A Victorian Winter Fantasy: A Guided Sleep Meditation & Sleep Story

A wintry snowy escape awaits in tonight's calm sleep story and guided meditation that will take you back in time.

You are listening to A Victorian Winter Fantasy.

A bedtime story that will transport you to a simpler time with a touch of Dickensian magic.

So find a place to get cozy and to bunker down for the night before you drift into a deep sleep.

I would like to welcome you to Michelle's Sanctuary.

I am Michelle and as you are listening,

You may think of my voice as that of your intuitive and healing guide.

I am here to help you tap into your imaginative powers that will allow you to peacefully transcend your daily waking life towards the mystical dream adventures that await.

Know that at any time,

You may let go of my voice and surrender to the glorious comforts of sleep.

And you may return to listen any time you desire to experience a Victorian night again.

On this journey,

You will take on various forms and characters,

Giving you a deeper richness and experience.

This will open up channels of empathy and connect you to the playful side of being alive.

So close your eyes if you haven't already and let's adventure onward.

Take in a deep breath,

Inhaling until your belly rises.

And then blow it out as if you are blowing through a straw.

And as you exhale,

You see yourself blowing away a thin layer of dust on an antique gold box.

It feels heavy in your hands and you run your fingers along the intricate carved designs of the exterior.

You are standing in the nook of a warm,

Cozy antique store on a main street in a small town.

The snow is falling outside and the shop is quiet but for you and an older shop owner who is fiddling with an antique cash register that occasionally clicks in the background.

An old record player lends a warm sound of old,

Familiar tunes that are perfect for the holiday season.

You hear the soft,

Clanking sounds of a radiator that comes to life,

Making the shop warm and the air dry.

The room smells of dusty books and cinnamon sticks that rest in a hand-blown,

Raspberry colored antique glass bowl near the entrance.

The large bay windows look out upon a main street covered in snow,

With a winter's wind whistling from a river that forms a half circle around the downtown streets.

A tortoise shell cat is happily curled in the window,

Purring in contentment as she naps through the storm.

Your attention returns to the antique box in your hands,

As if it is calling to you.

The box feels familiar and yet you do not have any specific memories that tie it to this life.

You gently open the lid to reveal a sapphire blue velvet lining that is like a deep sea upon which a vintage postcard floats.

You can smell the sweet,

Musky aroma of the aged cardstock as you place the box back on a display shelf and give attention to the postcard.

It does not feel solid once in your hand and floats upon your hands as well.

The image depicted shows a young couple with a child running ahead of them in a Victorian village.

It is a snowy winter scene,

With a silvery blue skating pond in the background.

A horse stands regally in the foreground,

Tethered to a sleek black carriage.

Whenever you run your finger along the postcard,

It becomes liquidy,

Like a chalk drawing upon a sidewalk left to melt in the rain,

Or like a watercolor painting of a winter's landscape that has yet to dry.

You know something magical is going to happen if you allow it and you feel brave and open to an adventure.

The front door of the antique shop blows open and a swirling wind enters the shop,

Bringing in snow flurries that spin in a tiny cyclone.

The shopkeeper does not notice and continues to tinker with the register.

You follow an instinctive pull towards the image on the postcard.

And when your fingers grace the vintage cardstock,

They begin to melt and become one with it.

It feels as if you are an ice cube melting in a cup of warm tea.

The sensation feels soothing,

And you place your hand upon the postcard as it gets larger and you get smaller as you melt into the image,

Becoming one with it.

The postcard falls towards the aged hardwood floors like a feather falling from the sky,

Landing softly upon the wooden planks.

You enter the vintage wintry setting as the card hits the floor and everything becomes black for but a moment.

You are floating down,

Down,

Down,

Taking on the form of a snowflake.

You feel what it is like to be light and free as the winter's air briskly blows through the empty cutouts in your lacy crystalline form as you drift against the blue-black night's sky.

You have an aerial view of the small Victorian village.

