So,
Just take a moment to lay 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 will be to the spaces between my words.
And as you comfortably fall asleep,
I'm just going to tell this bedtime story in the background.
And you're walking through some country woodland,
Crunching on the undergrowth.
Listening to the way that the leaves rustle in the trees.
The way the dappled sunlight dances before you.
And as you walk,
You can smell that fresh woodland air.
Or hearing the distant sound of a woodpecker hammering gently on a tree.
Echoing through that woodland.
The distant sound of a cuckoo calling out.
And then a reply coming from elsewhere in the woodland.
And you follow a woodland path,
Crunching through that undergrowth.
The way the light shines on the different trees.
Catching in the slight dampness on the trunks of those trees.
The toadstools growing out from some of those trees.
The perfect place to shelter small animals.
And while you continue walking,
So you spy in the distance.
A deer,
Frozen still,
Mid-chew.
Just looking at you,
Watching you.
Freezing to try to avoid detection.
And so you slowly walk past,
Gazing over towards that deer.
But doing your best to walk slow and steady.
To avoid disturbing or scaring that deer.
Breathing in a way that helps to communicate comfort to the deer.
And once you've passed a certain distance,
You notice at the corner of your eye.
The deer continue to chew.
And relax its body.
And seem to go back to breathing again.
And comfortably continuing what it was doing.
Before you walked into its space.
And while you continue walking.
You notice the woodland opening up.
Those trees spreading further apart.
And the ground here.
Carpeted in the most incredible sight of bluebells.
Delicately stretching up from the ground.
And you follow a natural path among the bluebells.
To avoid stepping on any of those delicate small bells.
And you can see a cabin in the distance.
And that's where you're heading.
And so you walk towards that cabin.
But the path you have to follow.
Weaves you around a little as you journey to the cabin.
Following the path of a thousand deer.
Until you find a path that crosses this path.
And heads back in the direction of the cabin.
Just to make sure you're avoiding damaging any of the bluebells.
Until you can exit this woodland into the slight clearing of the cabin.
Where you can look back and see the sea of bluebells.
Stretching through the woodland.
Illuminated by an evening sun.
Casting a slight golden hue.
Over those delicate bluey purple flowers.
With that breeze rustling those leaves.
And the underside of the clouds in the sky.
Illuminated with a slight lavender.
And the grass in this slight clearing.
Waving gently.
As if wafting the scent of the flowers towards you.
And you head into the cabin.
Closing that wooden door behind you.
Placing your jacket down and taking your shoes off.
Making a warm and comfortable drink.
Before sitting down in the living space.
With crusty the cat purring away on your lap.
With one hand drinking the drink.
The other hand delicately stroking the cat.
While just gazing out of the window.
At the woodland illuminated by the setting sun.
With the purring of the cat.
Almost lulling you deeper.
Deeper into relaxation.
As if you're breathing.
Synchronizing with the rhythm of the cat.
Sip of drink.
You can feel that drink.
The steam rising up and tickling your nostrils.
And the underside of your eyes.
The liquid warming your mouth.
Flowing comfortably down your throat.
And the warmth of that liquid.
Emanating gently out.
Towards your arms and down to your feet.
Deepening your relaxation.
And every few mouthfuls.
You place the cup down beside you.
Just gazing gently out the window.
Stroking the cat.
Feeling the cat's purring.
Almost like a powerful visceral feeling.
And then while gazing out of the window.
From time to time you find your eyes gently closing.
As if you just want to drift inside your mind.
Deeper and deeper.
And sometimes you think you've reopened your eyes.
But find that you haven't.
And so you have to open them.
And other times you think your eyes are closed.
And yet they're wide open.
And the harder you try.
To keep those eyelids open.
The more they want to close.
Because you find you're becoming more relaxed.
Following that drink.
Resting in this cabin.
Listening to the muted sounds beyond the cabin.
From the woodland.
The gentle evening sounds starting up.
The slight creak.
Of the wood settling as the wind blows on the outside of the cabin.
Watching the occasional leaf flutter past the window.
And then the approaching moonlight.
