Winter Sleep At The Clockmaker's Workshop

This is a sleep meditation that uses detailed soft landscapes of visualisation to help you get to sleep, perhaps quite quickly. As you listen to this inner journey, you can imagine it in your own way to find the sleep that you need.

Transcript

Tonight,

You step outside of time.

You are not late,

You are not early,

You are exactly where you need to be,

Tucked between the ticking seconds of the world.

Let your breath begin to slow down,

Let your thoughts float like snowflakes,

And let your body settle into stillness.

Your journey begins in a place where time runs soft,

Where every tick is a lullaby,

Where a clockmaker waits in silence and starlight.

In your imagination,

You find yourself walking down a narrow cobblestone street.

It's night time on Christmas eve,

And the snow falls softly in swirls.

Gas lanterns light the way,

Casting golden halos onto the stones.

The windows of the old town are dimly lit,

With their curtains drawn,

A hush covers everything.

Your footsteps make no sound,

You are wrapped in a heavy coat,

A woolen scarf and warm gloves.

You do not know where you are going,

But your feet do.

You follow the glow of a single hanging sign for a clockmaker.

The door beneath it opens by itself.

There is no creak,

Just an invitation for you to step inside.

You walk in,

And the air inside is warmer.

It's dusty but clean,

Filled with the scent of wood shavings,

Beeswax,

Old books and snow.

The shop is lit with low amber lanterns.

All around you there are clocks,

Hundreds,

Each one unique.

There are carved cuckoo clocks,

Tall grandfather clocks,

Glass domes with swirling gears,

Wind up pocket watches resting on velvet.

And they are all ticking,

But not in chaos,

In harmony,

Like a song.

A quiet symphony of gentle ticks and soft tocks.

It lulls you,

It quietens your mind.

From the back of the shop,

A figure appears,

A tall quiet man with silver spectacles,

A green velvet vest and gloves made of stitched leather.

He smiles,

He does not speak,

He simply gestures for you to follow.

With him walking ahead,

You walk through a wooden arch,

Down a staircase lined with timepieces,

Into the lower workshop.

Here,

Downstairs,

The walls fade away,

The room expands into something vast,

Something perhaps not of earth.

You are surrounded by floating clocks,

Suspended in space.

Snowflakes drift in the air but never melt.

The floor becomes a polished black mirror,

Reflecting the ceiling of stars.

At the centre,

A workbench and on it,

A clock.

Unlike any you've seen.

It's half finished,

Made of crystal and brass.

It pulses faintly with light.

The clockmaker hands it to you,

It's cool to the touch in your palm,

It glides,

Smooth and continuous.

You hold it to your ear and it hums,

A deep slow rhythm,

Like a heartbeat.

And you realise,

This clock is yours,

It was made for you,

To slow you down,

To still you,

To carry you into rest.

The clockmaker nods once,

He vanishes,

Leaving behind only snow and silence.

You sit now,

At the centre of this infinite room,

Holding the clock,

Watching snow fall in slow motion.

Each flake turns gently into air,

Each flake holds a memory,

A wish,

A star.

You lie back on a large chair,

The mirror floor supports you like a cloud.

The clocks tick softer now,

Fading into silence.

The last sound is your clock,

Humming faintly in your hand.

You close your eyes,

And it slows down further.

Time begins to melt,

And your thoughts begin to drift.

There is no ticking now,

No years,

No days,

Only this moment.

You are not bound by time,

You are wrapped in sleep,

And the dream is beginning,

Somewhere the snow falls,

Somewhere the stars turn,

And somewhere you are already dreaming.

Behind your closed eyelids,

You see yourself sat at an old desk,

The kind made of wood that has seen years.

It smells faintly of cinnamon,

Candle wax and parchment.

Outside the window the snow falls,

Large flakes,

Slow and lazy,

The kind that fall when the world is silent.

You are wrapped in a thick wool blanket,

Your hand rests on paper,

A pen sits gently between your fingers.

There is no hurry,

No pressure,

Only space and stillness.

A fire crackles behind you,

A warm drink steams quietly beside you,

And you breathe,

Deeply,

Softly.

You begin your letter with a memory,

Maybe from childhood,

Maybe from last week.

You do not write for anyone else,

You write for your own heart.

You can start the letter with Dear North or Dear Me.

You write slowly and thoughtfully,

The ink flows like snowmelt,

The words appear without effort.

You remember things you thought you forgot,

Perhaps these are laughter,

Or silence,

Or hopes you buried under too many days.

You write them all,

Not to fix them,

Not to change them,

But to let them rest.

You feel lighter with each word,

You feel warmer with each line.

The letter is not a request,

It's a release,

And when it's done,

You fold it slowly,

Delicately,

Like folding a dream.

Now the letter must be sent,

You rise from the desk,

And put on your boots,

Your scarf,

Your gloves and coat.

You step outside into the snow.

The world is so quiet it hums,

Like holding a seashell to your ear.

The sky glows a deep midnight blue,

As the trees are laced in frost.

You follow a path through the woods,

A path lit by lanterns that seem to float above the snow.

You walk slowly,

Each step a breath,

Each breath a step.

Eventually,

You reach a clearing.

At its centre stands a single red postbox,

An old fashioned,

Solid postbox,

Glowing faintly.

You place the letter inside,

And as you do,

It vanishes.

A streak of golden light shoots upward into the sky,

Disappearing into the northern lights.

You remain in the clearing,

Lying down now on a blanket of snow that feels like a cloud.

The sky above you is alive,

There's ribbons of green,

Blue and violet dancing overhead.

The letter is gone,

But something remains,

A feeling of peace and a knowing,

A knowing that you've been heard.

A knowing that you've been heard.

You close your eyes,

As the snow falls slowly,

And the stars drift with the lights.

You are dreaming now,

Though you are not asleep.

But sleep is coming,

Soft as snowfall.

It begins to drape itself around you,

Like the north embracing you back.

And you let go.

Sleep well beneath the lights.

You release every thought that no longer serves your peace.

You allow your mind to become quiet and spacious,

Free from clutter.

Thoughts drift through you like clouds passing across a calm sky.

You no longer chase thoughts,

You let them fade naturally.

Your mind is a gentle stream,

Flowing easily towards stillness.

You are not your thoughts,

You are the calm awareness beneath them.

Every breath clears away the noise of the day.

You give yourself permission to let go of everything.

You surrender every worry to the quiet wisdom of the night.

You trust your body to carry you into a deep,

Effortless sleep.

Each breath draws you closer to the peaceful rhythm of rest.

Sleep welcomes you with open arms.

You are floating in the gentle tide of sleep's embrace.

You release all effort,

And allow your body to surrender to rest.

You are being carried deeper and deeper into perfect stillness.

The night holds you softly,

And you feel completely at ease.

Every muscle in your body releases and melts into comfort.

You are surrounded by warmth,

Safety and peace.

Your heartbeat slows down,

Your breaths deepen and your body softens.

You allow tension to leave your shoulders,

Your neck and your mind.

Your entire being is sinking into a gentle,

Peaceful,

Quiet calmness.

The deeper you breathe,

The more relaxed you feel.

You are weightless,

Effortless and completely serene.

You rest deeply,

Knowing that you are safe and free from worry.

As you release the last bit of tension,

Allow your eyelids to become heavier,

Your body to become heavier,

As you just let go.

Reviews

A very peacefully told story to fall asleep listening to. Thank you!

It truly was wonderful. I highly recommend this story. Your voice is so soothing. I fell asleep so.i need to listen again and again.
Blessings and Hugs 🫂
Donald James Dodge