Caravan In The Misty Meadow: Bedtime Tale

This is a bedtime story about you out in the countryside staying in a caravan. You head out walking through the countryside. While exploring, you meet Bob, an autistic Guinea Pig who has lost their marbles and wants your help to find them. You help Bob to find their marbles. After meeting Bob, you wander down to a stream. You then explore some old ruins in woodland, imagining what was once here. The sun is setting, so you explore the woodland, take some photographs and then head back to the caravan, sit outside, enjoying food and drink as you watch the sun set, before heading to bed, drifting and floating peacefully asleep, into Slumberland.

Transcript

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 you're out in the countryside camping in a caravan and you've been on this caravan holiday for a little while.

And the caravan is parked up in a reasonably secluded space.

There's no other caravans or other vehicles around here.

And you wake up in the caravan and you can hear the sounds of nature beyond the caravan.

The sounds of the nearby woodland,

Of the meadows you're parked in.

And you awaken to the slight coolness of the air and the glow of light through thin curtains hanging over the caravan windows.

And you awaken feeling so refreshed,

So revitalised having had the most wonderful night's sleep.

And as you walk across the caravan to the door at the side of the caravan,

The caravan bounces and rocks ever so slightly with each step that you take.

And you open the door to a crisp and fresh day,

The coolness of the breeze and the air enveloping your cheeks.

The warmth of the light of the sun,

A strange combination with that coolness of the air.

Closing your eyes,

Taking in some deep comfortable breaths of that fresh air,

Feeling so rejuvenated from those breaths.

And the sounds of the morning songbirds.

Descending a few steps to stand on the grass and then sitting yourself down in the doorway.

And as you sit there you reach across into the caravan and you turn on the kettle.

And you rest there as the kettle comes to the boil and make yourself a drink.

And you pour that drink into the cup,

The sound of the hot water filling the cup.

You stir that drink and hold that drink in two hands,

Feeling the warmth of the drink between those hands.

Holding it beneath your nose,

The steam,

Feeling so comfortable as it rises up,

Tickling your nostrils,

Rises up across your eyebrows and your forehead.

Blowing gently into the top of the drink,

Some more steam escaping.

And sipping that drink as you rest there,

In the door of the caravan.

And after drinking the drink,

Watching the sun continue gently rising in the sky,

The soft mist as the water evaporates from the grasses across the meadow.

And that mist blowing gently away from the caravan.

The light being just so perfect.

Seeing some of those random trees dotted through the meadow,

Shrouded in the mist,

Adding depth to the view.

The way the sunlight penetrates that mist.

The way everything seems to happen almost as if in slow motion.

And after drinking your drink,

And feeling more awake,

You head back into the caravan.

You get dressed for the day.

You then head out of the caravan and close that door behind you.

The light thud and clank of the door as it shuts and the latch locks.

You test the door,

Make sure it's locked,

Before walking on the moist grass.

As that moisture continues to softly evaporate and the sun continues to gently rise in the sky.

And you're here for a few days,

On a caravan holiday,

On this spot in nature.

Making sure you're away somewhere,

Where you can get away from people.

Where you can find yourself,

Find some peace and harmony.

Where you can ground yourself with the world around you.

And as you walk through the meadow,

Exploring this landscape,

Seeing the dandelions and daisies and the grasses and the way they softly move with the breeze.

The bees flying from plant to plant.

And as the day warms up a little more,

Beginning to notice butterflies.

Some small blue butterflies.

Some larger patchwork butterflies.

Almost like tartan flying around.

Some larger blue butterflies that seem almost iridescent.

Some white butterflies with tinges of black around the tips of their wings.

The occasional sound of a bee buzzing past your ear,

As it continues busily on its journey and on its daily chores.

And you don't really have a plan,

You're just more out to find yourself.

To find peace and calm away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

So you're just exploring the landscape and as you explore,

You see a fallen down log.

You decide to stop at that log,

Sit down on the log.

You feel the roughness of the bark beneath you.

The slight warmth to the bark as it's been absorbing the morning sun.

And as you sit on that log,

Letting your mind wander,

Just gazing at the world around you.

Feeling increasingly relaxed by the environment and the silence in the environment and the stillness to the environment.

