound of the breeze and the soft flute melody to accompany them into their dreams.
Lights off😴😴
#tales_of_long’iro
