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This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. It's wonderful that we talk about mental health more openly these days. However, for many people, asking for help can still feel difficult and intimidating. In fact, BetterHelp's 2026 State of Stigma report surveyed 2,000Americans and revealed that 85% of Americans believe getting support is wise, yet 74% say society discourages people from doing so. It's therefore glaringly obvious that we still have a lot of work to do to ensure everyone knows it's perfectly okay to seek help and try therapy. So maybe we can all encourage those around us that bit more to understand that being open and vulnerable really is a positive thing. BetterHelp is the world's largest online therapy platform, and it's a great place to kickstart your therapy journey. Don't let stigma stand in the way of support. Start therapy with BetterHelp. Sign up and get 10% off at betterhelp.com getsleepy that's betterhelp.com getsleepy so good, so good, so good.
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I'm Arsh Manning. I'm Madison Skinner. I'm Eva Jovic. I'm Decoria Moore. Wanna train like a Red Bull athlete?
- [01:52]
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Tell us your fitness goals this summer to enter the Red Bull Athlete Challenge.
- [01:56]
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You'll get to try each of our workouts for a chance to win an U Red Bull Experience. Think you have what it takes? Welcome to Get Sleepy, where we listen, we relax, and we get sleepy. My name's Thomas and it's my honor to be your host. I'll be reading to you tonight as we enjoy a unique meditative piece which was written by D. Ahmed. One of the great things about the new five day a week schedule we're now following on Get Sleepy is that we can occasionally try something a bit different. And tonight's episode is just that. It's a bit of a hybrid of a plotless story and a meditation. We truly hope you enjoy listening and find that it leads you into a deep, nourishing night's sleep. So let's begin winding down right away with these words preparing us for some good rest. Tonight you're invited to unwind, to let your thoughts Settle and to spend a while inside a quiet room where nothing happens. There is no story unfolding here, no events to follow, no beginning, no middle, no end. Just a room, a simple space. Walls that hold the quiet air, that rests without urgency, corners that remain. Nothing enters, nothing leaves, nothing changes in any important way. This episode intentionally avoids a traditional narrative arc. There is nothing to build towards, nothing to resolve, and nothing to remember. You may drift in and out at any point. In fact, there's no need to remember this at all. We are simply spending time here where nothing happens, observing small impressions, subtle shifts in light, faint sounds, and gentle changes in atmosphere. They may loop, they may soften, they may return. But the room remains. And within it, everything is unhurried. So, let's begin. Perhaps you notice a soft color now. It is not a bright color. It is not a defined shape. It is simply a suggestion of something drifting at the edges of your awareness. Perhaps it is blue, or something like blue. It moves slowly, then pauses, then moves again. There is no reason to follow it closely. There is no reason to name it. Perhaps there is a sound. Not a clear sound, not a voice, not a noise you need to identify. Just a gentle hum, a vibration that rises and falls, then returns again softly. It does not progress, it does not conclude. It simply exists and allows you to notice it. Or not. A thought may appear now, small, incomplete. It does not need to complete itself. It drifts, it dissolves. It returns in fragments. Perhaps you notice it again, perhaps you do not. It makes no difference. There is a sense of movement somewhere. Not your movement, not any physical motion. Just the idea of drifting, of folding, of turning softly in circles. The sensation has no destination, no conclusion. It curves and curves again. Perhaps you notice a memory. It is not a detailed memory. It is not something you need to hold. It is a hint, a half formed impression, a shape without edges. It appears and softens before it fully arrives. Perhaps it disappears. Perhaps it returns. Colors may shift slightly now, or perhaps they remain the same. Perhaps the sound hums a little differently, or perhaps it has never changed. You do not need to keep track of. You do not need to know. Perhaps there is a feeling of lightness, not dramatic, not noticeable to anyone else. Just the soft lifting of weight, of thought, of