You notice from time to time your mind drifts into reveries and daydreams.

And then you hear a sound and see something out the corner of your eye.

And notice what looks like a guinea pig tootling along through the landscape.

Almost as if it's trying to step over the blades of grass.

And that grass is still just ever so slightly damp.

The sun hasn't yet fully dried it out.

And that guinea pig comes over to you,

Sits at your feet.

And they introduce themselves as Bob.

And they say that they're an autistic guinea pig who's lost their marbles and they're wondering if you could help them to find them.

And although the situation is strange,

You have no problem engaging in conversation with Bob.

And you ask Bob where they last saw their marbles.

They explain that there's a stream just a little way down the hill.

And that stream leads into a cave.

And they were in that cave when they last saw their marbles.

And so they think they must have lost their marbles there.

But they've searched from the cave all the way to here and haven't found them.

They said that their wife,

Margaret,

Was also helping to search for their marbles.

And she's searching a different area.

And you say to Bob that the marbles are likely in the last place that they're going to check.

And Bob says that's what she said.

Margaret told me that the marbles will probably be in the last place I check.

And so I obviously decided,

Bob says,

To try to check the last place first.

But it was only after checking what I thought would be the last place that I realised if I check the last place first,

It's no longer the last place.

And so maybe I left it at the first place I should have checked.

And Bob continues to talk and share.

Their thought process is behind where they've been,

Where they feel their marbles might be.

And how they've been unable to find them as of yet.

And you offer to help them seek their marbles.

And you ask Bob where they've been since they last saw the marbles.

And they say they were in the cave.

And before they were in the cave,

They were walking along the edge of the stream.

And before they were walking along the edge of the stream,

They were wandering through the woodland.

And before they were wandering through the woodland,

They were at home sitting in their garden,

Drinking a cup of tea,

Resting in a hammock.

And they were just sitting in that hammock,

Swinging gently,

Drinking that tea.

Thinking to themselves about how they would like to go on an adventure.

Little did they know at the time that they would lose their marbles and find themselves on that desired adventure.

And you ask Bob,

So when exactly was the last time you saw the marbles?

And Bob says they don't know.

They thought they had the marbles on them when they arrived at the cave.

But it was in the cave they noticed they didn't.

And so you wander along with Bob,

Following Bob down to the stream,

Ambling along the side of the stream,

Listening to the way it gently flows and bubbles beside you.

The sounds of birds in the distance,

The warmth of the sun as it continues to rise into the sky.

And at first you follow Bob to the cave.

And the cave is quite small,

So you crouch down and you crawl into that cave.

And it's the most comfortable space.

Feeling so cosy,

So peaceful,

The way the sound is absorbed like you're wrapped in a gentle hug.

And you look around inside the cave and you can't see those marbles.

And you head out of the cave.

And head the other direction,

Retracing Bob's steps with him.

And you're taller so you can look further in all directions.

You see in the distance Bob's wife,

Searching within the edge of the woodland.

Bob waves and greets his wife and explains what you're doing,

That you're helping.

And you walk with Bob.

And Bob begins to share his life story,

His hopes and dreams and interests.

And a part of you is listening with intrigue,

While another part of you is eyeing up the landscape,

Searching for those marbles.

And you continue to search until you arrive at Bob's home.

And you discover that Bob's marbles are on the ground beneath the hammock.

And you don't know if it happened accidentally,

Perhaps unconsciously.

But it seems that when Bob felt he'd like to go on an adventure,

He found himself on that adventure,

Caused by his own doing.

And as a thank you for helping to search for those marbles,

Bob gives you a drink.

And you sit in Bob's garden,

Enjoying that drink and the atmosphere in nature.

The warmth of the sun,

As it's now passing overhead.

His wife arrives home and he tells her,

The marbles were here all along.

They were in the last place you looked.

And after some time relaxing with Bob,

You said you'd better go.

And you headed back out to that log you were resting on.

You relaxed back down on that log,

Found yourself drifting into a reverie,

Lost in thought.

And as you drifted out of the reverie,

While the sun passed overhead,

You wondered for a moment whether the whole experience with Bob was real or not.

Or whether that was all part of a reverie.

And you stood up,

Stretched your back,

Your arms behind you.

Stretched your legs,

Gave a little groan and creak.

