It's not easy naming a podcast. You'd think it would be, but it really isn't. For one thing, once you start looking, you realize that all the good names are taken. And you want something that says what it is, but is also a little memorable. When I was first trying to come up with a name, I filled a whole notebook with ideas. Sleep with me tonight. Yeah, that was taken and also slightly alarming. The drowsy hour. Oh, no. Pillow talk. Definitely taken and definitely not what I was looking for. And then I was reading a book about sleep. Just research. I read them all the time. And in the very first chapter, the author used the phrase, Ticket to Snoozeville. And I saw the artwork almost immediately. That train track stretching into the distance. The beautiful full moon. The colors and that golden ticket. Right in the middle. I also liked what it suggested. That sleep is a journey. So tonight, when I was trying to come up with a new visualization for this episode, I thought about that train. And I thought about putting you on it. Tucked in. Warm. Safe. So that's where we're going tonight. I've also created a slightly longer relaxation section for this episode. Because I think we need that sometimes. I know what it's like to lie in the dark with your heart beating just a little faster than it should. Your muscles a little tenser than you realize. Your breathing more shallow than you know. Tonight, we're going to change that. We'll give your body permission to stand down. But first, as always, please make sure that you're somewhere safe. This episode is designed to guide you into deep sleep. So please don't listen from anywhere you need to stay alert. Now, let's get you settled. Let's begin with your breathing. Just notice how you're breathing right now. Is it shallow? Is there a place in your chest where you seem to be holding something? That's not a flaw. That's just what a body does after a long and demanding day. It stays ready. It stays braced. Nobody told it that the day was over. Nobody told it that it was safe to stop. So let's do that now. Take a slow breath in. Fill your lungs. And then breathe out. Just let it flow out slowly. That longer exhale is doing something important. It's activating your vagus nerve, a pathway that runs from your brain all the way through your body. When you lengthen your exhale, you're sending a signal along that pathway. A very simple signal. You're safe. You can rest now. So let's do that again. Breathe in nice and slow. And then breathe out. Make it long and slow and complete. And then continue breathing this way. Just let each exhale be a little longer than the inhale. And let your body do the rest. I'd like you to bring your shoulders up toward your ears. Right up. Feel the tension there. The grip of those muscles. And then let them drop. All the way down. Feel the distance. Your shoulders just traveled. And let them stay there. Low and heavy. Now your hands. Make a fist. Both hands. Feel the tension move through your palms. Your knuckles. Your wrists. And then your little finger first. Release. Then your ring finger. Your middle finger. Your index finger. And finally, your thumb. Feel each one let go. Feel how your palms are open and soft. Your hands resting where they've fallen. And now let's bring your attention to your eyes. There may be tension around them. A tightness in those tiny muscles. See if you can feel it. And then without forcing anything, just let it go. Let the muscles around your eyes grow soft. Let your eyelids feel heavy in the most comfortable way. And then the muscles around your mouth. Let them all release. All those tiny muscles. Remembering that they are allowed to rest. Move your attention now to the center of your chest. That flat ridge of bone that runs down the middle. Your sternum. Press your fingertips there gently if you like. Just for a moment. And you'll feel it. This is where the body braces. When we dread something. When anxiety hums beneath the surface of a day. See if you can feel it now. And then imagine it. Softening. Feel your chest become open. Your arms now. Those long muscles in your upper arms. Let them go completely soft. Your elbows. Loose. Your forearms. Let them rest. Feel them grow heavy. Bring your awareness to your stomach. Imagine warmth spreading through your belly now. Not heat. Just warmth. Like sun coming through a window. And as it spreads. Those worries. The ones that have taken up residence in your body. Begin to loosen their grip. They're not gone forever. Just set down. For the night. You're back now. Those long muscles that run on either side of your spine. The ones that have been holding you upright all day. Let them soften. Feel the mattress receiving their weight. Let every muscle along it release. From the base of your neck. All the way down. And finally. Your legs. Let them feel heavy. Let them sink. Your thighs. Your knees. Your calves. Let your feet fall gently outward. Feel the full satisfying weight of your legs. Completely still. Completely at rest. Take a moment to notice your whole body. Every part of you has been given permission to rest tonight. Your face is soft. Your shoulders are low. Your hands are open. Your back is held. Your legs are heavy. And still. In a moment, I'm going to take you somewhere. Somewhere that will carry you the rest of the way. Into sleep. And all you have to do is follow my voice. You are on a train. Not just any train. An old-fashioned sleeper train. The kind where the corridors are narrow. And the wood is dark and polished. And the whole world feels contained and purposeful. And warm. You booked this compartment for yourself. A small private room that is entirely yours for the night. And everything in it was arranged with your comfort in mind. Someone prepared this space before you arrived. Made sure everything was exactly right. And it is. The compartment is small. But small in a way that feels safe. Not cramped. A good small. The walls are dark wood. Warm and smooth. There's a brass hook for your coat. A narrow shelf. And a small mirror that catches the moonlight. Coming through the window. There is a fold-down table. Barely the size of a book. And on it sits a glass carafe of cool water. Someone put that there for you. Someone thought you might be thirsty in the night. There is a small bathroom. Just through the narrow door beside the bed. Barely room to turn around. But everything you need is there. A white towel. Thick and folded. A small bar of sweet-smelling soap. A little mirror. You used it earlier. Brushed your