Shuffled

What to expect

Shuffled — a 16-minute meditation for a mind that won’t stop going round, read by Lee

You know how a song can get stuck, the same line playing all night? Thoughts do that too. You can’t switch them off, but you can change the station. So this one names small, ordinary things, one at a time: a teacup, a red bicycle, snow on a fence. You picture each for a moment and let it go. They never connect, so there’s nothing to follow, and the voice names them further and further apart until the music carries on alone.

How to listen:

• In bed, with the volume low. Never while driving.
• No headphones needed.
• A glimpse of each thing is enough, or nothing at all.
• If a picture brings up something you’d rather not think about, let it go; the next one is coming.

About

Before you listen. In bed, with the volume low. Not while driving.

Safety and aftercare. You can turn over, move or stop at any point. If a picture brings up something you’d rather not think about, let it go; the next one is coming. If you have a history of night terrors, sleep paralysis or panic at night, you may prefer a lamp left on low, or something familiar within reach. This is a way of settling for the night, and not a treatment for any sleep difficulty.

Credits. Picturing one unrelated thing after another follows the cognitive shuffle, Luc Beaudoin’s serial diverse imagining. That the mind keeps playing the same thing over and over is Michael Singer’s observation. That nothing asks you to be still, and the room stays known, comes from what Jessi said of a night after a meditation.

Written by Lucas, with AI assistance (Claude).

Transcript

Opening

You know how a song can get stuck, the same line playing all night?

Thoughts do that too.

You can’t switch them off. But you can change the station.

So tonight, a few small things, one at a time.

So for a while, there’s nothing to figure out.

Just small things, one at a time.

Get comfortable, however you like.

You can move whenever you want to.

I’ll name some small things, one at a time.

Picture each one for a moment, however it comes.

A glimpse is enough. Or nothing at all.

Then let it go, and wait for the next.

They don’t connect. There’s no story to follow.

Part One: Small things

A teacup.

A red bicycle, leaning on a wall.

Snow on a fence.

A pear.

A lighthouse, far off.

A wooden spoon.

A paper boat on a pond.

If one won’t come, let it go. There’s another.

A blue door.

A pinecone.

A ball of yarn.

Rain on a window.

A bowl of oranges.

A kite, high up.

A stack of folded towels.

If your mind goes back to what it was turning over, that’s all right.

Here’s the next one.

A seashell.

Part Two: Further apart

I’ll leave more room between them now.

A green leaf.

A sailboat.

A loaf of bread.

A garden gate.

A feather.

A wool hat.

A hill at dusk.

An acorn.

A lemon.

A candle, burning low.

Part Three: Fewer

Fewer now, and further apart.

A pebble.

A cloud.

A sleeping cat.

The moon on water.

The room is right where it is.

Whatever comes next can come on its own.