awareness, curling gently around itself. You may drift with it, or you may let it pass. It does not matter. The small impressions return. Sometimes together, sometimes alone. The color drifts, the sound hums. The thought appears. The feeling rises and softens. Then all of it fades slightly. Then all of it returns round. If you Are trying to follow this story, you may find it impossible. And that is exactly the point. There is nothing to follow, no line to trace, no chapter to remember. You do not need to hold on to a single thing. It will continue whether you notice or not. Perhaps you feel warmth now, not in your body, not in any specific place, Just warmth as a sense, a suggestion, a gentle presence curling softly at the edge of your awareness. It folds in on itself. It spreads without direction. It softens, it returns. Perhaps a shadow passes in your mind. Not real, not important, just a suggestion, a contrast, a fold, a drift. It does not need to be remembered. It does not need to make sense. It is simply here. The sensations loop over and over. Colors, sounds, thought, warmth, Shadows returning, softening, returning again. Perhaps there is a sense of space now, not far, not near. Just a gentle openness between one impression and the next. The color drifts, then space. The hum rises, then space. A thought flickers, then space. Nothing fills, does not need filling. It simply rests. Quiet, unmarked, Perhaps. The space feels wide, very small. It may stretch, it may soften. It may be barely noticed at all. You do not need to enter it, and you do not need to understand. Asks nothing, it holds nothing. It simply allows everything else to appear and disappear. The colour rests inside it. The sound hums through it. The thought brushes against it. Warmth settles within it. Even the shadow passes quietly across it. And when everything softens, the space remains. Not empty, not full, just open. Perhaps there is a sense of weight now, not a burden, not a tension, just the gentle presence of heaviness. Or perhaps softness that rests beside your awareness without demanding attention. It does not shift or move unless it chooses. You may drift with it, or you may let it go. It does not matter. Perhaps you notice time stretching, or perhaps it has stopped. There are no markers here, no hour, no minute. Only loops, only return, only drift. Perhaps a color appears again. It shifts again. It softens again. It may be blue, or something like it. Or it may be gone. It will return. Perhaps. A sound hums again. The hum rises, it falls. It curves around itself. It is familiar and unfamiliar, round and round. Perhaps a thought arrives, incomplete. It folds softly. It drifts away. Perhaps it will return, perhaps not. It does not matter. Perhaps warmth returns. Perhaps it folds into softness. Perhaps it drifts, perhaps it does not. Everything is optional. Everything may disappear. Everything may return. You may begin to notice the loops themselves. The color, the sound, the thought, the warmth, the shadow. They curve around each other. They fold, they unfold, round and round. Perhaps even this noticing softens. Perhaps you are aware of awareness. Perhaps you are aware of nothing at all. It is all acceptable. It is all intended. Perhaps the impressions fade slightly. Perhaps they return. Perhaps the drift becomes softer. Perhaps the loops widen. Everything moves quietly. Everything folds softly. Everything continues. Perhaps a sense of lightness returns. Perhaps warmth curls softly. Perhaps a shadow drifts. Perhaps nothing is noticed at all. Maybe the color appears again. Maybe it disappears. Maybe the hum curves. Maybe the thought returns. Maybe it does not. Everything moves gently. Everything curves softly. Perhaps you feel soft. Perhaps you drift lightly. Perhaps you drift deeply. There are no requirements. There are no expectations. Only this. Only loops. Only drift. Perhaps now all sensations fold together. Color, sound, thought, warmth, shadow. They curve. They return. They fold. They drift over and over. Perhaps you notice that you do not need to remember any of this. And that is exactly how it works. Perhaps you may not recall what has happened. Perhaps fragments remain. Perhaps nothing remains. It is all part of the drift. Everything loops. Everything folds. Everything drifts. Nothing begins. Nothing ends. Nothing needs attention. Perhaps even these words fade slightly. Perhaps only the rhythm remains. Perhaps only the loop exists. Perhaps nothing at all is noticed. It is all acceptable. It is all intended. The story continues. It continues. Whether you are listening, it continues. Whether you drift away, it continues softly, quietly, endlessly. It continues infinitely. Sam.