Rising over the horizon.
Bathing the landscape.
In a gentle silvery glow.
Tickling the tops of the trees.
That you can see through that window.
That silvery glow.
Creeping in.
To the window.
Into the cabin.
Catching gently.
On a stained glass vase.
Standing on the windowsill.
Illuminating the daffodils.
That silvery glow.
Almost seeming to carry the scent of those daffodils.
Over to your nostrils.
As if serving that scent up.
For you to enjoy.
And the slight stained glass colours.
Reflecting just behind that vase.
On the wall and the edge of the windowsill.
And the light in the cabin.
Only coming from the bounce light.
From that moonlight.
As your eyes fully close.
And you find yourself.
Drifting gently asleep in this chair.
Feeling so calm and relaxed.
That hand.
Automatically continuing to stroke for a little while.
Before even that hand.
Comes to a halt.
And the sound of the purring.
Fills your awareness.
There's a slight glow of moonlight through your closed eyelids.
And you gradually stop being aware of your body.
As your mind drifts deeper.
And deeper into your own internal reverie.
That own internal experience.
And then out of the darkness of your mind.
Comes the light of a spring day.
And you find yourself in your mind.
Having a sense of walking.
Through the most beautiful meadow.
Rolling hills.
Waving grasses.
Birds,
Bees,
Butterflies.
Flitting from plant to plant.
Wildflowers dotted around.
And you catch sight of an African swallow.
Flying overhead.
Carrying a coconut.
And you continue to watch that with some level of curiosity.
Before it heads out of sight.
Over some hills.
You begin to walk through this meadow.
Descending the first hill.
And as you descend.
So you see a rabbit.
Bouncing past on a pogo stick.
Calling out that it's going to be late.
And seeming to be in such a hurry.
And you begin to walk in the direction of that rabbit.
You follow the pogo stick marks across the meadow.
You find that those pogo stick marks.
Seem to stop at a rabbit hole.
But as you look into that rabbit hole.
You find that.
The rabbit hole seems to be full.
Of a dense purple fog.
Pulsating.
Glowing gently.
You lean down and look closely.
Into that rabbit hole.
And the more you lean and the closer you look.
The smaller and smaller you get.
Until you find that you've lent so far into the hole.
You've fallen in.
And you tumble in cartwheels down that hole.
So easily and effortlessly.
Until you land.
In a heap.
At the base of this hole.
On the softest ground.
And as the purple fog clears.
And you look down beneath you.
You find that you seem to be.
Sitting on a giant sponge cake.
And with every subtle movement.
The smell of that sponge cake.
Wafts up.
To tickle your nose.
And with it.
Is a slight hint of orange.
And a slight zest.
That seems to twang.
At the roof of your nose.
And you stand up.
And start to walk.
Across that sponge cake.
Each step slightly springy.
And you look around you.
And you see that you seem to be.
In an unusual landscape.
The ground seems to be.
Fully made of sponge cake.
And this sponge cake.
Seems to be decorated.
With green icing piped on top.
For the grass.
Sugar flowers.
Dotted around the top.
A chocolate waterfall.
Cascading.
Down a cliff.
Made of dense.
Chocolate.
A family of swans.
Swimming along a chocolate stream.
Honking as they go.
And while you walk and explore.
You're approached.
By a cat in a polka dot dress.
Wearing something around their neck.
Something that looks so soft and delicate.
And in a very friendly way.
You approach.
That cat.
And they appear a little awkward.
Unsure who you are.
They have their hair plaited.
Hanging down behind each ear.
And draped round.
Framing their face.
Their whiskers gently curled at the tips.
Their eyelashes curled.
And they introduce themselves.
And they say that perhaps you must be here for the party.
The rabbit has just passed through.
So they'll show you the way too.
And you ask them.
About that delicate thing around their neck.
Saying it looks so soft and delicate.
So well woven.
And they say that it's.
A necklace.
It's the most delicately woven lace.
It's woven with.
The weave of a caterpillar.
That carefully weaves that together.
Taking the finest silk threads.
And imbuing those threads.
