The falling tree protocol

Protocol must be applied late at night. Eyes closed in a comfortable place, preferably familiar. Imagine yourself as a falling tree. When the tree hits the floor, you fall asleep. When the tree hits the floor, it keeps its moving force, its movement continuing in a lower plane of existence, right below the ground. Continuing in a clock-like motion. When the tree hits the floor, you fall asleep. Upon hitting the ground, the tree (that is, you) has completed a quarter of a circle. It now explores the underworld. Imagine the tree in complete darkness, unseen, unseeable. The tree has now completed half of a circle. It keeps going and hits the ground again—not from above, but rising from the underworld to the surface, from deep below, reaching the daylight or moonlight. When the tree hits the floor, you fall asleep. The tree rises from the ground. It pierces through the dirt, the grass, the moss, the air, the air, the air, the air. It completes the last quarter of the circle, returning to its original position. You haven’t fallen asleep yet. You hear these words. Repeat the process. Repeat the process. Eyes closed, always. Repeat until success. Imagine yourself as a falling tree. When the tree hits the floor, you fall asleep. When the tree hits the floor, it keeps its moving force, its movement continuing in a lower plane of existence, right below the ground. When the tree hits the floor, you fall asleep. You fall asleep and keep the same moving force. You are sinking into a giant mass of red fog and black shadows, sinking down and down. In the red mist, you see the faces of those you hurt, hear the voices of those you lost. Surrounded, covered, wrapped in the unavoidable presence of others, in the unending weight of unpleasant memories they represent. Maybe you’ll find warmth in the red mist… You must. Imagine yourself as a tree. A falling tree. When the tree hits the ground— you fall asleep.