The Sands Of Time (Long Meditation Bedtime Story)

So just take a moment to allow your eyes to close and allow yourself to begin to relax.

And as you begin to comfortably fall asleep,

I don't know whether you'll drift asleep faster to the sound of my voice or whether it'll be to the spaces between my words.

And as you comfortably drift asleep,

I'm just going to tell this bedtime story in the background.

And as you carefully crunch your way through autumn woodland,

You can hear the sound of leaves crunching underfoot,

The rustling of the leaves in the trees.

You can see some of those leaves falling gently down from the trees,

Rocking side to side through the air,

As they carefully lower themselves down to the ground,

Carried on the gentle breeze.

And the patches appearing overhead as those leaves fall from their place.

And the Sun creeps through and dances on the ground below.

And a soft mist permeates the woodland floor,

Wrapping around your ankles,

Moving gently with each step,

Like walking through shallow water,

With your legs pushing through that water.

The ripples gently spreading out with each step.

And the soft and gently echoing sounds in the woodland of distant birds in trees,

The hoot of a howl,

That slight chill in the air,

Stroking your cheeks,

Breathing in that slight coolness,

Breathing out any stresses or worries,

While your mind is gently lost in thought,

Weaving around trees.

And as you continue to walk through this woodland,

And the Sun continues to pass across the sky,

So the rays of light get shallower,

The shadows get longer.

And the light goes from a brighter white to a delicate orange,

Weaving its way around those trees.

And as you continue walking through this woodland,

And that orange light begins to fade to a gentle blue.

With the soft onset of night,

You can hear a distant howl of a wolf elsewhere in this woodland.

And then after a short time,

You hear a howl coming from the opposite direction in response.

And then another and another,

The animals communicating with each other.

As you continue walking so peacefully,

So calmly through this woodland,

And as the last of the Sun passes over the horizon,

You find your way to the edge of the woods,

Into a slight clearing,

Where you can see the gently rising full moon,

Hugging the tops of the trees in the distance,

The stars sparkling and twinkling overhead.

And in this clearing,

You see a large ravine,

And you walk over to that ravine.

You walk along the edge of the ravine,

Gazing down to a thundering river down below.

You walk a little bit along the side of the ravine,

Then head back the opposite direction,

Checking the ravine out,

Before resting on the edge of the ravine,

Dangling your legs over the edge,

Taking your backpack off.

And out of your backpack,

You take a long rope,

And on the end of the rope,

You attach a hook,

And then you stand back up,

And you throw that rope across the ravine.

And the first time,

It lands and you pull it,

And it just pulls off the edge of the ravine,

So you roll it all back up again,

And you throw it again,

And then a third time,

And a fourth time.

And the fifth time,

You manage to hook that on,

On the other side of the ravine.

You tie off the rope on this side of the ravine.

You wander calmly back into the tree line,

Examining the branches of the trees.

You find a suitable branch,

Break that branch from the tree,

And carry that branch with you,

Back down to that rope.

You throw your backpack back on your back.

You hear the soft howl of another wolf,

The sound of an eagle flying overhead,

The distant hoot of an owl.

As you walk over to the rope,

Taking that stick,

And gently walking across that rope,

Balancing yourself with the stick.

Carefully walking along the rope.

The gentle breeze pushing on your cheeks,

Moving softly and calmly above that thundering water,

Stopping for a moment in the middle.

Looking left and right under the moonlight,

Examining the ravine,

Recalling your days working in a circus.

The days you used to swing from high up,

Used to cross ropes like this,

Through multiple performances,

Day after day.

And thinking about how you've now found a practical use outside of a circus,

For this skill.

And you lower yourself down onto that rope,

Crouching all the way down,

Sitting yourself down on the rope,

Feeling very centered and calm,

Taking in the moment.

And from on that rope,

You're wondering whether to drop down and explore the ravine,

Or continue across to the other side.

You wonder whether there'd be a way up from within the ravine,

If you drop down.

And you decide that perhaps you will drop down into the ravine.

And so you pull a large sheet out of your backpack,

You wrap two corners into one hand,

Two corners into the other hand.

And then you just push your body forward,

Launching yourself off the rope,

Stretching your arms out as wide as you can.

That sheet catching the air,

Jolting you back up as you fall down calmly,

Drifting down into that ravine,

Following your ears to guide you to land beside that thundering river,

Heading off to land on the opposite side of the ravine to which you are crossing from.

