A 25-Minute Yoga Nidra Script — The Tree at Rest (With a 20-Minute Short Read)

A 25-Minute Yoga Nidra Script — The Tree at Rest (With a 20-Minute Short Read)

Most classes do not have forty minutes at the end for a long relaxation, and most teachers respond to that by reading a long script faster. It does not work. The pauses are where the practice happens, so a hurried forty minutes is not a short practice — it is a spoiled one.

The answer is a script that is genuinely short, with its pauses intact.

This one runs about twenty-five minutes as it stands. It is built on a single image: one great tree at the end of a golden day, holding every season it has ever lived, ring inside ring, all the way to the centre.

— Swami Satyananda Saraswati, Yoga Nidra

Yoga nidra is a systematic method of inducing complete physical, mental and emotional relaxation.

What this is, and who it is for

This is the daily practice from a module called Stages and Seasons, and it is the most compact of the full-length traditional practices — seven stages, nothing omitted, about twenty-five minutes at a proper pace. Settling, the resolve, the rotation of consciousness, a subtle breath awareness at the brow, the seasons’ own opposites, the tree, and the return.

It suits the end of a class that has already done its work, an early-morning group, or anybody meeting the practice for the first time, where twenty-five minutes of lying still is a reasonable ask and forty is not.

And there is a twenty-minute path through it. If you have only twenty minutes, do not speed up — read every stage except Breath awareness — at the brow, and hold all the pauses as written. That leaves about 1,363 spoken words, which at this script’s pace is a little over twenty minutes, and it keeps all six of the other stages whole. Dropping one stage cleanly is always better than rushing seven.

Before you read it aloud

The breath stage is at the brow. Awareness goes to the point between the eyebrows and the breath is felt flowing to and from that one place. In the tradition this frontal point has its own name — the ājñā kṣetram, the accessible doorway on the front of the body to the centre behind it — and it is named here for teachers who want the lineage term, not for the person lying down. In the script it is simply the quiet point between the eyebrows, which is all a listener needs and all they should be given. This is also the stage to drop for the twenty-minute read.

The opposites are the seasons’ own. Heaviness and lightness, coolness and warmth, and then the full summer tree and the bare winter one — which are the same tree. Raise each pole with the mind alone, with no movement at all, let it be felt completely, and then let both dissolve. Never leave this stage out. It is the one that keeps the practice from becoming a long and pleasant nothing.

The resolve stays short. Their own sentence, the same words each time, present tense, about themselves, positive in form, kept until it comes true. Ninety-odd words in the script carry the whole stage, so resist filling the silence with explanation.

The tree does not move. No wind, no falling leaves, no seasons turning past like time-lapse. A still picture that looks utterly alive is the Core instrument, and motion is reserved for groups who have been doing this a long while.

The usual care with imagery applies absolutely: never a child, never a mother holding a child, nothing sharp, nothing that pursues or confines. Warm, still, natural, and a little absurd when absurdity is what will unclench a room.

How the script is laid out

Every line is its own line for a reason. Read one line, then let a breath go by before the next. The line breaks are the short pauses, and they are the difference between a practice and a recitation.

A marked pause is one you hold. Where you see [ pause · 10 seconds ], stop speaking and count it out. It will feel far too long in your mouth and it is not too long in theirs. There are seventy-three of them.

The pace is slower than you think. This script runs at about sixty-six words a minute, counted across the whole practice including the silences — less than half of ordinary reading speed. If you finish early, you read it too fast.

Do not cut it to fit a clock. If you have less time, read fewer stages rather than hurrying the ones you read. Haste is the only way to spoil this.

The script

The script · read aloud
The Tree at Rest (With a 20-Minute Short Read)
twenty-five minutes · 1,583 spoken words · seven stages

Settling, and the commitment to stillness

Please, lie down on your back,

and prepare for the practice of yoga nidra. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Let the legs be a little apart, the feet falling open,

the arms a little away from the body, the palms turned up. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Let the whole back of the body be received by the floor. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Close the eyes, gently,

and let them stay closed until the practice is complete. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

In yoga nidra, you do not sleep,

and you do not try to stay awake.

You rest on the threshold between the two —

the doorway where the deepest rest is found. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

There is nothing to achieve here,

and nothing to get right.

You have only to keep the body still,

and to follow the voice as far as it is easy to follow. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Make the commitment now to keep the body still for the length of the practice.

Like a tree that will not move from its place —

settled, rooted, and at ease. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

If the body must move, it may.

But let it move once, and settle again. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Take a breath in, and sigh it out,

and let the day end here. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Again —

in, and a long breath out, and set the whole day down. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

The resolve

Now, the resolve.

Your own resolve. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

A short sentence, in the present tense, positive, about yourself —

chosen once, and kept unchanged until it comes true. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

It may want to be something like — I honour my seasons.

Or — I am whole in every stage.

Or the resolve you have already planted, and are keeping. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Repeat your resolve now, silently, three times, slowly, with feeling. [ pause · 12 seconds ]

Anything in life can fail you.

