Nights of nightmares. For so many moons, she has been sleeping in that liminal place of unrest… that place where worry and anxiety creep into the sides of her mind and keep her from the deep rest she so desires. Her eyes close quickly, effortlessly, as the body says yes to rest… but the mind – oh her mind – it is a canyon of memories to retrieve and process, and her pillow never seems to have enough space to hold it all. Her lack of quiet stillness creeps into her waking hours and into her sleep, so she remains unrefreshed. She relaxes, but does not quiet the mind. Even her memory seems to be fading now, into the void along with her nightmares. And the Muse smiles down on her from above, and reminds her that her nightmares are only illusions of a past unprocessed or of a future that isn’t real, and that in the present… in the present she is safe… held… and loved. Loved. And the small creature softens, realizing that underneath it all, the answer was and always has been to love. Even when it seems too simple. Too trite. With compassion and calming energy, the Muse coos down to the little soul as she begins to fall asleep, and she blankets her mind with the distant hopes and dreams of the sandman. She slows her breathing with the mindful rhythms of her circadian clock. And the Muse protects her as she sleeps. It’s time to let healing sleep take over.