Pulling your arms in as you near the ground,

Bending your legs,

And gently landing and walking and rolling in that sheet,

Placing that sheet back into your backpack,

Looking up towards the top of the ravine,

The moonlight barely making it down here.

That river thundering alongside you,

The spray from the river,

Wafting into your nostrils as you crunch along the stony edge of the river,

Exploring this ravine.

And as the night continues to set in,

So you decide to stop and take a break,

And you grab some spikes from your backpack.

You wedge them in above head height into the cliff at the side of the ravine.

You then turn that into a platform,

Climb up onto that,

Stab in some more spikes,

And then attach a sheet between the platform and those spikes,

Making a small space that you can fit in with your backpack and rest down and sleep for the night.

And you settle down in that small space,

The sound of that river rumbling past,

The sound of that water so calming,

So relaxing,

The breeze gently patting itself on the fabric that surrounds you,

Feeling like you just want to drift comfortably asleep.

And under a gentle torchlight,

You read a little bit of a book before noticing that as your eyes work their way to the bottom of the page,

Each time they reach the bottom of the page,

They just want to close deeper and deeper.

And so you close the book,

As you close your eyes and drift comfortably asleep.

And as you drift asleep,

So your body relaxes,

And your mind begins to drift and dream.

And you start to hear the sound of a disco,

And in your mind's eye,

You start to have this sense of colored lights flashing and moving around.

And then this sense of walking into a disco,

And in this disco,

All you can see is a cat in a tutu,

Dancing,

Spinning.

It's a Saturday night fever,

With different colored lights moving across the dance floor,

Lights spinning gently to the music.

A DJ,

Hidden in the shadows in the background.

A gentle,

Occasional puff of dry ice,

Wafting across the dance floor.

And that cat just lost in their own world,

Dancing,

Spinning,

Enjoying the music.

And you stand in the entrance to this disco,

Watching as that cat dances.

And then,

As the song comes to an end,

So the big lights get turned on.

All the colorful lights get turned off.

The DJ says that that was the last song of the night.

It's time now for everyone to go.

And the cat seems a little disappointed with this.

And you notice,

With the lights on,

The incredible mosaic on the floor.

But once the lights are turned on,

This room doesn't look so much like a disco.

It looks more like an ancient Roman building,

With most beautiful architecture,

Images around the walls,

And a delicate mosaic across the floor.

And you walk towards the cat.

And the cat is still wanting to dance,

And is purring gently.

And yet,

They seem very worn out,

Very tired from all their dancing.

And you comment on the cat's dancing,

And they smile back at you.

And they say they enjoy a good romp around the dance floor,

And they tell you,

Perhaps you'd like to head out of the fire exits,

At the far end of this building.

And they hand you some chopsticks.

They say,

You'll probably need these.

And you take those chopsticks.

You walk through the building,

Down a long,

Echoey corridor,

Towards some fire doors.

You open those fire doors.

And the other side of the fire doors,

You find that it opens into what looks like an endless cornfield,

With that corn being taller than you are,

Stretching out in all directions.

And you jump up,

To try and gaze over the top of the corn.

And you turn around,

And it looks like you've just exited through a door in a hill.

And you walk around that door,

And climb up the hill a little bit.

And standing on the hill,

All you can see,

To the horizon,

In every direction,

Is corn.

And you gaze across that corn.

And you hold a chopstick out,

Sideways in front of you.

You scan across the corn,

And you notice that in one direction,

There's a point where the corn is slightly higher than the horizon.

And so you decide that at that spot,

There must be something.

And so you head in that direction,

Pushing through the corn,

That corn rustling and cracking as you walk through it.

The smell of that corn,

Wafting around your nose.

And you push on and on and on,

Hoping to figure out what is making the corn slightly higher in one spot in this endless cornfield.

And after some time of walking,

You suddenly notice on the ground,

What looks like areas of rubble.

And so you suspect you're on the right track.

You push through that corn,

Leaving a trail of crushed corn in your wake.

And then you notice that that ground starts heading upwards slightly.

And so you reach a point,

Where you start to notice you're now heading back down again.

And so you go and stop at the top.

And you examine the ground beneath your feet.

And you start digging into the ground with those chopsticks.

And as you dig into the ground,

You can hear a slight hum coming from just beneath the surface.

So you push with those chopsticks into that dirt,

Chipping away at that mud.

Until you notice,

Buried under the ground here,

Seems to be a chamber.

And you've reached the roof of this chamber.

And you score with a chopstick,

Around a stone at the top of this chamber,

Until that stone falls through and thuds onto the ground.

