Island Market

Welcome to this lovely island. This evening we're going to tour the market, the place where people come from the countryside to sell their wares, and the craftsmen of the town display their finest work. The day is ending, so the vendors are packing up their stalls. The atmosphere is one of rest. Before we set out, I always like to do a little wind-down exercise. Tonight's exercise is a really simple breathing exercise. So when you're ready, let's begin. So first get comfortable in your bed. Now just bringing the attention to the breath, just noticing where you feel it, in the nose, the throat, the chest, the diaphragm. You're nice and relaxed. We're gonna be taking a deep breath in for four, holding it for four, and then breathing out for six. So are you ready? Let's begin. In for four, two, three, four, hold it for four, two, three, four. Now breathing out for six, two, three, four, five, six. In for four, two, three, four, holding for four, two, three, four, out for six, two, three, four, five, six, in for four, two, three, four, holding for four, two, three, four, out for six, two, three, four, five, six, in for four, two, three, four, holding for four, two, three, four, out for six, two, three, four, five, six. Great, now returning the breath to normal. You are here at the arch that marks the entrance to the market. It is a simple construction of wood, painted with colors that have gone tender with time. What might once have been grit, now a hint of rose, dandelion yellow, now pale as the sand beneath our sandaled feet. The colors mirror the sashes of light, unfurling lazily across a sky dark with blues and purples, a sky that you can see resting above the swaying crowns of palm trees and the rows of market stands, as though satiated from a day of good work, watching over the island. All day, the ground has been drinking the sunlight. Now, it releases its warmth to mingle with the cool breath of the sea. This translucent hour, when light and dark weave through each other in perfect balance, like a visible song. You feel it coarse through you, humming at your fingertips, almost beyond your hearing. The sound of waves crashing gently on the beach, then receding. the air that glides on your tongue tastes faintly of salt. The market runs through the heart of this coastal city like a vital artery. All around you, the island's pulse slows down. You step through the arch. As you walk slowly down the main path, you notice that all the hustle and bustle you would expect from a market have melted away. You can see the silhouettes of vendors counting what remains of their wares, in no rush as they laugh and talk softly with each other. Their voices carry like small bells in the tropical breeze as it toys with your...