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Soft, first person goddess sleep meditations in a gentle female voice. Each episode is a guided meditation that melts into hours of warm ambient sound, so you can fall asleep and stay asleep through the night. Goddess sleep stories, a goddess watches over you meditations, and moon rituals, all drawn from the old myths. A new meditation every week. For rest and reflection only; the voices are AI generated.
By morning, you will be made new.
You do not have to believe that yet. You only have to lie still, and let me show you.
I am Ih thoon. I keep the orchard whose fruit keeps the gods young. I am the one the whole of Asgard comes to when they are worn thin, and tired, and used up. And tonight, the orchard is open for you.
You have been running low. I know. You have given all day, to so many things, and there is not much left in you tonight. That is alright. That is what sleep is for. Tonight, while you rest, I am going to fill you back up, slowly, the way the orchard fills an empty branch with fruit.
So let your body grow heavy and warm. Let the day, with all its taking, come to an end now. There is nothing more being asked of you. The giving is done for today.
Let us breathe in the air of the orchard together. It is warm, and it is sweet, and it smells of ripe fruit and warm bark and evening. Breathe it in, slowly. And breathe out, and let a little of your tiredness go.
Again. Breathe in the sweetness. And breathe out the long day.
One more. Breathe in, and feel the warm air reach all the way down into you. And breathe out everything you have nothing left for.
Now let your breath go soft, and slow, and find its own quiet way, without you steering it at all.
Now feel a warm, golden light begin to gather at the very top of your head. It is the warm light of the orchard at evening, the colour of ripe fruit and low sun. And like sweetness rising into fruit on the branch, it begins to fill you, slowly, from the top down, filling back up everything the day emptied out.
It fills your forehead, and your brow softens, and every small worry held there smooths away. It fills the small muscles around your eyes, and they grow still. Your cheeks, your jaw, and let your back teeth part. Down through your throat, and the front of your neck, warm and open.
The warm gold fills your shoulders, and they let go, and lower, away from your ears, where they have been all day. It fills your upper arms, your elbows, your forearms, your wrists. All the way to your hands, and your fingers open, warm and heavy, with nothing left to hold.
It fills your chest, and your slow, faithful heart, and the long day there begins to settle. It fills your ribs, and your back, and your belly, soft and warm, rising and falling.
It pours down into your hips, and you settle a little heavier into the bed. It fills your thighs, and your knees, and your calves, and all the standing and carrying of the day turns warm, and loose, and still. Down through your ankles, into your feet, into the very soles of your feet, all the way to the ends of you.
You are full of warm gold now, from the crown of your head to the soles of your feet. Nothing in you is running on empty anymore. You are being filled back up, while you do nothing at all but rest.
And now, let me walk you in under the trees.
The sun has just gone down, and the sky between the leaves is the deep gold of late evening. The trees stand quiet in their long rows all around you, their branches heavy and low, bowed down with ripe golden fruit. The air beneath them is warm, and close, and sweet with the smell of apples and warm bark.
There is no hurry in this place. Nothing here is ever rushed. The fruit ripens in its own slow time, and so will you.
Come and lie down here, beneath the heavy branches, where the moss is deep and warm. The ground holds you the way it holds the roots of every tree, and the great trunks stand watch around you, old and patient. Above you, the golden fruit hangs in the last of the light, and the warm air moves through the leaves, slow and sweet, and somewhere a single bird sings itself down into quiet.
Here, you do not have to produce anything, or be anything, or give anything. Here, you only have to lie still beneath the branches, and be filled, the way the fruit is filled, quietly, in the dark, without trying.
But first, let the warm gold fill you a little deeper.
Like a second slow rising of evening light, it fills you again, from the crown of your head all the way to your feet, and this time it reaches even deeper, into the tired places the first wave could not quite touch. Feel it gather warm in your chest, and your belly, and the backs of your legs, soft and golden and full.
The orchard is in no hurry, and neither are you now. The fruit ripens on the branch overnight, without trying. And you are ripening too, softening, filling, growing whole again, while you do nothing at all.
Let yourself sink deeper into the warm moss, deeper into the warm earth, deeper into the gold. Down past the empty places. Down past the long day's giving. Down into the warm dark where you are quietly, slowly, being made full again.
Let me tell you what the orchard knows, while it does its quiet work.
You are not empty. You are only tired, and tired is something sleep can mend.
What the day took out of you, the night will put back. You do not have to end the day with anything left over. That is what tomorrow's fullness is for.
You are allowed to be poured all the way out, and trust that you will be filled again. You always have been. Every single morning of your life, you have been made new enough to begin again.
And you will be, tomorrow. By morning, the orchard will have done its quiet work, while you slept. You will wake renewed.
Nothing you gave today was wasted. It went where it was needed, and tonight the orchard will quietly grow it back in you.
You do not have to earn this rest. The branch does not earn its fruit. It only stands still, and is filled. Tonight, you only have to lie still, and be filled.
Let the warm gold gather in you once more, slow and deep, and let it carry you a little further down toward sleep.
Let the last of the light say it once more. You are not empty, only tired. What was taken will be restored. By morning, you will be made new. Rest, and let it happen.
The gold is fading now, gently, from the sky and from the fruit, into a warm and quiet dark. The orchard settles around you. The branches grow still. The earth holds you, warm from the whole day's sun.
You are full, and warm, and heavy, and there is nothing left for you to do but sleep, and let the night finish filling you.
So let yourself sink down now, into the warm earth.
Down past the empty day.
The orchard is filling you, quietly, while you sleep.
There is nothing left for you to do.
You are being made new.
Softer now. Heavier.
By morning, you will be whole.
Sleep now. I will keep the watch until morning.