And you squeeze yourself down through that gap.

You hang,

And then drop down into the chamber below.

And in this chamber,

Before you,

You see a gently pulsing,

Glowing mirror,

And a candle either side of that mirror.

And you walk up to the mirror.

And you reach out to touch the glass of the mirror.

And the closer your hand gets to the glass,

The more you start to hear this curious,

Gentle,

Ticking noise.

And as your hand touches the mirror,

So you can feel a soft tingle through your fingertips,

Down your arm,

Up to your shoulder,

And then deep down into your body,

As you move through the mirror.

And the other side of the mirror.

You find yourself in the most beautiful meadow,

With the gentle scent of wildflowers,

The soft,

Rustling grass,

Waving,

And the slow,

Undulating breeze.

You see a paper lantern,

Hanging from a wooden post in this meadow.

And as you look around,

You see another one in the distance,

And another one equally spaced further beyond that.

And you realize they must be marking out a path through this meadow.

And you can still hear that soft,

Curious ticking.

And as you gently turn around,

You let your ears pinpoint where the ticking is coming from.

And you help them to do that by letting the eyes close.

And you orient yourself in the direction of the ticking.

And you open your eyes and find that the ticking is coming from the direction of those line of lanterns.

As you walk through this meadow,

Following that line of lanterns,

The sweet scent of those wildflowers,

A large bird,

Flying overhead,

Caught in an updraft,

Surveying the landscape below.

And you walk through this meadow,

And then beyond the meadow,

Into a pine forest,

With that scent of pine wrapping around you,

Filling your senses.

And you push yourself around the trees,

Feeling the bark of those trees under your fingertips,

Catching the sap on those fingertips,

Feeling its stickiness,

And catching the scent of pine on your fingertips,

And noticing that ticking gradually getting louder,

And yet still barely audible.

And the deeper you go into this pine forest,

The more relaxed you feel.

And in the middle of the pine forest,

You discover a cozy looking cabin.

And you walk up to the door of the cabin,

And you knock gently on the door of that cabin,

And there's no answer.

You put your nose to the window,

Gaze into the cabin,

And you don't see anyone home.

You open the cabin door and say hello,

And still no answer.

And so you walk into that cabin,

And it seems long deserted.

And you look at the dusty bookshelves,

With just a handful of books remaining,

Some on their sides,

Some upright,

Some empty.

Some open,

Many being held together by cobwebs stretched across them.

You open and look in the different drawers.

And as you're looking in the drawers,

Your foot accidentally knocks the bottom of a cabinet,

And with a click,

A secret drawer in the base of this cabinet opens.

And so you carefully pry that drawer open,

And inside the drawer,

You find an old book with an ornate cover.

You take that book from the drawer.

You sit yourself down in the gently dusty,

Cozy,

Comfortable chair by the old fireplace.

You open that book.

And you see in that book,

The different symbols and images,

As if those symbols and images are telling a story.

You turn through the pages,

Running your fingers over the text,

Running your fingers over the images,

Feeling the texture of the paper.

And as you turn through those pages,

Eventually,

You reach page 100.

And while running your fingers down page 100,

A thought comes to mind,

New beginnings.

And as that thought comes to mind,

So do the pages.

They seem to dance to life.

They seem to begin to glow and stretch like a hologram weaving its way off the page.

Up into the air before you.

Before that hologram opens out like a book opening.

And then opens out,

Away from you,

Like unfurling a map.

To create a 3D world before you.

And you lower that book to the ground.

As that 3D world lowers to the ground.

And you stand up and walk into that 3D world.

Watching as the cabin around you seems to fade away.

As this new world opens up before you.

A world of curiosity and wonder.

And you see in front of you.

A river running past.

And a drawbridge open towards you.

And on the other side of the river.

Is a tall wall stretching either side of that drawbridge.

Stretching over the top of the gap the drawbridge pulls up into.

And you walk across the drawbridge.

And as you do,

It rises up and shuts behind you.

And you can hear that ticking.

Still getting louder and louder.

And you walk along a path laid out before you.

Hearing the gentle hoot of an owl in the distance.

Seeing a pocket of flowers.

With a hummingbird feeding.

Poking its head into one of those flowers.

Its wings buzzing.

Imperceptibly fast.

And you walk past those flowers.

You walk into a curious forest.

With wide and tall trees.

And you can hear somewhere deep in this forest.

A sound of a woodpecker.

Pecking away.