The gas street lamps create a warm tangerine glow and the clean iridescent snow in the main street of the bustling town.

The street is lined with low-rise brick buildings set aglow with indoor gas lanterns and candles that evoke charm.

Small children in wool coats sleigh ride down a snow-covered hill,

Landing on the skating pond and sliding before crashing into a snow drift that divides them from the ice skaters.

Women are dressed in tailored winter coats cinched at their waists made narrow by corsets.

Tiny buttons run from the necklines to their knees and they have perfected layering with wool slips and petticoats.

With their hands tucked into fur muffs,

They balance in synchronized skating moves,

Enjoying the brisk night in the village's center.

A group of gentlemen stand together,

Conversing by a gazebo adorned in their dark wool coats and sleek black top hats.

You feel anonymous and invisible,

Continuing to float down with the other snowflakes.

These unique sparkling white crystals around you make you feel part of something bigger as when snowflakes unite they create a uniform blanket of white on the cobblestone streets and sidewalks and the rolling hills of the quaint village.

But fate has something else in store and with a gentle shift in the breeze,

You are blown towards a chestnut horse who stands proudly in front of an ebony carriage with a coat that is lustrous from snowflakes that have melted upon it.

The horse shimmers beneath the glow of the gas lights.

This beautiful animal awaits the return of John and Mary,

The master and mistress,

As they are in the sweets shop which is one of the businesses along the main street.

The shop sells caramels and chocolates and licorice and candy floss or cotton candy in a rainbow of colors.

The smells of melting sugar and chocolate carry upon the night's air as the couple emerges and comes to the carriage to return home for the night.

As the wind blows and you drift towards the chestnut horse,

You land upon the coat and melt on it.

In this transcendent moment,

As you melt again and change form,

You become the horse.

You feel strong,

Your muscles taut and tone.

A plaid wool blanket beneath the harness keeps you snug,

As you neigh just for the pleasure of feeling what it is like.

A little boy is crossing the thoroughfare and is startled for a moment by the sound before meeting your beady black eyes and breaking into a giggle.

You neigh again and this time the child is enthralled,

Waving his tiny gloved hand as he cries out,

Good night horsey.

You enjoy standing tall,

Relishing the movement of your thick black tail and the strength of the four sculpted legs that support you.

Your owners Mary and John are a beautiful couple and they approach the carriage with their sweet confections in hand and board.

Mary is a timeless beauty cloaked in layers of burgundy fabric.

Her emerald eyes glitter like the snow and her hair is in a perfect updo.

With a sleek bonnet adorned with holiday flowers and feathers.

Her hands are tucked into a luxurious black muff that accents her tall black laced boots.

John is ruggedly handsome and confident.

Dressed in a dark wool coat and top hat,

He has a steadfast gaze that makes those around him feel calm.

As John settles into the carriage,

You feel the tug on the harness that hugs your body and it is gentle and familiar.

As the couple gets comfortable in the carriage,

Their joyous laughter carries on the night air.

Through the rains in his hands,

John gently leads you towards the outskirts of town.

You feel the snow crunch under your hooves and then a soft clack as they land upon the glistening cobblestone where snow has melted.

As you leave the heart of the village,

The cobblestone road turns into a dirt path that runs parallel to a river.

The sounds of icy blue glaciers floating in the rapids of the nearby frozen river accompany the steady sounds of your steps.

The flurries lighten as a full moon peers through the thin veil of clouds,

Illuminating the path through the woods.

Mary lights a lantern,

Illuminating the pathway in tandem with the moon above so the darkness of the night is aglow with beams of silver and gold.

A soft fog drapes over the river,

Floating towards the path like a sheer fabric on a breeze.

You feel the love of your owners,

Proud and brave as you lead them through the darkness.

Patches of ice appear like silvery blue glass on the path as you carefully avoid them,

Continuing on with a steady pace.

The joyous conversation of the couple carries through the stillness of the night,

And you feel a sense of belonging and duty.