With a little bit of magic.
And that magic helps to.
Stimulate a little confidence.
And you think they appear a little awkward.
So perhaps the magic doesn't work.
Or perhaps.
They're normally even more awkward than this.
And you admire their necklace.
They say that it's incredibly strong.
Despite being incredibly delicate.
And that the caterpillars.
Make it and it has to be transported.
All the way from Patagonia to here.
And it gets transported.
In the heart of a coconut.
Carried by an African swallow.
And they show you.
Towards the party.
And you don't know what this party is.
You've just.
Kind of found yourself here.
And are going along with the experience.
And in the heart of this land.
Is a large gingerbread.
Thatched cottage.
With the thatching.
Seeming to be made of.
The finest silk threads.
The finest sugar.
Woven into delicate threads.
Like the most.
Incredible candy floss.
And you head in.
To this cottage.
You're asked to place any gifts.
In the pile of gifts.
Before walking through to the party in the back garden.
And so you head through the property.
Past a giant bowl of punch.
And out into the back garden.
And in the back garden.
You see an unusual sight.
You can see a giant hand in the sky.
Drawing a giant hand in the sky.
You can see what looks like many steps.
Leading from the end of the garden.
Up into the sky.
You can see people mixing and mingling.
On the steps.
And on platforms between the steps.
With people walking up the same steps.
People are walking down at a different angle.
Some people seemingly walking upside down.
From your perspective.
And people at 90 degrees to each other.
And you look around this garden.
You see different guests here.
And you assume.
That the key guest.
Is the one dressed.
In the weirdest outfit.
As you head over towards them.
To introduce yourself.
To find out what this party is about.
And it's a tall.
Slim penguin.
Dressed as a wizard.
Wearing a pointy wizard's hat.
And you walk over towards them.
You introduce yourself.
You ask if it's their party.
You apologize for intruding.
Upon their party.
And say that you've just found yourself here.
You were following a rabbit on a pogo stick.
And they say yes that'll be Dave.
He likes to hop around everywhere.
And seems to be going through this fad.
Of doing so on a pogo stick.
While all the others.
Hop around on their legs.
And you ask why the penguins dressed like this.
And they say that they love magic.
And they like to dress as a wizard.
They don't believe magic is real.
But it's fun to pretend.
And they say that you should go and mix and mingle.
As you start to walk around the garden.
You go over to sit.
By a little campfire.
And find that the campfire.
Is actually just.
Warm sugar.
Rising up into the air.
Crackling gently like popping candy.
Releasing little puffs.
Of sugar.
And above that campfire.
Is a gingerbread bowl.
Of bubbling hot chocolate.
With the strongest.
Chocolatey scent.
And with a ladle.
You pour out a bit of the hot chocolate.
Into a cup.
And walk around drinking that hot chocolate.
And the cup is made of.
Unmeltable chocolate.
So that once you've finished drinking the hot chocolate.
You can dispose of the cup.
By eating it.
And you walk around the garden.
You walk towards the back of the garden.
Begin to ascend those steps.
Walking past people at a 90 degree angle.
Who are heading down the same step you're heading up.
Only stepping on the opposite step.
And as you ascend.
So you realise when you look back.
That you're now at an unusual angle to the ground.
And yet perfectly fine.
As if the ground is beneath your feet.
And so to you.
Down is sideways to those on the ground.
And you chat.
To a few different characters you meet.
At this party.
Exploring.
These unusual steps.
And the higher you walk.
The closer you find yourself getting to the moon.
And the moon here.
Seems to be an unusual.
Electric blue moon.
And at the top of the steps.
Is a hot air balloon.
And you board that hot air balloon.
And you release the string.
And the balloon floats towards the moon.
And as it reaches the moon.
So you grab hold of the moon.
And a bit of the moon breaks off in your hand.
And you realise this moon.
Tastes a little bit like the moon.
A little bit like palmer violets.
An acquired taste for some.
But when you try that little bit of the moon.
Your senses begin to shift.
Those giant hands drawing each other.
Begin to.
Turn crusty and mottled.
