Whose voice is this?

Whose voice is this that gently says, it's OK what is happening in your toes right now? How soft is this purring cat? It’s just the two of us at 3:00 AM in the morning.

Where does the knowledge come from to hold on to my feet and pull my toes back, bump my fist quite solidly on my third eye? To let each sensation become a lake where each drop is an endless ocean of silent rushing motion.

This voiceless voice. This gentle touch. The firm mattress beneath me. The letting go of trying to control even the voice that says, “What if I break it again like I have so many times before?”