Like a surging river her exhaled breath rushed past her teeth, curved up over her lips and hurtled to the recesses of her bedroom's vaulted ceiling. Siobhan inhaled the sweet scents of sugar from a candied vanilla infused candle sitting on her dresser as her mediation timer sounded, and her arms stretched above her head. She leaned over and peeled back the corner of her pillowed duvet, and marvelled at the gorgeous patterns scattered across the soft sheets below before slipping under the covers. Wrapped in the gentle, ornate fabrics, she let out a contented sigh. Siobhan loved the little pleasantries she'd hidden in her heavily curated home. A careful, cherished sanctuary, that she looked forward to returning to at the end of each day. Within that safe haven, Siobhan's bed was a vehicle. A portal between worlds.
On the surface, Siobhan's life was one of routine. It wasn't designed that way out of fear or inflexibility, but rather, maximized embracement. After years of hurtling the ups and downs of life, she decided to lean into the rhythms of the day. To roll with them. To embrace the things that fed her, and release those that did not. In her effort’s she’d accumulated little splendours that both nourished her ever onwards, and shepherded her safely homewards.
Every morning she woke in comfort, and sweet indulgences. Her rise was far from gluttonous, rather, steeped in thoughtful consideration, collection, and appreciation. Her alarm was gentle, and soothing, her coffee machine set to a specific timer, with a specific roast. Her thermostat was regulated and calculated, considered for sustainability, efficiency, and coziness. Her refrigerator and cupboards stocked with nutritious fruits, and foods. Her meticulous nature wasn't a consequence of obsessiveness, but one of strategy. Her household brimmed with goodness and ease, and, so did she.
Siobhan knew once she passed through her front door she would be stepping into a world of chaos. Her job was laden with unpredictable heartache, and pain. When Siobhan entered the office she stepped into humanity's darkest pits. She walked there as a light to others, a stable beacon. She worked in the worst part of the city, counselling those with no other options, no finances, whose lives were in ruins. She helped place children to safety, she gave counsel to victims, she listened, and grieved with the innocents. And every day she returned from the murky depths of emotional hell back to her oasis.
Back safe within her walls, Siobhan would submerge in the charming luxuries that filled her home. She’d apply the lessons of care she provided others with unto herself and nurtured her own weary soul. With healthy, delicious food, meditation, and, what she referred to as her "shiny things." Trinkets and touches, that didn't catch the light so much as they added a little sparkle of joy. At the day’s end she basked in laughter and levity, comfort and joy.
She let out another exhale as she tucked her covers around her torso and reached for her journals. Siobhan was in the final stages of her nighttime ritual, the decluttering of her mind. She began the same way she always did, with gratitude, before moving to clear away the day's cobwebs. The sticky, spidering moments that left unchecked would fester within the shadows.
The burdens of the day poured out of her. The hurt she'd held, the sorrow that had been sung to her. She put it on the page. And left it there. Once it was down, she could make sense of it, before continuing to sweep the darkness away with more gratitude. Gratitude and pride with herself, with her work, Siobhan took time to build herself up, before her next day. She rounded it off with thanks for her co-workers,and her boss. For the wisdom circulated amongst them, for the touching emails, and supportive correspondence they shared. She didn't feel alone, in her structure, her sentiments, or her methods. She had the support not only from her colleagues, and friends, but most importantly, her deeper greater self.
She reviewed her page, filtered out any nagging thoughts, relived the joys she'd just given thanks to, and returned the notebook to the nightstand. Above it she placed her dream journal, readied for the next morning. Siobhan got up, blew out the candle, switched off her soothing music, made a final trip to the bathroom, and dimmed the salt lamp that protected from the corner of the room.
As the room settled she nestled into her pillowy sheets, lowered her eye mask and readied herself for the next stage of the night. Entering the dream world. Siobhan considered her room an elaborate lobby between the two planes, neither more real than the other. She welcomed them the same way, with comfort, and journals. Behind her eyes she would climb to whatever lands lay in waiting. Some nights Siobhan would be lucid, and focus on self work and exploration through the crevices of her subconscious, others she'd adventure through the astral.
As she was in her waking life, when Siobhan walked through the unknowns, she was a light. She spoke to scary things, and indulged in the grandeur. She flew. She played. She learned. She made memories. The word nightmare had been set free long, long ago, as her understanding, confidence, and comfort had grown.
And when Siobhan made her inevitable return, she'd reach for dream journal, collect her coffee, light some incense, and welcome another beautiful day forward. Her days and nights looped like an infinite figure eight. Always intersecting through her own little heaven. The morning was as appreciated as much as the rest in the night. Siobhan looked forward to it all, she'd come to terms with the chaos and unknown, simply by knowing her way back home.
Thanks for reading!
-Mr. Write
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