Took a deep breath of the fresh air,

Wandered down to the stream.

Crouched down beside the stream,

Listening to the way it trickled past.

Watching the way the light played with the surface,

And rings of light seemed to dance along the floor of the stream.

Watching as small fish swam on the spot,

Facing upstream,

Only moving whenever a shadow passed overhead.

And rested a hand in the water,

To feel the sensations of the water passing over the hand through the fingertips.

And then rubbing the hands together,

Splashing a little of that water on your face and cheeks.

Enjoying its coolness against the warmth of your cheeks.

Stood up and continued to walk along the side of the stream.

And you wandered to where Bob's place was,

Only to find there was nothing there.

Wondering now,

Whether it was all in your mind and just a reverie.

And you walk into the woodland,

And the sound of your footsteps changes as you begin to gently crunch through this woodland,

Crunching through the undergrowth.

The sounds of birds now almost sounding slightly echoey among the trees.

The occasional shard of light managing to pierce through the canopy,

And dance to the rustling of the leaves overhead.

And a stillness and coolness drifts through the air.

And you walk through this woodland.

And while walking through the woodland,

You start to notice among the undergrowth,

Looks like there's some rubble.

And you're curious what was once here,

Perhaps before these trees.

And then you find some old vine covered ruins.

You walk around those ruins,

Looking at the grey stone,

Feeling the roughness of that stone under fingertips.

Seeing the way the vines are wrapped around the stones,

Almost holding the remnants of the structure in place.

And as you walk around among these ruins,

You try and visualize in your mind's eye what was once here,

And while visualizing in your mind's eye,

You wander around what you assume was the inside of a building.

You don't know what type of building,

But while walking and hearing the sound of each footstep,

The dull thud of the footsteps on mud through the undergrowth here in the woodland.

One of your steps has a slightly more airy sound to it.

And you walk around a little more and then walk back over that space,

Picking up that same airy sound to the footsteps.

And you find it curious how sensitive the ears can be to subtleties of sound,

In the same way that it's possible to know the difference between hot water pouring in a cup and cold water pouring in a cup.

Just from listening.

But it's something you just know how to do,

In the same way that you just know there's something different in the sound of footsteps over one specific point on the ground.

And so you crouch down.

You try and brush away some of the dirt with your hands.

You pull at some of those vines and break some of those vines.

And you find that under just a shallow layer of dirt seems to be what looks like wooden planks.

And in one of the wooden planks seems to be a metal latch.

And you twist the latch and hold the handle.

And it feels like it's perhaps a doorway.

And so you find the edges of that door.

You clear the mud from above it,

Removing the vines.

And then carefully open that door.

And as you open that trap door,

Some air breathes gently from under the ground.

And you see before you ten steps leading down.

And you begin to descend those steps.

Ten,

Nine,

Eight,

Seven,

Six.

Adding deeper and deeper into the silence under the ground.

Five,

Four,

Three,

Two,

One.

Reaching the ground underneath this ruined structure.

You shine a torch around this space.

You hear the faint sound of distant dripping.

You notice this cavernous space.

It's almost like a cave under the structure.

There's a certain silence to this space,

A stillness to the atmosphere.

And as you explore,

So you find your way out into a chamber.

And within that chamber,

You discover a plinth.

And on that plinth,

You find an old tablet.

And on that tablet,

Seems to be carved writing.

And you don't understand the writing.

But you pick up that tablet.

You sit down cross-legged on the floor.

Using the torch to examine the tablet.

You run your fingers across the writing.

And you can feel the texture of the carved writing on that tablet.

The coolness of the tablet under the fingertips.

The weight of the tablet in the hands.

And while you feel the texture of the writing on the tablet.

So it's almost as if comfort begins to spread from the tablet into the fingertips.

You feel the fingertips of that hand becoming more comfortable as if they want to relax themselves.

And that relaxation seems to move from the fingertips to the wrist,

To the forearm,

To the elbow,

To the upper arm,

Up to the shoulder.

And you find yourself gazing towards that tablet.

Almost as if the tablet is fixed in space before you.

As the arm is just holding it,

Motionless automatically.

While relaxation moves up the arm to the shoulder and begins to spread through the body.

