ROOTED EARTH

When the world pulls you outward, the earth invites you back in.
There are days when your attention scatters—
a dozen directions tugging at once—
and your breath never quite drops low enough to land.

Earth teaches a different pace.
A slower one.
A steadier one.
One that asks nothing of you except arrival.

This mist carries that hum of stillness.
Cedarwood lays the foundation,
Patchouli gathers you back into your body,
Vetiver settles the breath deep into the ribs—
a quiet gravity that reminds you where home is.

Mist into the space around you—near the bed, across fabrics, or into the corners where rest begins.
Let the scent descend, slow and warm, like soil after rain.

Your ritual
• Mist once toward the floor, letting the aroma rise naturally.
• Place one hand on your belly, one on your chest.
• Inhale for four counts, exhale for six.
• Feel the slow returning—the moment your weight settles back into you.

A reminder carried in earth’s own language:
Presence is not something you force.
It’s something you return to.