Meditation can greatly improve both physical and mental health, as proven in studies by Harvard, the National Institutes of Health, and many other respected institutions. However, when learning to meditate, many of us find it difficult to quiet our minds and find the peace we crave. For those of us who struggle with this, guided meditation can help us block out distractions and maintain focus. Whether used as part of your spiritual practice or simply as a psychological exercise to help achieve mindfulness and relaxation, guided meditation is an excellent way to access the benefits of meditation . 

Most guided meditations follow a similar structure: First, the guide will help you reach a state of both physical and mental relaxation, followed by a visualization exercise that is the focus of the meditation, and ending with reorientation into your physical surroundings (similar to waking from a dream). The following meditation is intended to help you achieve full-body relaxation while revisiting treasured memories.

Start by finding a quiet place to lie down. Dim the lights and take a moment to find a comfortable position. When you are ready to begin, press play and close your eyes.

LISTEN HERE (est. 12 minutes)

SCRIPT (est. 12 minutes)

Let’s begin. Start to focus on your breathing. Take a deep breath in, filling the belly, the ribs, the chest. Now exhale, feeling the air leave the belly, the ribs, the chest. Continue to inhale and exhale, choosing a tempo that is relaxing to you while still breathing deeply. Take a few moments just to breathe, to feel the oxygen as it nurtures your body.

Now we will focus on releasing the stress from each part of your body. Slowly begin to wiggle your toes, feeling each one as it moves independently. Let go of any tension you might be holding there. As you feel that tension leaving your muscles, allow them to become still and limp. Tense your feet tightly, squeezing the muscles, and now let them become limp, letting that tension drain away. Take your time, and move up your body, following the same pattern of contracting your muscles, then allowing them to become fully relaxed. First the calves, the thighs, the glutes. Relaxation should be travelling up your body now. If at any time you feel tension returning, take a moment to focus on your breath again. In, out. Now the stomach, the chest, the shoulders. Feel the relief as you let your muscles drop. Tense your upper arms and relax. Your forearms. Squeeze your hands tightly into fists, now stretch your fingers out as far and as wide as you can, and drop, letting them fall limp. Continue to breathe. In, out. Release the tension from your jaw, stretching it open as wide as you comfortably can before letting it gently close, your lips just barely meeting. Tighten all of your facial muscles, drawing your brows closely together, and then release, feeling the tension as it melts away, leaving your face relaxed and slack. Let’s take another moment to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

As you continue to breathe, slowly become aware of the surface beneath you. Feel its support, as it holds your body, safe and comforting. Let yourself sink deeper into that relaxation and sense of security. Now feel yourself fully begin to sink into that comfortable darkness, as you are pulled down into the cool, calming embrace of the earth. Feel yourself drawn deeper, the earth holding you like a seed, safe and protected and loved. You are cradled now, held, your breath slow and even, your heartbeat the steady thrum of the planet. Take a moment to relish how cherished you are, knowing that the earth will hold you until you are ready to emerge. It is fully dark, and cool, and you are a precious part of an endless connected network.

Almost imperceptibly at first, you begin to feel air move across your skin, softly dancing across your face, barely enough to lift a few strands of your hair. Through your closed eyelids, you notice the quality of the darkness has shifted, from absolute black to a soft, warm shadow, and the silence has been replaced by the low murmur of distant wind. You open your eyes and find you are looking into a clear, bright sky. You blink a few times, letting your eyes adjust to the sudden light, watching as a handful of bright white clouds drift lazily above you. Underneath your palms, you can feel the soft prickle of grass, and as you sit up you realize you have been lying in a meadow. Wildflowers stretch out around you, and you pull your knees to your chest, letting your chin rest against them, relaxing into yourself as you watch butterflies float over the blossoms. The soft hum of insects and birdsong fills your ears as the sun warms your face and hands. You drink in this beauty, sharing in the serenity of this place.

Shifting your gaze to your right, you notice a cottage at the edge of the meadow, nestled among the treeline of a beautiful old-growth forest, cozy and inviting in the shade of oaks and elms. Moss has begun to grow among the thatch of its roof, and you can only just see the barest wisp of smoke as it rises from the chimney. Its window boxes are filled with a riot of blossoms, and if you squint you can barely make out the silhouette of someone moving about inside. You rise and begin walking toward it, drawn to its inviting presence. As you step into its tidy garden, the door opens, and you watch as an elderly woman steps from within. Her long gray hair is bound into a thick braid that spills over her shoulder and down to her waist, and she greets you with a smile filled with kindness and warmth, offering to let you come inside and rest if you would like. 

Before you cross through the doorway, the flower box next to it catches your eye, and you stop to study the flowers within. There is something so familiar about them. “They feel like home, don’t they?” the old woman asks you, and that’s when it hits you. They do. These are the same flowers that grew near your home when you were only a child. It took you a moment to recognize them. With the same welcoming smile, she offers to let you take one if you wish.

Inside, the cottage is dappled with the afternoon light streaming through its windows, and a kettle is just beginning to steam on the stovetop. You take a seat while your host busies herself with pouring tea, and she asks if you would mind helping her put up her herbs to dry. On the table before you are small mounds of herbs—rosemary, mint, sage, chamomile, and lavender—plucked fresh from the garden, a few already bound with twine and ready to be hung, most still loosely gathered. 

Over the remainder of the afternoon, you share tea and stories while you help bundle and hang the herbs. Memories of your happiest times bubble up within you, and you cannot suppress the urge to share them with your host. She asks you questions, letting you guide the conversation, letting you share only what you most wish to remember, her home filled with comfort and, now, shared laughter. 

When at last you’ve finished hanging all of the herbs, the rafters above you a sweet-scented meadow of its own now, the old woman says she would like to give you a gift as thanks for all of your help. She searches for a moment in a nearby dresser and presses something into your hands. You look down into your open palms and you . . . you recognize this. You thought it was lost. It’s been years, and you had given up hope of ever finding it again. But it’s here. It’s yours, unmistakably. You know it. You look back up to the old woman.

“The things that are precious to us never really leave us,” she tells you, and you nod, pressing it to your chest. You feel a golden warmth under your palms, feel that warmth move into your chest, settling underneath your rib cage, and you know that you will carry this treasured part of your past with you always.

“You can return anytime you like,” she says, and you know it to be true, just like you know that for now, your time here is at an end. You close your eyes, and you can feel yourself rising, back up, back toward the place where you began your journey.

Let yourself become aware of your body once more. The slight pressure against your back from where you lay. The rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. Let your fingers flex, and feel the surface beneath them. Wiggle your feet, reorienting yourself to your physical surroundings. Take as much time as you need, and when you are ready, you may open your eyes or allow yourself to drift off to sleep.

Becky Courington is an award-winning author and scholar who is surprised every morning when she wakes up and remembers she is a marine geology editor. She technically earned three degrees, but SMU insisted you can’t triple major in English no matter how many credit hours you have in different areas of focus, so she officially has only one. Her hobbies include sewing, sculpting, writing, acting, and starting kitchen fires, and she wants to know if you’re registered to vote.