And everything around you changes.
And it all begins to look like an oil painting.
As if some higher power.
Is painting everything around you.
Painting over what's there.
With a new vision.
Of what could be.
And the moon shifts and changes.
And that hot air balloon.
Turns into a boat.
A boat that's bobbing gently.
On a vast calm blue ocean.
The most beautiful tropical sea.
With a distant tropical island.
The sound of this.
Oil painting blue sea.
Wafting against the underside of this boat.
As it drifts towards that.
Sandy tropical island.
And gradually.
Slides up onto the golden sand.
Like a paint brush.
Sliding across a canvas.
Softly coming to rest there.
As you disembark that boat.
The gentle crunching sound of stepping.
Onto that golden sand.
The softness of the sand.
And walking around this tropical beach.
Looking behind you.
Out over the view of that tropical sea.
And the ocean.
The moon now on the horizon.
Casting its glow across the water.
Pinpoints of stars.
Flickering and undulating in the sky.
The stars seeming to almost swirl around you.
Forming different shapes.
And patterns almost hypnotic.
Drawing you into wanting to.
Sit down and rest on this beach.
As orbs form.
Grow.
And fade away.
And those waves lap so gently.
So calm on the shore.
And you feel yourself.
Laying back and resting here.
The temperature of the air here.
So comfortable.
You find your eyes closing.
You have a sense of drifting deeper.
And deeper asleep.
And your mind wandering.
Through space and time.
To a deeper time.
Hearing the sound of.
A gently crackling fire.
Feeling the warmth.
From that fire.
As it caresses your cheeks.
Hearing the mumble.
Of people milling around.
And then calmly opening your eyes.
And seeing before you.
Some ancient people.
Using paints.
And cave walls.
To paint pictures of the night sky.
To smear images.
Of the landscape.
To draw almost stick figures of the animals.
Of themselves.
And their place within this landscape.
And the way the firelight.
Dances around the cave walls.
And they glance over at you.
But seem to almost not pay you any attention at all.
Just accepting you're there.
Like one of their own.
Resting by the fire.
And you look around.
And look up at the night sky here.
And you listen.
To the distant sound of crickets.
And you feel deeply relaxed.
And you watch as these people.
Use their drawings.
To plan what they'll be doing tomorrow.
And you see the way.
They're moving along from one drawing to another.
As if working out what to do on different days.
And you stand up.
And you walk around.
And you talk to different people.
One explains they're planning for a hunt.
One explains.
They're preparing for foraging.
Another invites you.
To come and see where they keep the baby plants.
And they show you to their plant nursery.
They tell you that they nurture these plants.
They grow these plants up.
And once these plants are big enough and strong enough.
They use those bigger stronger plants.
To plant them in their own nursery.
To nurture them and grow them up.
And the cycle continues.
And something about this place.
Feels like daytime is approaching.
And so you.
Walk towards that daytime.
And the more you walk towards that daytime.
The more you find yourself.
Aware of the purring cat.
And then aware of being in that cabin.
And opening your eyes in the cabin.
In the dark.
The moonlight having moved across the sky a little further.
No longer shining.
That silvery light in through the window.
You carefully place the cat on the floor.
You head.
Through to the bedroom.
You settle down in the bedroom.
Wrapping yourself up so comfortably.
To begin to fall asleep.
And while you start.
To fall asleep here in bed.
You imagine.
That you've just walked out.
The back of a farm.
On the most beautiful moonlit evening.
And you've walked out to the fields.
And you can smell that fresh evening air.
Notice the stillness of the air.
The fresh scent of wildlife.
The flowers.
The gentle bleat of sheep.
The sight of sheep.
Some sleeping and some awake.
Filling a field.
And the way the silvery moonlight.
Almost seems to make.
The white backs of the sheep glow.
Against the dark backdrop.
And you head over to the field.
You rest your elbows on a post.
On the side of the field.
Resting your head on your hands.
And just slowly and gently.
Counting those sheep.
One.
Two.
Finding that with each count.
Your eyes want to blink shut.
But you open your eyes for the next count.