And you notice your breathing deepening,

Relaxing,

Calming deeper and deeper.

You start to feel that relaxation moving down your body,

Across your body to the other arm.

The other arm,

As it fills with relaxation,

Becoming heavier and heavier until it's resting beside you.

So heavy you can barely notice it.

As if your awareness acknowledges it before moving on.

And relaxation begins around the top of the head,

Around the eyes,

The cheeks,

The jaw,

Softening,

Relaxing all the muscles.

Bringing a deep sense of peace and calm with the breathing deepening,

Relaxing.

Almost as if each in-breath breathes in peace and comfort and each out-breath seems to be breathing out any residual tension or worries.

Bringing clarity to the mind,

A stillness to the mind.

As if thoughts have decided to take a rest.

While relaxation works its way down through the chest,

The upper back,

Permeating through you,

Weaving within you.

Down to your stomach and lower back,

Down around your buttocks and into those legs.

And as the body becomes deeper relaxed,

The mind stills and quiets.

So the eyes close,

With that tablet still held in place.

And it's as if you're embodying the text on the tablet,

But you couldn't read the text.

But something about the tablet meant you could feel the text,

Internalize the text and its meaning in ways you could never consciously understand.

And it's such a comfortable,

Deep feeling that you automatically and instinctively just go with the flow,

Absorb yourself in that experience.

As your mind drifts and floats,

To a secret place,

A different time,

Gaining an understanding of this location,

Of what was once here.

You see in your mind's eye,

As if you're stood in that location outside of this underground space.

Wrapped in the building.

And you head out of the building.

And instead of being in woodland,

You're in the center of a civilization.

You can see people milling around and talking to each other.

And beyond the civilization is the woodland that will once encroach this space and make this space its own.

And you seem to be here just as an observer.

People seem to be ignoring you,

But you watch as they go about their daily life.

You watch their routines and rituals.

You follow a couple of the people as they carry pans back towards that stream.

And you watch,

Feeling the gentle warmth of the sun on your skin,

Hearing the rustling of the overhead trees.

As they crouch down and seem to be panning for gold in that stream,

Smiling,

Talking to each other as they do.

Just another daily activity.

And you watch them as they find a little gold and they head back towards the buildings.

You watch as somebody else is doing laundry while engaging in conversation with other locals.

You see someone selling fruit and veg and the way they engage with people.

And it's a bustling space,

A thriving community.

A civilization that once was as if you're seeing a glimpse of the past.

Like a snapshot of history.

And you're curious at this mystery.

And the experience begins to fade.

And while it starts to fade,

So you head back underground.

And you do this automatically and instinctively as if something is driving you to act.

But you feel so comfortable.

You rest back where you were.

And drift back to an awareness of holding the tablet.

And you don't know what happened or how.

Just that somehow.

It's like an echo of the past was stored within the text on the tablet and something about touching that text connected you with that echo.

And you place that back where you found it.

You leave this underground space and seal the hatch.

You cover it all over again.

The sun now is setting to early evening.

The light is just right for exploring the woodland,

Taking some photographs and then heading back to the caravan.

And once back at the caravan,

You sit on a chair outside the side of the caravan.

You enjoy some food and drink while you watch over the landscape,

Watching the sun gently setting.

Feeling the warmth of the day gradually fade away.

Hearing the daytime birds and animals quieten down for the night.

And the nighttime birds and animals awaken.

You see the stars twinkle to life in the night sky.

Watching the moon illuminated clouds as they wisp softly past those stars.

Watching the occasional shooting star.

Almost imagining you can hear it fizzing as it passes across the night sky.

Feeling a deep sense of peace and calm.

And as it gets late and the moon is now setting,

You head back into the caravan.

You rest back in bed and you find it no trouble at all to very quickly and easily drift and flow to sleep.

You just count gently in your mind's eye.

Using an old technique for accessing transcendence,

You count gently and if losing count,

You just pick up roughly where you remember letting off.

And continue again until you lose all numbers and drift relaxed asleep.

Counting back from 500,

499,

498,

497.

Just very slowly counting,

Relaxing,

Drifting peacefully.

495,

494.

Until you drift asleep into the most pleasant dreams.

The most pleasant recuperative sleep.

Drifting and floating asleep into slumberland.