A summer thunderstorm descends on Washington, DC. The heavy mid atlantic rain sends people running from the lush green lawn of the National Mall. You find shelter inside the warm, dry halls of the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History. The museum invites you to wander its halls, marveling at the histories of the world and its ancient creatures. Hello, dreamers. My name is Vanessa, and this is soothing sleep, an open mind original podcast powered by Pave Studios. I'll be your guide throughout the series with new episodes airing every Tuesday. Soothing Sleep is designed to make bedtime the most enjoyable part of your daily routine, with a relaxing journey full of visualization and a special breathing technique to ease you out of your head and into your dreams. If you enjoy today's episode, make sure to rate, review, and follow soothing sleep wherever you get your podcasts. Today we'll be taking a contemplative stroll through time at the Smithsonian Museum, saying hello to contemporary creatures and ancient friends. Now all that I ask is for you to slow down, soften, and surrender to the gift of rejuvenating rest. As we begin our journey, I want to get you acclimated with today's breathing exercise.

That way, when you hear this sound prompt, you'll know exactly what to do. Today, I'd like to introduce you to buteyko breathing. This exercise increases our blood circulation and improves oxygen delivery to the brain, while also helping to calm our nervous system. Start by inhaling as deep as you normally would, but shortening the length of time. So, in for one, 2 seconds, and.

Out for one, two, 3 seconds. In one, two, out, one, two, three.

Now, keep the same rhythm, but lighten the breath so you're not breathing as deeply. By the end of this, you should feel as if you'd like to take a deeper breath, but it shouldn't be uncomfortable.

In one, two, out, one, two, three. In one, two, out, one, two, three.

And relax, breathing deeply, we'll have more chances to practice buteyko breathing as we go. For now, get comfortable. As we prepare to step into the Smithsonian, the large door swings closed behind you, sealing out the moist summer air. You are instantly transported to the cool shelter of the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History. Its white marble rotunda expands on all sides and above you as tour guides in soft, sneakered shoes lead murmuring groups to and fro. In the center of the room stands Henry, the eleven ton african elephant. He gazes up at the round marble ceiling soaring impossibly high above him. Three stories of neoclassical porticoes and intricately carved columns hide wonders inside the museum's treasures flash through the various entryways, from glistening green leaves to glittering jewels, you stroll through the first inviting entry into the softly lit hall of fossils. All around the room, beasts that had slumbered for millions of years have been brought to life once again. They drift through deep oceans or soar on lazy thermal currents. You pause before the giant fossil replica of a dinosaur. Its long neck and large head send a lazy thrill down your spine and you imagine what it must have felt like to be this towering herbivore millions of years ago.

The gentle tropical breezes of a warmer world whistle against your long neck. Your leathery skin basks in the heat of a much younger sun. The small buzz of insects and the distant grumble of your dinosaur pack reassures you that all is well as you munch on the sweet, tender leaves that grow at the very tops of the trees. Then, when you're full, you lay down for a deep, deep sleep. A sleep that lasts eons. The warm dirt covers you like a blanket kept safe in your cocoon. Breathing in, you sink deep into the soft earth, nestling into it like a pillow. And breathe out, feeling the centuries pass as you relax your muscles, letting the weight of the world lift from your bones. And breathe in for two, 2 seconds. And out for three as you picture yourself plunging deeper into the earth's crust.

In one, two, out. One, two, three. In. One, two, out. One, two, three.

And repeat.

And relax.

Imagining yourself still as that dinosaur. You've slept for so long, you've forgotten what the sun feels like. Until the day a gentle paleontologist finds you. You're brought back to the earth's surface, brushed clean with the softest bristles, ready to rest forever in the studious halls of the Smithsonian. You lazily return to your surroundings and realize someone has been sitting next to you all along. It's a bronze cast of Charles Darwin, a little shining finch on his shoulder. He's lost in contemplation, considering where we came from and where we might be going. Rising to our feet, we walk forward in time. To our left, we pass a towering Tyrannosaurus and cowering triceratops, trapped for millennia in their deadly dance. To the right, the skeleton of a mother mammoth leans toward her baby. It's easy to imagine her wooly trunk reaching out to caress its tiny head. Up ahead, the light changes, becoming cool and blue. The rain pounds steadily on the skylight far above. As you step into the next wing ocean hall. A vast sculpture of a right whale hangs suspended in the air against the shadowy blue, blue and purple lights. That punctuate the exhibits.

The whale appears to drift just under the surface of the ocean. The sunlight refracts through the surface, creating long beams of light, like fingers that brush its blue barnacled side. Venturing deeper into the hall, we pass models of squids. Their tentacles float lazily in an invisible current. A map illustrates just what it's like for land animals like us to be living on what is really an ocean planet. So much of our earth is covered in gently lapping waves, and most creatures float, weightless and graceful within their depths. It must feel wonderful to go with the flow, traveling wherever the wind and the currents do. You come to rest on a comfortable bench, captivated by a large tank on the opposite wall. It's filled with vibrant corals in mustard yellows and deep reds. Bursts of little green polyps fill in the gaps. Tropical fish dart in and out of the coral city, flashing their blue and gold hues, searching for a safe place to rest. The surface of the water laps gently and rhythmically against the coral. You watch the soothing waves breathing along to their rhythm. In for 2 seconds and out for three. As the water surface rocks gently.

In. One, two, out. One, two, three. In. One, two, out, one, two, three.

And repeat.

And relax.

