I've always loved to read. When I was a kid, I would literally walk home from school with my nose in a book, reading while I walked. And I was also a really absent-minded kid, once I accidentally walked home during recess, reading the whole way.Nobody even noticed I was gone. And I'm still absent-minded. But the fact that I love to read, that's probably why I love words so much.And some I love because of their meaning. Others, I just like the sound of them. Liminal is one of those words.I like the way it sounds, and I like what it means even more. Liminal describes a space between places. Beaches feel liminal to me. They're a place between land and ocean. Airports always feel liminal. And April is liminal. It's not quite spring yet. It's definitely not winter anymore. It's that muddy, uncertain, in-between time, when everything is becoming something else, but hasn't quite arrived yet. And if you're lying here tonight, unable to sleep, feeling stuck between where you've been and where you want to go, well, that's liminal too. You're in that uncomfortable, in-between space. It's not your old life anymore, but you're not quite in your new one. And that space, it feels not great, uncertain. But liminal spaces are where transformation happens. You can't get from one place to another without passing through the in-between.Tonight, under April's full moon, we're going to help you trust that in-between space. Trust that the path forward exists, even when you can't see all of it yet. Maybe you already know what the right path is.You just have to trust your intuition. But most importantly, tonight, we're going to help you sleep. We'll do that with breathwork to slow your heart rate, progressive relaxation, and hypnotherapy.Your mind needs somewhere to go that isn't worrying about tomorrow or replaying today. And we're going to give it somewhere beautiful and peaceful to focus on instead. We'll reprogram those anxious thought patterns and replace them with images of possibility and calm.But first, please make sure that you are somewhere safe to fall asleep. This episode uses relaxation techniques designed to guide you into deep rest. So you'll want to be in your comfortable bed and not anywhere.You need to stay alert. And if you're listening on a platform where you can leave a review, a rating, or a comment, I would be so grateful if you would. When you comment or rate the show, to me, when I read it, it feels like someone is literally reaching out from my laptop and giving me a pat on the back.And if the platform lets me, I will always try to respond. Now, let's get you settled. Lights off.Hopefully, your room is dark, cool, and comfortable. If you're curled up tightly tonight, you might want to adjust. Try lying on your back if that's comfortable or on your side with your body extended.Give yourself some space. Tonight, we're using attention and release technique to help you relax. And let's start by just bringing your awareness to your breathing.Just notice it, the natural rhythm of air moving in and out. And let your thoughts drift as you lie here in the dark. Just keep breathing.And then when you're ready, take a slow breath in. And as you do, gently curl your toes downward. Hold that for three, two, one.And then release those toes on your exhale. Feel that shift from tight to loose. Breathe in again.And this time, as you do, flex your feet upward, feeling your calf muscles engage. Hold that. And then release.Next breath in. Press your knees together. Hold them there.And then let go. Feel how your legs sink into the bed. Inhale again. And this time, make soft fists with your hands. Hold them tight. And then open your hands.Feel your hands lying loose beside you. Open and relax. Once again, breathe in.And this time, draw your shoulder blades gently together on your back. Hold them there. And then relax. And then feel them settle softly onto the bed. Relax. Finally, breathe in.And gently press your head back into the pillow. Hold it there. And then relax.And one last time, take one more full breath. And this time, tense everything. Your feet, your hands, arms, and shoulders. And then release everything with a long, slow exhale. Let gravity do its work. Your muscles have remembered what release feels like.Your breathing has found a deeper, slower rhythm. In a moment, I'm going to guide you to a beautiful liminal space, a place that exists between one thing and another. And there, under the light of April's full moon, you'll find more than just sleep. You'll find a path forward, one you can choose to take or not. Either way, sleep will be waiting for you. All you need to do is listen to my voice.If other sounds drift into your awareness, that's fine. Just notice them and return to my voice. It's early evening in April, and you're standing on a wooden boardwalk that winds through a wetland marsh.The light is fading. The sky above you holds the last pale blue of day. The air here smells like spring, like wet earth and green growing things like water and wood and life emerging.Under your feet, the boardwalk is solid, weathered wood, warm from the day's sun. You can hear the hollow sound your footsteps would make if you walked, but you're still right now, just standing, just breathing. All around you, the marsh stretches out.This is neither land nor water, but something in between. Shallow water reflects the dimming sky, cattails and reeds, their stems thick and green, their tops like brown velvet brushes. Between the reeds, the water's surface catches the light. Hundreds of small pools, each one a mirror. The marsh is alive. Red-winged blackbirds call from the cattails.Somewhere in the distance, a heron cries out. Beneath it all, just beginning as darkness settles. You can hear the spring peepers, tiny frogs, each one no bigger than your thumb, but there are hundreds of them, thousands.Their voices rising together, sound like bells, like stars. If stars had a sound, the sound washes over you. The boardwalk you're standing on stretches ahead of you, disappearing into the reeds. You know this path, it's familiar, it's the same route you've always taken. The sun has dropped below the horizon, and the sky is deepening to something darker. And there, just above the line where earth meets sky, something is rising, slowly rising.The moon, April's full moon, the pink moon. It appears enormous near the horizon, that optical trick that makes it seem close enough to touch. The color is breathtaking, not pink like the flower it's named for, but something warmer, golden at its edges.The moon rises higher, clearing the horizon, and as it rises, its light begins to spread across the marsh. Soft light, drowsy light, is different from sunlight. Moonlight doesn't illuminate, it transforms.It touches the water between the reeds, turning each pool into liquid silver. And then the moon's light reaches you, feel it on your face, cool and clean and kind. The pink moon's light settles on your shoulders like a shawl.It flows down your arms, heavy and warm. It pools in your upturned palms, the same light that has witnessed every human choice ever made, every new path ever taken. Your body is