Lie down. Let the body settle. Feel the support beneath you, and let your edges soften from the outside in. That is how Kelly Collins opens her ten-minute guided meditation on tapping into divine feminine energy, published on her YouTube channel in August 2024. Over roughly nine and a half minutes, the practice moves through a rhythmic breath pattern, a visualized flight on a magic carpet, a walk into a flower-filled meadow at the foot of a mountain, and a meeting with an inner figure she calls your divine feminine self. The arc is precise: first you settle the nervous system, then you build an image, then you watch that image closely, and finally you are asked to recognize that the image and the person listening are the same. Understanding that sequence is what makes the practice work, and it is why a short recording can do more than a casual "imagine a goddess" might.
Nothing in this meditation is decorative, and the breathing comes first for a reason. Collins asks the listener to inhale for a count of five, hold at the top for three, exhale for a count of six, and hold at the bottom for three. The timing is audible in the recording, and it repeats until the listener's pace has changed. A longer exhale than inhale is a common way to slow a restless mind, and the three-count holds give attention a place to rest between each movement. The practice is not asking for dramatic breathwork. It is asking for a steady, countable rhythm that gives the mind something to track, so that the visualization that follows arrives in a body that is already quieter.
This order matters. Many guided imagery practices start with the story and hope the body follows. Here the body is handed a metronome first. By the time the speaker says "begin to visualize a magic carpet in the room that you're in," the listener has spent more than a minute doing something concrete with their lungs. The imagery that comes next is easier to hold because the breath has already become the anchor.
The magic carpet is the most playful device in the recording, and also the most structurally useful. Collins asks you to step onto it and take in its colors, any pattern, its texture and shape. Then it lifts you through the ceiling, over the building you are in, over the town or city, and carries you to your favorite place in nature. The carpet is a transition object. It moves the listener from the familiar room to a wider landscape without requiring you to decide where you are going or how to get there. That is a real craft choice: a visualization that begins with a vehicle gives the imagination permission to move, and it spares the listener the effort of constructing a whole scene from scratch.
Once the carpet touches down, the meditation asks for something more demanding. The speaker says you slowly step off and begin to walk, "noticing all of your senses activated," taking in what you see, smell, feel, and even taste in your mouth. This is a deliberate shift from picturing a place to inhabiting one. The listener is not observing a postcard. They are asked to run through sensation, which is one of the oldest ways contemplative practices make an image feel real.
The meadow is the next threshold. The recording places you in "a flower filled Meadow at the base of a mountain," and then asks you to notice butterflies, bees, birds, the different types of flowers, the clouds, and the mountain in the background. Here the listener is still outside, still looking. The landscape is rich but not the point. It is the setting in which the next figure is allowed to appear.
This is the heart of the practice, and the part worth slowing down for. Collins says: "you begin to notice your divine feminine self walking across the meadow." She then asks the listener to notice what she looks like: "how is her hair, her skin, what is she wearing, is she holding anything, how does she walk, what is her posture like." The questions are concrete and sensory, and they keep the figure at arm's length. You are a careful observer, cataloguing details the way a painter would before painting a portrait.
The instruction then escalates. The listener is asked to notice what the figure is doing, to sense her energy and aura, and to watch as she lies down in the meadow, the earth supporting her and the sun on her skin. Then the figure is allowed to let go and dream fully, "knowing that she is worthy of receiving." Watching someone let go is a different experience from being told to let go. The meditation lets the listener witness a kind of release before asking them to participate in it.
And then the central shift arrives. Collins says, in her recording: "recognize that she is you and you are her." That sentence is the hinge of the entire practice. Everything before it was observation. Everything after it is identification. The figure you have spent several minutes describing is no longer a separate goddess in a distant meadow but a description of the listener's own qualities: "you are soft but strong, you are kind and loving, you are compassionate." The meditation moves from the question "who is she?" to the statement "who I am." It is a simple move, but it is structurally sophisticated, because the listener has already done the work of seeing the figure clearly before being asked to merge with her.
The language in the final third of the recording is where the practice names its own philosophy. Collins describes the divine feminine as "the energy of beingness" and "the energy of the Moon: cool, calm, always changing, always ebbing and flowing." The moon is a useful image here because it is defined by its cycle rather than by a fixed shape. The meditation pairs that image with an explicit instruction about how to hold your life: "you accept yourself fully and others fully, you accept your journey and know that all of your desires will come in divine timing, in the perfect time, no sooner no later."
The practical implication is spelled out in one line: "you know that you don't have to hold on tightly or live rigidly. You can feel, you can flow, you can create." This is not a teaching about passivity. It is a contrast between grip and receptivity, and the practice frames the feminine not as something to be achieved but as a mode of moving through change. Listeners who arrive at a meditation carrying urgency about outcomes will find this framing deliberately slower than most productivity-minded advice. That slowness is the point of the recording.
A good guided meditation has to land the listener somewhere, and this one is careful about the return. The speaker asks for a big breath in, filling up with "this deep knowing that you are the divine feminine energy," followed by an open-mouth exhale that carries you back into the room you started in. The return keeps the identification intact while reintroducing ordinary reference points. You are asked to see your divine feminine self "where you lay now," to place a hand over your heart, to connect with your heartbeat, feel the ground beneath you, and reactivate your senses. Smell, taste, and the sounds of the present room are brought back in one by one before the recording closes with a single word: namaste.
The sequence works because it does not rush the listener out of the imagery. The hand on the heart is a physical anchor that carries the meadow experience into the body. Ten minutes is short, but the architecture is complete: settle, breathe, travel, arrive, observe, merge, return.
If you want to work with this practice, the most useful step is to repeat the breath count on its own for a few minutes before trying the full recording. Once the five-three-six-three rhythm feels natural, the magic carpet and the meadow become easier to enter, and the moment of "she is you and you are her" becomes less of an abstraction. Pay attention to the questions Collins asks about the figure's hair, posture, and gestures, and try answering them for yourself in a journal afterward. The meditation is designed as a daily or quick-reset practice, and the description on Kelly Collins's channel points to her podcast, Soul Spark, and to a Bali retreat for those who want more guided depth. Whatever you choose, let the first lesson of the recording guide you: start by settling, and let the image come to you rather than forcing it.
