Forest HUT / MAGIC MUSIC for relaxation / 3 hours of privacy скачать в хорошем качестве

Forest HUT / MAGIC MUSIC for relaxation / 3 hours of privacy

Breathe in. Let your eyes close. Let your mind wander. Think back to a time when you were happy as a child. There must have been times when you were happy. Notice any tension in your forehead. Relax the muscles between your eyebrows. The time when you were three and your parents took you to a water park. You were scared of the tallest slides, but you felt safe in Daddy’s arms. You loved the bright pink flowers on your black swimsuit, the neon green ruffles around your waist. The river stone pathways bisecting the park, shaded by the arching branches of longleaf pines. Chlorine burned at the back of your nose. Water beaded on your skin and dripped from the pointed curls at the ends of your pigtails, chilling your shoulders where the drops made contact. But Daddy’s skin was warm and the wiry hair of his chest tickled your face where you leaned against him. Let your jaw go slack. Loosen your tongue inside your mouth. The time when you were eight and your parents took you and your sister to Pizza Hut. You loved Pizza Hut, back when it was a destination, a sit-down restaurant where the waitresses smiled at you and gave you extra peppermints. It was your favorite place, the distinctive sloped roof and red sign inciting an almost pavlovian response each time your parents’ car turned into the crumbling asphalt parking lot. Your mouth would begin to water and your stomach would grumble in anticipation of the soft crust, tangy sauce and chewy mozzarella that awaited you. This time, you were seated at the best table in the restaurant, the one right in the middle of the room, equidistant from the buffet on one side and the fountain drink machines on the other. Positioned so you could see each new pie exiting the kitchen on its way to the buffet, could be the first to grab a slice of every pizza that called to you. Release any tension in your shoulders. Feel your belly expand as the air fills your lungs. The time when you were ten and your mother took you shopping at the department store on the military base. It was the mid-nineties and long floral skirts were everything. You tried one on, lavender with white flowers. Beautiful. You turned left and right, admiring your reflection in the narrow dressing room mirror as Mariah Carey’s latest single warbled softly through the speakers in the ceiling. You felt elegant, like a princess. You couldn’t wait to open the chipped white door and show your mother. Bring your awareness to your lower back. Feel your sits bones pressing into the floor. Your teenage years, spending every weekend at the gym with your dad. Muscles burning as he pushed you harder on the bench press, corrected your form on your bicep curls. He only took you to the gym, not your mother or your sister, because you were Daddy’s Girl. Your friends were all jealous of how close you were with your dad; the other men at the gym hid their smiles as they complimented your form and remarked on how they could never get their own daughters to spend so much time with them. Your dad was clearly doing something right. Now hold the breath. Notice the sensation of your lungs filled with air. Your high school graduation. You were valedictorian, so proud that all of your hard work had paid off. You picked your way up the steps on the side of the stage, careful not to trip in the high heels your mother had bought you for the ceremony. You approached the podium to make your speech, somber, dignified, in your black robe and mortarboard hat. Your shoulders were draped with a shining gold stole which matched the tassel hanging from the edge of your cap. You took a deep breath, brushed the dangling tassel away from your face. A camera flashed, the room went blurry. You smiled. Slowly - slowly - begin to breathe out. Let the air slide from your lips. Let it go, along with the memory of Daddy setting you down on the river rock path at the water park. He'd leaned over your shoulder, reaching one long arm out to point straight ahead. Look at Mommy. She was strolling away from you further up the path, dimpled thighs brushing together below a flowery blue swimsuit. You smiled, were about to call out to her, when Daddy spoke again. That’s disgusting. Look at how terrible she looks. You were confused, sad - how could Mommy be disgusting? Look at her legs. So fat. They’re not supposed to look like that. Feel the pressure in your belly release as the breath flows out. Your abdomen was the first place your mother’s eyes always went when she took you shopping. You remember opening the dressing room door to show her that beautiful lavender skirt. She looked straight at your midsection, eyes drawn like magnets to the curve of your lower belly. Her nose scrunched and her lip curled, as though the sight of you smelled terrible. You need to start doing sit-ups. She didn’t buy you the skirt. Well, you were almost happy. When you’re ready, open your eyes.