growing heavier under this light, more relaxed with each breath.Now in this moonlight, you see something you hadn't noticed before. The boardwalk doesn't just continue straight ahead. There's a branch, another path, heading in a different direction.The moonlight is pooling on this new path, illuminating it, making it real. The old familiar route continues straight ahead into the dimness, but this other path, one you've never taken, it curves away through the cattails. The pink moon's light illuminates the weathered boards for perhaps 20 feet before the path curves and disappears behind the tall reeds.You don't know what's waiting around that curve, and that's frightening. The not knowing that the boardwalk is there. Someone built this path and exists.The wood is solid under the moonlight. The boards are thick and strong. Weathered by seasons, but still standing, still holding.Feel your foot settle on the boards. The wood is solid beneath your weight, doesn't creak or sway, and you're walking now, slowly following this new path as it curves through the reeds. With each step, you feel yourself relaxing into this choice, sinking deeper into calm.Your feet know how to walk. The path is new, but walking is not new. Trust is not new.Listen to the spring peepers now. Their chorus is growing louder as darkness deepens. Each tiny frog is singing its heart out.Such small creatures making such enormous sound together. Each one calling out into the night. I'm here.I'm alive. I'm ready. The sound is hypnotic like a lullaby, sung by the marsh itself. You are ready too, even if you don't feel ready. Readiness isn't the absence of fear, it's the presence of courage. Courage isn't the absence of doubt, it's just taking the step anyway. Look down into the shallow water beside the boardwalk. In the moonlight, you can see new growth everywhere. The curled tips of ferns just beginning to unfurl, wild iris leaves breaking through. All winter, these plants were dormant, hidden beneath ice and cold water. And all that time, in the freezing darkness, in the mud at the bottom of the marsh, they were growing roots, growing stronger in ways no one could see. You thought you were stuck.You thought those months, maybe years of feeling lost, of not knowing which direction to take, you thought that was wasted time. But look at these plants. All that time underwater, they were developing the root systems they would need for this moment, for breaking through. You've been developing your roots too. Every hard experience, every failure, every moment you thought you were getting nowhere, those were root growing times. You are stronger now than you were. You are getting ready. The pink moon climbs higher in the sky. And as it rises, its color shifts. The warm amber rose fades to something cooler, clearer, silver white now, brilliant and pure. Its light is stronger at this height. Flooding the marsh with warmth and light, washing over you like sleep. And in this brighter light, you can see more of the path ahead, not all of it. It still winds and curves, disappearing around bends you haven't reached yet. But you can see further than before, enough to keep moving. That's all you ever get, really. Not the whole map, not the final destination, just enough light to see the next few steps. The pink moon whispers this to you. You don't need to know the whole way. You just need to know the next step. Around another bend, the boardwalk widens into a small platform, a resting place built over the water. You can stop here for a moment, or perhaps to sit. Sit down on this platform. Let your body rest. Let your body be still. The marsh is completely alive now. The spring peepers chorus is at full volume. Each tiny voice singing, I made it and survived the winter. I'm here. I'm here. You made it too. Through your own winter. And here you are, surrounded by life, bathed in moonlight. A night heron rises from the reeds nearby. Its wings beating slowly, powerfully. It circles once in the moonlight and then flies off in the direction your new path is leading, as if showing you the way. You watch it go. And your eyelids are becoming so heavy now. Confidence doesn't come before action. It comes from action. You don't build certainty by waiting. You build it by taking steps and feeling the path hold you by moving forward and discovering you can. The mind achieves what it can imagine. So imagine this. Imagine yourself walking your path. With ease. With confidence. With calm certainty. See yourself moving forward. Feel how good it is to finally be in motion again. Your feet have found their path on these boards. Your breathing is steady and calm. Your heart is trusting. This is what it feels like to choose courage. It doesn't feel like fearlessness. It feels like this. Like walking any way. Like trusting the path to hold you. The pink moon watches over you tonight. It has seen millions of people stand at crossroads like this. It has witnessed every brave choice ever made. And it's telling you now what it has told countless others. Trust yourself. The path is there. The sounds of the marsh are growing quieter. More distant. Softer. The moonlight is dimming to something gentler. Warmer. The spring peeper's song is becoming a whisper. A memory. A dream. You're returning now. Drifting back. Back to your body. Back to this moment. This night. This safe and comfortable place where you can rest. Where you can sleep. Where you can let yourself go completely. And drift. But you carry the marsh with you. The moonlight. The new path. The knowledge that when you're ready. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But when you're ready. But when you're truly ready. That path will still be there. Waiting. Patient. And you might already know which path is right for you. Deep down. Beneath all the worry and the overthinking. Your intuition has probably been whispering the answer all along. Sometimes. We just need permission. To listen to it. Permission to trust ourselves. And there's no rush. Change doesn't have to happen all at once. The boardwalk will hold you. Whether you walk it tomorrow. Or six months from now. What matters is that you've seen it. You know it exists. And when the time is right. You'll know. Your body will know. Your mind will know. So for now. You can rest. Your breathing has found its own rhythm. Slow. Deep. Natural. Your body feels wonderfully heavy against your bed. Every muscle released. Your mind is growing quieter. With each breath. Your thoughts. Softer. Less distinct. Fading into the last light of evening. The pink moon continues its journey across the sky. Watching you. As it has watched over millions before you. And sleep is coming now. You can rest. Every muscle released. Gentle as the moonlight. Certain as the tide. You don't need to chase it. Or force it. It's already here. Wrapping around you. Pulling you down. Into the deepest. Most restorative rest. Tomorrow will bring fresh light. A new clarity. But tonight belongs to sleep. To rest. To the beautiful liminal space. Where transformation happens quietly. In the dark. Sleep now. Drift now. Knowing that you are exactly where you need to be.