The rain outside has eased to a light, dry drizzle, and it's time to move on. Sending a goodbye to your fish friends, you head upstairs, up to the tiniest creatures that tread our world, past the iridescent beetles and slow moving stick bugs, until we reach the butterfly pavilion. A door opens into a world of color and light. It's as if someone has picked up a tropical rainforest and placed it down gently here in the center of the museum. Bright chartreuses and soft sages cover the room. Sprays of delicate pink flowers grow from every stalk. Their petals are thin and soft as gossamer. It's a soothing garden, a nourishing garden meant to house and feed the creatures who live here. This is the butterflies sanctuary, and they have been kind enough to invite you in. Brilliant orange monarchs flutter softly by heading to the tall milkweed, shooting skyward in one corner. In another, a pair of large yellow eyes appear to stare at you from the shelter of a tropical fern. They disappear and just as quickly spring back into view. It's not eyes staring from the fern, but rather eye spots. A great owl butterfly, disguised to look like its namesake, perches on a yellow flower, drinking deeply of the nectar within.

Something gently tickles your skin. A friendly butterfly has landed on your arm. The veining in its wings is so delicate, the tiny scales that coat them soft as fine powder. She lazily opens and closes her wings, which are creamy white with symmetrical splotches of black. She seems to fixate on the bright pattern of your shirt sleeve. Perhaps she's mistaken your warmth and vivid clothing for sun drenched flowers. More butterflies land on your arms and shoulders. Their tiny legs whisper softly on your skin. You breathe calmly, careful not to disturb these delicate creatures. You are happy to be a safe place for them to perch on their journey as we practice our buteyko. Breathing in for 2 seconds and out for three.

In, one, two, out, one, two, three. In one, two, out, one, two, three. In, one, two, out, one, two, three. In, one, two, out, one, two, three. And relax.

You could stay here forever, breathing gently, feeling the soft tickle of the butterfly's wings, feeling as light as they are, as light as air, as your eyelids gently close. But if you're not quite ready to end your journey, there's always more to see in the museum. Your arms slowly return to your sides. One by one, the butterflies take flight, circling lazily as they seek out their next perch. Another flower, another shoulder, another soft place to land. You too, are always searching for a soft place to land, a quiet moment to rest and recover. As you say goodbye to the butterflies and leave their green paradise for the echoing marbled halls of the museum. The rhythm of footsteps mingles with the rain hitting the skylight outside. The storm has picked back up, it seems, falling into a steady rhythm. The museum is quieter. School groups have gone home. Tourists trickle out in search of their suppers. Their scent lingers behind the soft floral spray of perfume, the warm vanilla from a latte, the deep musk of an aftershave. Ghosts of the people who were here just moments before. You picture how these exhibits must feel once they're completely empty, how their lights dim down and halls grow quiet.

We're walking softly towards the hall of human origins, past the skulls of ancient human species. Just like you, they took in the wonders of their time, felt the soft breezes through their hair, the drop of temperature during a rainstorm. We arrive at a cave, rocky and rough, seemingly carved into the museum's wall. Soft lights flicker slowly in oranges and reds, and you can almost hear the crackling of a cave fire, feel its heat on your back, the warmth that means home and safety in a world of ancient dangers. Cave paintings shift in the firelight. Impressions of dozens of palms, their fingers, outlined in soft red paint, appear like a forest of hands reaching out. The light from the fire dances over the wall, giving them movement and life. You hold up your own hand, marveling at how perfectly it overlaps with these fingers and palms, which grasped and pinched and tickled millions of years ago. Ponder just how far the living things on this planet earth have come. From the deepest oceans, our ancestors crawled onto land, fleeing before the thunderous footsteps of the dinosaurs. They survived a cataclysmic blast, small and warm, hiding in their burrows and dens.

They grew large and hardy, growing thick pelts to stave off the cold of the ice age. They were lucky creatures, your ancestors, with brains that questioned and legs that walked upright. They spread across the earth, learning and changing and growing. Until today, when you as curious as everyone that came before you stepped into this museum to learn about the past. As you take a deep inhale, bring to mind your favorite parts of this day, moments when you felt happy to be alive. Exhale deeply, thinking about the small things, a light hearted activity or a word exchanged with a loved one, the similarities you experienced with all the other humans out in the world. Now lighten your breath as you bring to mind the cave wall in front of your hand, breathing in for 2 seconds and out for three.

In one two, out. One two three. In one two, out one two three.

Listen to the rain as it helps you drift off to sleep.

And relax.

Think of the soft earth where the dinosaurs laid down to rest, the gentle pool where the fish nestled into their corals, the swaying stalks where the butterflies perch. Give yourself permission like every other creature and sleep with that. I thank you, dreamers, for allowing me to accompany you along this stroll through the Smithsonian. I hope you'll join me and Soothing sleep again for another night of rejuvenating slumber at open mind. We value your support, which drives our impactful discussions and growth. Share your thoughts on social media and remember to rate, review, and follow Soothing sleep wherever you get your podcasts. Next time we'll be bringing you a brand new story with a different relaxation technique, one you can take with you under the covers or into your waking everyday life. In the meantime, good night dreamers.

Sleep well.

Soothing Sleep an open mind original podcast powered by Pave Studios, is executive produced by Max Cutler. This episode of Soothing Sleep was sound designed by Ron Shapiro, written by Molly Quinlan Artwick, edited by Allie Wicker, and included production assistance from Kristin Acevedo and Sarah Carroll. Soothing Sleep is hosted by Vanessa Richardson. This podcast is for educational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional care by a doctor or other qualified medical professional. This podcast is provided on the understanding that it does not constitute medical or other professional advice or services. If you're looking for help in your sleep journey, please seek out a qualified medical professional.