As the forest around you thickens,

The path becomes more clear of snow,

And John gently slaps the reins and gives you the freedom to break out in a faster speed.

You feel the strength of your back and in your muscular legs,

Not holding back on the full power they give you to run.

The carriage rocks back and forth as Mary and John laugh aloud in delight,

And it encourages you to go even faster.

It feels as if you are cutting through the fog and outrunning the moonbeams that pierce through the silhouette of barren winter trees.

There is a deep silence interrupted by the sounds you create,

Of hooves landing upon the frozen earth and the heaving of your chest as you take in deep breaths of cold air,

And the sounds of the carriage wheels and Mary and John's joyous cries.

You feel as though you are traveling through this deep silence,

A silence that does not exist in the modern world.

There is a palpable stillness in the 19th century.

Up ahead there is a clearing,

Where a Victorian townhouse looms atop a snowy hill,

Lit up by the metallic light of the moon.

You slow down as John guides you towards the safe comforts of the barn.

You step upon the fresh snow,

Your breathing still heavy as you are guided towards the wooden barn.

John pulls back the reins and you stop,

So he may exit the carriage and open the barn doors before guiding you through them gently.

Inside the barn you are welcomed by the other animals,

Seeking refuge from the winter's night.

The glow of the lantern illuminates the barn,

As ducks and chickens are asleep in the shadows in a protective coop in the back of the building.

A mother goat and her kids are nestled in a pile of hay,

Cuddling with one another for a warmth.

Charlie an excited young pup comes running towards you as he welcomes you back as his tail whips through the dry air of the barn.

John removes your harness and untethers you.

He takes off the wool blanket and places it on a wooden shelf next to your reins.

He helps Mary down from the carriage as her tall leather boots land upon the sawdust covered floor and create a small cloud of tawny brown dust.

She walks towards you hugging your neck and rubbing her rosy cheeks against your satiny chestnut coat.

Her twinkling green eyes meet yours and you feel a maternal love that is unconditional and kind.

The warmth in this exchange washes over you,

Absorbing any of the lingering cold from journeying in the night.

With her petite hands,

She embraces your muzzle,

Bringing it towards her face and kissing you above your nose.

She guides you to the prime spot in the barn,

Behind a wooden gate and towards a bed of hay where you carefully kneel down,

Bending your front legs and then your hind quarters.

A brush hangs on the wall and she grabs it,

Returning and placing the lantern safely on the dirt floor.

She carefully bends over you in her fanciful clothes and begins brushing you.

It feels like a massage as the soft bristles run across your spine.

It is a generous act by Mary as she prioritizes your comfort without concern for her luxurious garments.

It makes you feel loved,

As if you matter more than any material object.

As if you are special,

Because to her you are.

Her brush strokes are firm and steady,

Lulling you into a state of deep relaxation.

As your eyes become heavy and close,

And your thick lashes fall upon your face.

She continues to brush for a few minutes as you listen to the winter's wind whip around the barn.

She kisses your face one last time,

Running her hand down your mane before whispering good night and leaving.

She closes the wooden gate behind her so you feel safely contained in your sleeping nook.

As she leaves,

Charlie cannot wait to replace her,

And he comes running towards you with his tail wagging,

Running under the lowest beam of the gate before licking your face.

His warm,

Wet tongue is insistent until you neigh loudly and he settles,

Curling up near your spine.

You feel his warm body against yours,

And the softness of the hay below.

You can hear the content sighs and sounds of sleep from all the animals in the barn as they dream into the night.

And you yourself are ready to dream,

Floating down,

Down,

Down,

Towards magical moments that come with sleep.

Enjoying the quietude and the coziness of your resting place.

In go of my voice and luxuriating in the peace.

Just the same as when breaking through the moonbeam lit foggy trail of the forest,

You may now cross through the foggy trail that leads to sleep.

It's time to dream away.

Good night.