Ignore this if it's naff or useless, but in case it helps, here's a little meditation. (I find I can only meditate when someone else is leading.)
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You're coming out of the flat into the cybergarden.
Brrr. It's a bit chilly. You can smell honeysuckle on the night air.
You're on the terrace. The moorish fountain is tinkling.
There's a lamp by the fountain. The light is warm, and glistens in the running water.
It makes patterns. They run and flicker, changing, moving, always there.
The water picks up colours: now the yellow flame; now the blue tiles; now dazzling white light; back to yellow.
It's very, very peaceful in the garden.
The trees rustle in the breeze; the fountain gurgles softly.
The colours dance endlessly in the water. They weave and change.
It's safe here.
A nightingale begins to sing from the tree. It's a beautiful, clear song.
You can talk back to the nightingale. You can say anything you want. There's no one to overhear you.
It's always safe in the garden.
A huge, bright moon illuminates the terrace. You can see all round you. Nothing's hiding.
The nightingale sings.