That sound echoing from all directions.

Hard to pinpoint its location.

And you feel like.

Something's watching you as you walk.

Almost like a guardian.

Watching,

Checking,

You're keeping safe.

As you walk deeper and deeper among the trees.

And while walking through this forest.

You hear the gentle rustle.

Rustle of the trees around you.

As if they're moving.

Changing position.

You have this sense out the corner of your eye.

Like you catch sight of something.

And then you swing yourself round.

And just for a moment.

You're sure.

That these trees had faces.

But the details of those faces.

Blended back in with the trunks.

As you turned.

And so you stop.

And you ask if there's someone there.

And after a long pause.

You notice one of the trees open their eyes.

And in a low deep voice.

They say that they are all one.

Their roots combine beneath the surface.

This entire forest.

Is one giant tree.

That's lived for thousands and thousands of years.

That's been the guardian.

Of this land.

And it moves across the land.

And so slowly.

Reaching out with those roots to a new location.

Growing up in a new location.

And gradually stretching out.

Exploring the land.

Guarding the land.

Storing the knowledge.

Of all those who've been here.

And now they're here.

To support you on your journey.

And if you carry on.

Following the path you're on.

Following that ticking noise.

You'll find what you're looking for.

And they'll watch over you as you walk.

And so you continue on.

Through this land.

Weaving through the trees.

Feeling safe and secure.

As that ticking gets louder and louder.

And you find your way out.

To a river.

Gently flowing by.

Through the heart of the forest.

You follow that river.

Following the ticking.

Finding your way to a waterwheel.

Stretched across a waterfall.

Attached to a tall stone tower.

And you head down the side.

Of that waterfall.

And you look back at the waterwheel.

At the way it moves as the water flows.

And the way it moves.

It seems to lift the water.

And move the water.

Creating an empty space.

Right beneath the waterwheel.

And so you crouch down.

You weave yourself around.

That flowing water.

Underneath the waterwheel.

And you find a narrow cave entrance.

You crawl into that cave entrance.

And inside this cave.

It's illuminated.

With glowing crystals.

And a turquoise glow of those crystals.

Tinkles and hums around you.

And that sound of the ticking.

Reverberates through this cave.

And in the heart of this cave.

You find what looks like an hourglass.

You pick up that hourglass.

And as you do.

The humming sound.

Increases.

Until suddenly there's silence.

And it's as if everything has stopped.

There's no sound of running water.

No sound of ticking.

No hum from the crystals.

No sign of movement.

And you find yourself just gazing.

At that hourglass.

And being curious about the stillness.

And as you turn around.

Those turquoise crystals.

Seem to fade and merge.

With your movement.

As if turning.

Stimulates them to.

Reveal something.

Beyond them.

And you can see within the crystal walls.

The sight of that hummingbird.

Mid-flight.

The sight of butterflies and bees.

Stationary in the air.

Leaves mid-fall to the earth.

Water mid-splash.

A duck mid-flight.

Half in the water.

With its legs trying to run.

Its wings stretched and curved.

As time stands still.

And you stop turning.

And the crystal walls.

Go back to being opaque crystals.

And you examine the hourglass.

And as you tip it over.

So time begins again.

And you place that into your pocket.

You crawl your way out.

You stand by the flowing water.

The sound of that waterwheel spinning.

And creaking its way around.

You head back up to the forest.

And the trees tell you.

You found what you're looking for.

It's time to now.

Begin to change state.

And with that.

You find yourself awakening.

On the cliff of that ravine.

And you climb down.

And check your pockets.

And find in your pocket.

Is an hourglass.

And you place that in your backpack.

And pack everything else away.

You have something to eat and drink.

And in this early morning daylight.

You see there's no easy way out of the ravine.

And so you decide.

To just climb the face of the cliff.

And in a very gentle.

And mindful way.

With a sense of your mind being clear and focused.

You begin ascending.

The side of the cliff.

And you climb your way.

All the way to the top of the cliff.

And at the top you stop.

For a break.

You rest for a few moments.

Catching your breath.

Before continuing on into the woodland.

And as you walk into the woodland.

You start to hear this voice.

Echoing gently in your mind.

That there's a vast.

Ocean of reality.

Open for you to accept and explore.

And you feel yourself.

Being drawn in a specific direction.

Deeper into the heart of this woodland.

And you trust yourself.

And you follow.

Your inner compass.

Because you know that.

This is a new beginning for you.

That that voice in your mind.

That's you yet not you.

That's talking all by itself.

