The Land of the Horses This guided audio recording is created to gently guide you into a deep state of relaxation from where you have the option to drift off to sleep.
In a few moments you will embark on a pleasant and gentle journey of visualisation that will take place within your mind.
This story begins on board a mystical steam train called the Dreamweaver,
And is one of many stories you can find in our Dreamweaver series.
To begin your journey,
Find a comfortable place where you'll not be disturbed,
And sit or lie down.
Close your eyes and take a few long,
Deep breaths,
Allowing yourself to relax.
Just fall into a natural breathing pattern and enjoy this immersive experience.
You wake naturally,
Relaxed from your sleep as you always are whenever you aboard the Dreamweaver.
For a moment,
You just lay in your bed,
Seeing the gleam of sun at the edges of the blinds,
Then you stretch and get up.
After getting dressed,
You raise the blinds to see where the train has brought you.
You see a vast,
Open rolling land under a wide sky.
The slopes of the hills are dotted with wildflowers,
Like lakes of colour.
You go down to the dining car and pick up the itinerary as one of the staff brings you breakfast.
A few other people are here eating quietly and acknowledge you with friendly smiles or waves.
The Land of the Horses,
You read.
A vast and untamed prairie land where,
If you are lucky,
You will see the magnificent wild horses who dwell there.
It is said no one has ever captured or tamed one.
You don't see any horses as the Dreamweaver continues on its straight course,
But the land is wonderful.
A vast prairie under an endless sky,
With the long,
Warm wind blowing the grasses.
The train begins to slow at last,
And pulls up beside one of the tiny stations you have come to expect on this journey.
Not far away from it is a building,
A large ranch-style house set in its own little enclave of trees and with a rustic fence surrounding it.
A windmill catches the breeze and turns busily.
Low hills,
Undulating like a peaceful sea,
Roll away behind the house.
A paved path leads up to the long front porch,
And there you are welcomed by a housekeeper who smiles and greets you.
More staff come to guide everyone to their rooms.
Some are on the ground floor,
Some upstairs.
You have chosen a ground floor room,
With a private porch area,
Bright with hanging baskets,
And a comfortable chair to sit on.
The dinner is excellent,
And after you sit on the porch to watch the fantastic beauty of the sunset.
Just as you are sitting down,
You hear a knock from the outer door,
And you call for whomever it is to come in.
It is the old lady,
Although she is always so energetic and sprightly,
You only really think of her as old,
Because she has grey hair.
She doesn't say much,
But gives you a conspiratorial smile,
And hands you a plate with cut up pieces of carrot on it.
Not everyone sees the wild horses,
She says,
But she thinks tonight will be one of those rare times.
Just for you,
She adds.
Then she puts a finger to her mouth,
And her eyes sparkle as if she has just shared a secret with you,
Telling you to have a good evening,
And a peaceful sleep.
She bustles away,
You smile after her.
The sky is a wonderful wash of colours,
And the wind has died.
Already,
The bright globe of a moon is rising over the land.
It is becoming so bright,
You think you could read a book by its light.
When the sunset fades,
Stars begin to spark and glimmer.
The air is mild enough for you to comfortably sit out.
The moon,
Serene and luminous,
Bathes the prairie silver,
And the night chorus of insects is somehow peaceful.
You think you will go to bed soon.
From far away,
You hear the call of a hunting owl,
And then another sound is added to the night.
It begins like a very distant drumming,
As if thunder approaches,
Then grows more distinct.
There,
Over the rise comes a great herd of horses.
The pale ones shine,
The darker colours are like running shadows.
They pour over the low hills and down the gentle slope of the land toward the house,
In a river of motion.
You can hear the snort of their breath,
See the toss of their long manes.
They flood past the house like a living wave,
As if the wide,
Rolling grasslands have come alive.
They pass the house,
But then,
From the sound,
You realise that they are encircling it,
Allowing all the guests to see them.
You move a little closer to the balcony,
Wanting to see them again if they return.
In a few moments,
The leaders of the herd appear again,
And,
To your delight,
The great lead stallion jumps the rustic fence as if it were nothing,
And canters toward the porch.
As it slows,
You smell the scent that reminds you of hot grass,
And walks gently toward you.
He huffs a breath and stretches out his neck,
Ears pricked forward.
His eyes are large and liquid,
And you think they look kind.
Slowly,
You reach out a hand,
Holding a piece of carrot,
And the stallion snuffs,
And lips it from your palm so softly,
All you can feel is the velvet of its muzzle.
You feed it all the carrot pieces,
And it crunches them up,
As placid as an old farmhorse dozing at a fence rail in the sun.
Beyond,
The herd waits quietly.
Then,
It raises its head,
Turns its neck as if hearing something out there in the night,
Some signal that it is time to leave.
You pat the muscled neck,
And once more it turns back to you,
Then bows its head.
Muscles bunch,
And it moves away,
Straight into a flowing run,
Jumping back across the fence.
The herd begins to move as if one mind,
They head back up the slope of the hill in a soft thunder of hooves.
On the ridge,
The stallion pauses,
Then you hear its ringing call,
Like a goodbye,
And then they are gone,
The sound fading away into the night,
Like a dream.
Feeling very privileged,
You go into your room,
And get ready for bed.
The night is quiet again,
Save for the soft insect buzz that makes you drowsy.
You pull the crisp covers over you,
And close your eyes.
You think of the endless rolling prairie under the wind and moon,
And the wild horses who roam it,
As you drift gently into sleep.