With each sheep you count.
Your eyes want to shut deeper.
And deeper.
Three.
Four.
Five.
The landscape being as dark as coal.
Only the sheep.
Gently illuminated.
As you count those sheep.
Six.
Seven.
Each time.
Seeming to struggle a little harder to.
Open your eyes between each count.
Nine.
Even when you try really hard.
To ignore what's happening.
Those eyes just want to shut.
And the harder you try to ignore.
What's happening.
The more those eyes shut.
And the more those eyes shut and the harder you try.
The deeper and deeper asleep you feel yourself going.
Almost like drifting deeply.
Into the most pleasant reverie.
The kind of reverie where you perhaps begin to fight it at first.
Before in vain.
Giving in and accepting the most comfortable night's sleep.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Curious how many sheep will be in the field.
But knowing that something about it means you won't stop.
Counting those sheep.
Until your eyes are no longer open.
Or all the sheep have been counted.
Twelve.
Thirteen.
Fourteen.
Fifteen.
Sixteen.
As if time slows.
And your eyes get heavier and heavier.
And your mind.
Becomes like.
A pool of water on a windless day.
As you gaze into that pool of water.
And notice.
The way light reflects and refracts.
And bends as it passes through the water.
And feeling yourself reaching into a pocket.
And finding in that pocket.
A key.
And realizing.
It's the key.
To sleep.
And seeing before you in your mind's eye.
What looks like a keyhole.
And placing the key in the keyhole.
And with a click and a clunk.
Turning that key and hearing it.
Altering the mechanism.
And then hearing what sounds like.
Ticking.
And tocking.
And gears gently whirring.
Like a clock starting up.
And then seeing in the night sky.
The stars taking on the form.
Of numbers.
The stars coalescing.
Into ten.
Nine.
Your awareness fading.
Perhaps before you realize it.
Or maybe only discovering your awareness has faded.
After it's happened.
But really trying.
To focus on what'll happen when those numbers.
Have counted all the way down.
Eight.
Seven,
The stars taking the shape.
Of six.
And five.
And as those stars form one.
So you find you've won.
Making it to one.
As the stars fade.
As the sky fades.
As the view around you fades.
As you find yourself.
In a place of nothingness.
A place where thought.
Fades.
Like turning down the sound.
On a TV set.
Like turning off the picture.
Where there's no up.
Nor down.
No left.
Nor right.
No back.
Nor forth.
Just nothing.
No echoes.
No sound without or within.
Nothing to see,
Hear.
Or there.
And then before you.
In this place of nothingness.
A golden candlestick.
Emerges out of the nothing.
With a gentle flame flickering on top.
As you watch that flame.
Flickering softly.
The wax of the candle melting.
And running.
Gloopily.
Down that candlestick.
And dripping into the nothingness.
And with each drip.
You instinctively find yourself.
Sleeping deeper.
And more profound.
You find.
Something about that candle burning down.
And the time it takes to burn down.
Softens your mind.
Calms your body.
Stimulates deep.
Recuperative sleep.
And when the last of the wax has dripped away.
So the flame goes out.
And you know tomorrow.
You're here specifically.
To go looking.
For that thing you're most grateful for.
And you know you're going to find it.
But you had to come here.
To explore there.
But you know you need this deep.
Comfortable.
Recuperative sleep first.
The sleep that's only possible.
In this magical cabin.
Deep in this woodland.
Where you can access.
A harmonic resonance with your inner self.
In a way you unlikely fully understand.
Because you can only understand it by discovering it.
Through experience.
And with that.
Flame flickering out.
And darkness.
The most comfortable relaxing.
Calming darkness setting in around you.
You drift through.
The most pleasant dreams.
Updating old patterns.
In new ways.
Making changes.
That you'll discover in the most pleasant of ways.
And the most unexpected ways.
Where those pleasant changes happen.
And you don't know about it until they do.
While making those changes at a deep.
Comfortable level through your mind and body.
And healing.
Within yourself.
Ready for tomorrow.
And drifting deeply.
And profoundly asleep.
Into slumberland.