Is sharing deep wisdom.

And that it's your role to listen.

And so you follow that voice.

Deeper and deeper into this woodland.

And in the heart of this woodland.

You see a curious.

Stone.

And the surface of that stone.

Which looks like a very natural stone.

Seems to.

Have a mosaic pattern.

Etched into it's heart.

And in the centre of that stone.

Is a mark of a star.

And you climb up onto the stone.

You feel compelled to.

Take that hourglass.

And place it down in the heart of this stone.

And so you place that down into the heart of the stone.

You turn it over.

And you watch as the sand begins to flow.

And as the sands begin to flow.

So time begins to shift.

You watch as autumn.

Gently moves to winter.

As the surface of the grass around the stone.

Gets touched.

By the soft wisps of frost.

Before becoming delicate.

And brittle.

As the air gently cools.

And the trees.

Shed the last of their leaves.

And the branches rattle together.

In the breeze.

And white clouds.

Hug the sky.

As the first gentle.

Flakes of snow.

Dance their way down.

To the ground below.

Gentle wisps.

Whipping up in the breeze.

Noticing a soft stream.

Beginning to freeze.

A rabbit exploring.

The crusty meadow.

Poking its nose through the grass.

Birds landing.

Seeming to tap dance on the surface.

Before plucking worms.

The once coloured environment.

Turning shades of white and grey.

The sound becoming more muted.

As snow covers the land.

Being so soft and cool.

With each breath in and out.

And then becoming stiller and stiller.

As those sands flow through the hourglass.

Almost as if your hearing.

Can hear each individual grain of sand.

As it piles up.

In the base of the hourglass.

Like time.

Ticking by so gently.

Feeling a deep stillness.

Setting in to your mind and body.

That body.

Resting there so still.

That your mind almost forgets that it's there.

The arms resting.

Relaxing.

Almost becoming a nothingness.

With a nothingness setting in.

Through the legs.

The feet.

Deep within you.

A stillness.

A soft nothingness.

Just the most pleasant state of pure awareness.

Of this passing world around you.

And watching.

As some deer walk out into the meadow.

In the snow.

The sound of.

Those deer crunching through that snow.

The gentle cracking.

Of the ice on the edge of the stream.

As they stand on that ice.

And then the sound of the bubbling of the stream.

And the fresh scent of that pure water.

As winter calmly gives way.

To spring.

And the snows begin to melt.

And as the snow melts.

So green comes back to the meadow.

Colour comes back to the trees.

And the water flows.

Into the stream.

And that stream rises and bubbles.

And chugs it's way along.

Churning up.

Bringing with it a certain freshness.

And calmness as if the stream.

It's like a stream of consciousness.

Washing away any negativity.

Any doubt.

Any worries.

Just leaving behind.

A cleansed self.

A cleansed mind and body.

Like the coolness of winter.

Leaving your body.

Warming you.

With the gentle sun of spring.

As new life begins to form.

In the meadow.

New wildflowers.

Begin to grow.

Bees and butterflies.

Waft their way in.

To that meadow.

To those flowers.

The breeze.

Gently warms up.

Bringing warmth.

To your heart.

To your soul.

As you find around you.

Forming the heart of a passion flower.

That begins to infuse within you.

That passion for change.

For growth.

New understanding.

New discoveries and new beginning.

And learning.

More about yourself.

Than you realized you knew.

As this spring brings change.

And new beginnings.

And the sound of a woodpecker.

Echoes through the trees.

And lavender rises around.

The base of some trees.

The scent of that lavender.

Wafting through the air.

With each gust of the breeze.

And bluebells begin to carpet.

The floor of the woodland around you.

Bringing the most beautiful purple hue.

To the base of that woodland.

Surrounded by the greens.

And the colors of the meadow.

And that flowing stream.

And watching as spring continues on.

As a small duck family.

Swims carefully.

Down that stream.

A row of ducklings.

Like a necklace.

Being carried by the water.

And led by those ducks.

As they quack their way past.

Perhaps one duckling.

Being curious and stopping for a moment.

Hanging back to explore something.

Before rapidly flapping its feet.

To catch up with the rest of the family.

To continue its journey.

The sight of those deer again.

Only this time some young deer.

Feasting on the meadow grass.

And young rabbits in the meadow.

And catching a sight through the trees.

Of some foxes playing and rolling around.

Within the woodland.

And the leaves of those trees growing broad and thick.

Filling the canopy.

With dense foliage.

With barely any light able to make it through.