teeth. Washed your face. All rituals that tell your body the day is ending. And on your way back to bed, you notice something on your pillow. A chocolate. Wrapped in gold foil. You turned it over in your fingers. Feeling the smooth crinkle of the foil. And you decided to save it. You placed it on the little shelf. A lovely thing to wake up to. And then you climbed into bed. You pulled the blanket up. Heavy and soft. The kind of blanket that has real weight to it. The kind that settles over you and stays. The pillow cool against your cheek. That perfect contrast. Cool above and warm below. Your face in the fresh air and your body held in warmth. You remember that when you boarded some hours ago, you were not quite yourself. You're tired. The kind of tired that comes tangled with tension. Where your body doesn't know the difference between exhaustion and anxiety anymore. Your heart was beating a little too quickly. Your shoulders were carrying something. Invisible but heavy. Your mind was still running through the day. Worrying at the edges of tomorrow. You carried all of that. Onto this train. But that was miles ago now. That was another place entirely. And somewhere in the rocking. Somewhere in the warmth. And the rhythm. And the darkness. Those things have loosened their grip. The tensions that felt permanent have quietly dissolved. The worries that seemed so urgent have grown very small and very far away. Left behind on a platform in a town the train has long since passed. They will be there when you return if you want them. The station will be waiting. But tonight they cannot follow you. There is no room for them here. Feel the train. Beneath you. It is a constant living presence. A deep vibration that moves through the mattress. Through your spine. Through your bones in the most soothing way. The wheels find the track with complete confidence. Again. And again. A rhythm so steady it begins to feel like breathing. Like the train itself. It's breathing. And beneath the rhythm there is the sound. That low continuous percussion of steel on steel. So regular. So reliable. So unhurried. The train rocks you. Side to side. So gently. The sway so subtle. It is almost imagined. And yet your body finds it immediately and responds. The way a body responds to something old and familiar. This is how we were soothed before we had words for soothing. This motion. This gentle back and forth. You are being carried now. You don't have to carry anything tonight. The curtain on the window is heavy brocade. Drawn. Almost closed. But not quite. Through the gap the night air finds you. Cool and clean. Countryside air. The air of open fields and dark forests. It touches your face. That cool air. While the rest of you stays deep in the warmth of the bed. And through that gap in the curtain. The moon shines down. Hanging in the sky so clear. It seems close enough to touch. The moonlight falls into your compartment in a long pale stripe. And in it you can see the small beautiful details of this lovely room. The curve of the ceiling above you. The shine of the brass fittings. The glass carafe. Catching. And holding the light. Outside the window. Dark fields stretch under the moonlight. A farmhouse appears. And then is gone. And somewhere in that house. Someone is sleeping. Someone has turned the last lamp off. And closed. Their eyes. Just like you.  A village appears, its streets empty and silver in the moonlight, the houses are small and close together, their windows dark, their chimneys still, everyone is sleeping, dogs curled at the end of beds, children turn sideways on their pillows, couples breathing together, the whole village lost in dreams, and the train moves through it in the night, then it's gone, and there are fields again, trees, and a long, dark hill against the sky. Your eyelids are heavy now, no one needs you tonight. No one is waiting for anything from you, the things that need doing will wait until morning, and morning is very far from here. You are a passenger tonight, just a passenger. The train passes over a bridge, you feel it in the sound more than anything, the sound of crossing water. You might see it if you were to look, moonlight spread across a dark river, the water moving slowly, but your eyes are too heavy now, it's getting harder to look at anything, harder to hold on to wakefulness when everything around you is so gently insisting on sleep. This is what sleep is, it is a journey, a crossing, it is leaving the shore of today, with all its noise, its demands, its unfinished business, and traveling through the night toward the shore of tomorrow. And on this crossing, you are held, and rocked, and carried. You don't have to navigate, you don't have to steer, you only have to lie here in the warmth, in the dark, and trust that the train knows the way, it does, it always has. You have been taken care of tonight, the warm bed, the cold water, cool air, and the heavy blanket, all of it arranged by careful, competent hands, so that you would have everything you need, you have always been capable of being cared for, you have just forgotten, sometimes, to let it happen. Let your eyes close, let your breathing slow to match the rhythm beneath you, let the rocking take you, with the sound of the wheels, steady, and certain, and infinitely patient, be the last thing you are aware of. Rest, now, the dark fields slip past, the stars keep watch, the train moves on through the night, through sleeping villages, and quiet rivers, an open sky, carrying you gently from today, toward tomorrow, your breathing is slower now, deeper, your body has grown heavier with each passing mile, sinking further into this warm bed, this gentle rocking, this perfect dark, you can come back here whenever you need to, on any night, you carry more than you should into your bed, you can board this train again, it will always be waiting, all you have to do is close your eyes, and you will remember, there is no room on this journey for the things that exhaust you, you are allowed to leave them on the platform, as part of being human, the worry, the wait, it will always be there, but so will this, and what you now know, that you may have forgotten for a while, is that morning has a way of making things look different, smaller, more manageable, less like walls, and more like doors, but that is morning, right now, there is only the train, and the dark fields, and the stars, and the slow rhythm, carrying you forward. I'm Suzanne, and this is your ticket to Snoozeville. Sleep now. Sleep deeply. Sleep well.