But not the resolve,

planted in the still soil of a quiet mind.

Let it go now, like a seed into warm dark earth. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

The rotation of consciousness

Now the awareness moves through the body, part by part.

Do not move,

and do not try to feel anything in particular.

Simply hear the name of each part,

and let the mind touch it, and move on. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Begin on the right side.

The right thumb. The second finger. The third finger. The fourth finger. The fifth finger. The palm of the right hand. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

The back of the hand. The wrist. The forearm. The elbow. The upper arm. The shoulder. [ pause · 8 seconds ]

The right side of the waist. The right hip. The thigh. The knee. The calf. The ankle. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

The heel. The sole. The top of the foot. The right big toe, and each toe in turn. [ pause · 9 seconds ]

Now the left side.

The left thumb. The second finger. The third finger. The fourth finger. The fifth finger. The palm of the left hand. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

The back of the hand. The wrist. The forearm. The elbow. The upper arm. The shoulder. [ pause · 8 seconds ]

The left side of the waist. The left hip. The thigh. The knee. The calf. The ankle. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

The heel. The sole. The top of the foot. The left big toe, and each toe in turn. [ pause · 9 seconds ]

Now the back of the body.

The whole spine, resting on the floor.

The right shoulder blade.

The left shoulder blade.

The whole of the back, wide and heavy.

The back of the hips, the back of the legs, the heels. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Now the front.

The forehead. The eyebrows, and the space between them. Both eyes. Both cheeks. The nose. The lips, upper and lower. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

The chin. The throat. The chest, rising and falling by itself. The belly, soft. [ pause · 9 seconds ]

The whole body now, at once.

The whole body, heavy, still, and at rest on the floor. [ pause · 9 seconds ]

Breath awareness — at the brow

Now, become aware of the breath —

subtle, and effortless, exactly as it is.

Do not change it, do not deepen it, do not force it.

Only let it be watched, flowing freely. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Bring the awareness to the centre of the forehead,

at the brow — the quiet point between the eyebrows.

the place of the witness, the one who quietly oversees. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

And feel, or simply imagine,

that the breath flows to and from this one point.

On the in-breath, a soft stream rises to the brow.

On the out-breath, it settles away from the brow. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

To the brow on the in-breath.

Away on the out-breath.

Subtle, and unforced —

the mind does not have to work; it only has to rest here and watch. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Now, to deepen the quiet, let the breaths be counted, backwards, from eleven.

Breathe in at the brow, and count — eleven.

Out — eleven. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

In — ten.

Out — ten. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

In — nine.

Out — nine. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Let the count continue now, down toward one,

at the brow, the breath subtle and easy. [ pause · 12 seconds ]

And if the count is lost,

it does not matter in the slightest.

Losing the count is only the mind growing quiet.

Begin again at eleven, or simply rest. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Now let the counting go,

and let the breath return entirely to itself. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Opposites — the seasons’ own pairs

Now, the pairs of opposites.

Feel each one as fully as possible, then its opposite —

and in passing between them,

let both grow light and dissolve. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

First, heaviness.

Feel the whole body heavy — sinking into the floor,

weighted like wet earth,

like a tree’s deep roots drinking. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Heavier, and heavier still, held completely by the ground. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

And now, lightness.

Feel the whole body light — weightless,

as if it could lift like a seed on the wind,

like the lightest leaf. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Lighter, and lighter, barely touching the floor at all. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Now, coolness.

Feel a coolness move through the body —

the cool of a still winter morning,

clean and quiet, the cool air at the nostrils. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

And now, warmth.

Feel a warmth spread through the body —

the warmth of low autumn sun on bark,

a slow gold warmth that reaches the centre. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Now, fullness.

Feel the body full — like the tree in high summer,

every branch heavy with leaf, complete,

abundant, holding everything at once. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

And now, emptiness.

Feel the body empty — like the tree in winter,

bare and spacious, nothing held,

every branch open to the sky. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

And notice that the empty tree and the full tree are the same tree.

Nothing was lost between them. [ pause · 9 seconds ]

The image — the tree at rest

And now, in the stillness, an image forms. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Let there appear, before the inner eye,

a single great tree. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

It stands alone in an open place, in soft,

low light — the gold light of the end of a day. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

It is old, and vast, and completely still.

Nothing about it is moving.

Even the leaves are at rest. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

See its roots, going down — deep and wide,

holding it to the earth, drinking quietly in the dark. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

See its great trunk, still and strong,

patient, in no hurry at all. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

See its branches,

reaching wide and high into the quiet air,

holding the last of the light. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

This tree has stood in this one place through every season of its long life.

It has known the green rush of every spring.

It has stood full and heavy through every summer.

It has let go of its leaves through every autumn,

and asked for none of them back.

It has stood bare and resting through every winter,

its buds already formed and sleeping,

keeping the whole of spring safe inside. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Every one of those seasons is still held in its wood —

ring within ring within ring, all the way to the centre.