To the woodland floor.

Just the occasional dancing shard of light.

Creeping its way through when the breeze is just right.

And noticing how the sand in the hourglass.

Continues to drift and flow.

Deepening your focus.

Almost like there's a connection.

Between you and that sand.

Like a countdown in your mind.

Five hundred.

Four nine nine.

Four nine eight.

Four nine seven.

Four nine six.

Four nine five.

Four nine four.

Each number in your mind seeming more distant than the last.

Seeming to take you deeper.

And deeper into the experience.

Keeping you locked in this reverie.

In this comfortably intense focus.

On the world passing around you.

On this moment of deep understanding and connection.

On this magical meditation.

With that hourglass.

And that counting instinctively.

Happening inside you.

Going deeper and deeper asleep with each count.

Even when you don't notice.

Consciously that counting happening.

Just finding yourself absorbed in the moment.

So deeply and comfortably.

A spring explodes to life into summer.

With overgrown grasses.

Reeds densely lining the stream.

Many birds flying around.

Singing in the trees.

Swinging around in updrafts overhead.

An explosion of colour.

Of the different wildflowers.

And different plants.

And trees with plants.

Among the leaves.

In the most beautiful patches of pinks.

And different coloured plants.

And dandelions.

And daisies.

And finding yourself deeper and deeper absorbed in the summer.

Watching as all those young.

And now more used to.

Their environment.

More confident.

Like teenagers playing.

And then watching the sands of time.

Flow in the hourglass.

As the sands flow to autumn.

And the summer life.

Calms down.

Takes a bit of a back seat.

The leaves begin to fall to the floor.

The air begins to cool.

And things gradually approach.

The same environment you started with.

And as autumn sets in.

And arrives back where you began.

So that last grain of sand.

Drifts from the hourglass.

And then out of a haze before you.

You see a tall slender person.

Wearing leather trousers.

A frilly shirt.

And a long leather jacket.

With a narrow long face.

Piercing eyes.

That you almost can't take your eyes off of.

And as the sun sets.

They seem to almost glow.

While walking towards you out of a haze.

And the last of the sand passes.

And your eyes are locked.

On this being that's walked towards you.

And they stand before you.

With a kind and friendly face.

That looks like it's lived a thousand lifetimes.

And they explain that they're a vampire.

And they've lived in these lands for thousands of years.

And your experience.

With that hourglass.

Is their lived experience of time.

That when you live for thousands of years.

Every single year.

Passes.

As if it's barely a day.

And time can lose all meaning.

But you have a lot of time.

To think.

To explore.

To learn and grow.

To find new beginnings.

And they're the one.

During those thousands of years.

Who created that hourglass.

They wanted to be able to share with somebody.

Who'd be able to record their experiences.

What it's like.

To experience life.

When you live for an eternity.

How you observe nature differently.

And so they were able to use their psychic abilities.

To plant that into their dreams.

In such a way.

That they would be able to take.

Something from their dreams.

Into reality.

And they're now like a living donor.

They're able to take on.

That heart of a vampire.

And carry that with them.

And share that with the world.

And all they want.

Is for them to take on a new beginning.

To write their story.

Not their life story.

But their story.

Of what it's like.

To perceive the world differently.

To live in a world.

That isn't designed.

Specifically for you.

Where you don't quite fit in.

To the way things are done.

Where your perceptions.

Are very different to others.

And they hand you.

An empty book.

And they tell you.

Each night when you fall asleep.

And drift and dream.

You can wake up with no memory of doing so.

And begin to write the story.

And after you've written.

The section of story for the night.

You'll drift back asleep again.

In the most pleasant way.

And each and every night you'll awake.

And write without any awareness.

Before drifting back asleep again.

Sharing the story.

Expanding your consciousness.

Exploring the world in a whole new way.

And then they turn.

And as they do the haze forms.

Their jacket wafts open with a flourish.

Before swinging closed around them.

As they fade and disappear into the haze.

Leaving you sat there alone.

With that hourglass before you.

And a silence in your mind.

As your thoughts.

Are now still.

And night time sets in.

And you watch.

As a shooting star sparkles across the sky.

And you set up camp in this meadow.

You relax into the tent.

You know this is your last night here.

You wonder if you'll begin writing today.

Or wait.

Until tomorrow.

When you get home.

And you settle down in a tent.

Exploring the experience in your mind.

As you drift and float.

So deeply.

So peacefully and comfortably asleep.

Into slumberland.

And you wake up.