Vagus Hum — downshift with Tulsi

Rush-hour brain?

I’m the traffic cop in silk.

Thumb to sternum, lips go mmm—and the freeway kneels.

Dysregulated: sparks in my ribs, jaw a vise, thoughts sprint like startled deer.

Regulated: shoulders drip to earth; breath turns tidal; the forest puts my crown back on.

Tulsi sashays in—aromatic, warm, bright.

Queen of Soft Power, adaptogen with a wink.

She whispers to the vagus: downshift, baby.

Clutch = breath. Gear = hum. Road = spine. Go.

Sip.

Mouthful of basil sunlight, peppered holy breeze.

Exhale on a hum till your collarbones purr.

Let the gut say “yes” and the jaw un-sign its contract.

Nervous system map:

Fight/Flight = crackling brushfire, wind too sharp.

Rest/Digest = rain on loam, a creek remembering its curves.

Tulsi flips the switch—sympathetic to parasympathetic—

from red siren to green meadow in three slow sips.

Allies at the table (energetics):

Lemon Balm—cool, citrus-bright, unwinds the mind’s kite.

Linden—sweet, cooling, heart-soft; bees agree.

Milky Oats—moistening, rebuilds frazzled wires, velvet for nerves.

Tulsi—warm, uplifting, aromatic; clears the weather between heart and head.

I stir the cup clockwise, call my cells to circle.

Soil underfoot, sky in my throat, roots plugging me back to the grid of good.

Inbox can wait; digestion just started the board meeting.

Mantra:

Hum low. Sip slow.

Let Tulsi chair the session.

I lead from a calm body—

and every system follows.

XOXO, gina