It did not lose a single one of them.

It became them.

It is made of its seasons. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

And now — gently — know that this tree is you. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Every season you have lived is held in you,

exactly like this —

ring within ring, all the way to the centre.

The green of your beginnings.

The full heavy summers.

The autumns where things were let go.

The bare,

resting winters that the world told you to hurry out of. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

None of them was lost.

You did not lose a single season.

You became them.

You are made of them, all the way through. [ pause · 9 seconds ]

Rest now, as this tree rests.

Whole.

Rooted.

Still.

Holding every season you have ever lived,

and asking nothing of any of them. [ pause · 12 seconds ]

The resolve, and the return

And now, in this deepest quiet, the resolve returns.

The seed you planted at the beginning,

in the still soil of the mind.

Repeat it now, silently, three times, slowly, with all your feeling. [ pause · 12 seconds ]

Trust it.

A resolve planted this deep does not fail. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Now, gently, you begin to return.

Let the image of the tree soften, and fade, and let it go. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Become aware of the breath again, natural and easy.

Become aware of the body, lying heavy on the floor. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Become aware of the weight of it, the warmth of it,

the place where it meets the ground. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Become aware of the room around you — its size,

its air, the sounds within it and beyond it. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Begin to deepen the breath.

And let small movements return to the body —

the fingers, the toes.

Move the hands and the feet a little.

Stretch, if the body would like to,

the way a tree’s branches ease in a first wind. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Roll gently to one side, and rest there a moment. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

And in your own time, with no hurry,

come up slowly to sitting,

and let the eyes open, softly, when they are ready. [ pause · 6 seconds ]

Feel yourself all the way back now —

wide awake, and well rested. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

The practice of yoga nidra is now complete.

Carry the stillness of the tree with you —

whole in every season, and rooted through them all. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

Hari Om Tat Sat. [ pause · 3 seconds ]

End of script

The turn

A bare tree in July would be dying. A bare tree in July is the same shape as a bare tree in January, and one is a catastrophe and the other is the tree doing precisely what the year requires. The shape tells you nothing. Only the season does.

We have no trouble with this in a forest and enormous trouble with it in a person. Dormancy in a landscape is understood now, more or less, to be labour rather than absence — the roots are trading, the fungal networks are moving sugar about, the whole system is building something that will not be visible for months. In a woman it is still read as a failure of output. Lying on a floor for twenty-five minutes doing nothing whatsoever is the most efficient refutation of that reading available, which is also why it is the thing she will be told she does not have time for. The rings are all still in there. She did not lose a single season; she became them.

Where the rest of this goes

You already have what this page promised. The script above is complete, it is free, and nothing below is needed in order to use it.

First, and free — a Free Reader account. A name and an email address, no payment, and it opens the reading. Create one here. It stays free, with no strings. If you only ever do one thing on this site, do this one.

Then, if you want the rest — membership, at three Australian dollars a week. That opens the eMag in full, the whole online library, the Institute classrooms and the weekly live sessions, and it makes you eligible to enrol in the Institute’s other courses. What membership opens.

And for teachers — The Patanjali Fellowship. The order matters here, and the portal enforces it: you become a Member first, and only a Member can request the Fellowship — a Free Reader cannot ask at all. Fellows are one of two things: volunteers who help organise, moderate or write, or those who run the live sessions. It is where teachers organise with each other and with me, and it is the side of the door the full script library and the teacher-training resources sit on. If that is you, request it from the membership page and the request is considered promptly.

From the Practice — count one pause out loud

Before you read this to anybody, take the longest marked pause in the script and count it out in real time with a clock in front of you, in silence, as though a room full of people were waiting. Twelve seconds of saying nothing is close to unbearable the first time and it is the single skill this practice rests on. Do it three times. Then read the script through once to the ceiling, holding every pause honestly, and you will be a better guide than most people who have read ten scripts quickly.

References

  1. Swami Satyananda Saraswati, Yoga Nidra. Yoga Publications Trust, Munger (ISBN 8185787123). The manual that defined and codified the stages of the practice. The rotation of consciousness in this script follows its sequence, beginning at the right thumb, and its pairing of heaviness with lightness and cool with warmth.
  2. Swami Satyananda Saraswati, satsang at Sivanandashram, Munger, 16 October 1982, published in Yoga (Bihar School of Yoga). The account of the older tantric practice of placing the mind on the parts of the body, from which the rotation of consciousness is drawn.
  3. Patañjali, Yoga Sūtra 2.46 — sthira-sukham āsanam, the seat that is steady and at ease at once. The classical statement that steadiness and comfort are not traded against each other, which is the whole requirement of the position this practice is done in.

Twenty-five minutes, one tree, and a claim worth more than the time it takes: that everything a person has been through is still in them as structure rather than damage, ring inside ring, and that lying still is how you find out. Read it slowly. The silences are not gaps in the script — they are the script.

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