Griffin & The Crystal Palace (Long Bedtime Sleep Story)

This long sleep meditation bedtime story is about walking through snow and into woodland where you rest against a tree and spread your awareness outwards, you head deeper into the woods to a small cave. In the cave, you discover a dragon. You find a book. You encounter a griffin. You head to a crystal palace. Over many days, you write a book about your experiences. Months later you receive a copy of the book. You read through some of that book you wrote.

Transcript

So just take a moment to allow your eyes to close and allow yourself to begin to drift asleep.

And as you begin to comfortably drift asleep,

I'm just going to tell this sleep meditation in the background.

And while I tell this sleep meditation,

I don't know whether you'll drift asleep faster to the sound of my voice or the spaces between my words.

And as you begin to comfortably drift asleep,

You can have a sense of that sound of walking through snow,

That sound of walking through snow after a comfortable blanket of snow has fallen,

Where the world just seems so peaceful,

So calm and quiet,

Where the sounds seem so muted and relaxed,

Where the air is still and the only sound that you can hear is the crunching of each footstep that you take through that snow.

And you can have a sense of walking comfortably through that snow,

Feeling the coolness of the air on your face,

While the rest of your body remains wrapped up warm,

And that sense of peace as you continue walking through that snow.

And while you walk through the snow,

You find yourself ambling along towards the edge of a woodland,

And as you walk into the woodland,

So you brush against some of the branches of the trees and hear that soft sound of the snow falling from the branches and finding its way down,

Like tiny,

Gentle thuds into the snow below.

And a little way into the woodland,

You can discover that the snow begins to clear as it hasn't found its way through the branches overhead to quite the same extent,

And you find yourself walking on a harder surface,

Where your footsteps change from the sound of walking through snow to the sound of walking on solid mud,

And yet the other sounds around you are still muted,

As if everything is so still,

There's a stillness to the air,

A stillness to the trees,

No bird sounds,

No sounds of other animals,

And you stop deep in the woodland,

You gently rest your back against the bark of a tree,

Resting your back against that trunk and you can feel that tree against your back,

Against the back of your head as you rest there,

And allow your eyes to close,

And you just listen to the silence,

Listening to the way that there's just that slightest of breeze passing past your ears,

Trying to listen out for the slightest sounds,

And while you listen,

You almost have this sense of your mind drifting and floating through the woodland,

As if somehow the silence is drawing your attention outward,

Expanding your awareness to fill the whole woodland,

And then after a little while,

Noticing yourself,

Feeling increasingly relaxed with the environment,

You take a really old map out of your coat pocket,

You unfold that map,

Just enough to see where you are and where you're going,

You check the directions,

You orient the map to where you think you need to be heading,

To where it lines up with the woodland that you're in,

And then you set off,

Continuing through the woodland,

Folding that map up again and putting it back in your pocket,

And after a while of walking deeper and deeper into these woods,

You notice a small cave,

Just a tiny entrance,

And as you tuck your way into the entrance to that cave,

You once again notice the sounds change,

The air pressure change,

That slight echoing as the wind reverberates around this cave,

And there's not really enough wind for you to physically feel it,

But you can hear it,

Just gently and slightly,

Subtly echoing in the cave,

Just a very slight high-pitched wind sound,

And it doesn't take long for your brain to begin to almost habituate to it,

Almost get so used to it being there,

That it forgets that it's even there,

And you pause for a moment in the cave,

Just listening,

Before starting to walk,

And each footstep has a dull thud on the ground,

But a slight echo around the cave,

And as you walk deeper and deeper into the cave,

So you begin to hear the deep sound of breathing,

Like really deep,

Really long breaths in and out,

Really deep,

Really long breaths in and out,

And you slow your walking down,

As you continue to walk deeper and deeper into the cave,

And that breathing sound sounds closer and closer,

Until you eventually notice a green dragon curled up many,

Many times the size of you walking through this cave,

And you can see the way its throat glows with each out-breath,

And the light in its throat dims with each in-breath,

As it breathes in deeply,

And then breathes out deeply,

Feeling the warmth of the air coming out of that dragon's nose,

Out of its nostrils,

And out of its mouth,

And you carefully creep so gently around that dragon,

Round the back of that dragon,

And through a small hole in the back of this cave,

Into a long corridor,

And you had chosen this time to come here,

Because you know the dragon hibernates for the winter,

But you still have to be careful not to disturb it,

And so you creep around and down into that corridor,

And continue walking down that corridor,

And after quite a way,

Walking deeper and deeper into the cave,

Following that corridor,

Where you notice that the corridor is gradually sloping downwards,

And that the air pressure has changed a couple of times,

As you've walked deeper down that corridor,

You find yourself at a stone door,

And you get a little bottle of liquid out of your coat pocket,

And you place some of that liquid on your hand,

You rub it into your hand,

Then you place your hand onto that stone door,

And you see a glowing purple light,

Beginning to sparkle,

Almost like electricity,

It begins to tickle your fingertips,

Tickle the palm of your hand,

Like the softest touches,

Almost like a feather,

Stroking and tickling the palm of your hand,

And your fingertips,

And then you hear a slight click,

And that stone door begins to slide open,

And move away from your hand,

And as it does,

So the light dims,

And you walk through that open door,

And as you walk through the open door,

So suddenly,

This bit of cave lights up,

And that door starts to close behind you,

And flames around this cave,

Burst to life,

Illuminating this cave,

And in the centre of the cave,

Is a pedestal with a book,

An old book,

And you walk over to that pedestal,

And you open that book,

And you start to read the first page of the book,

And it's not in your native tongue,

But you understand the language,

You read those words,

You understand their meaning,

You connect with their meaning,

And so you read those words,

And you read through the first page,

The second page,

All the way to the start of a specific spell,

And as you read that specific spell,

So you notice a spiralling purple light appearing on the back wall of the cave,

Initially starting small,

And gradually increasing in size,

And then seeming to gain depth,

As if that spiralling light was somehow stretching backwards away from you,

Into the wall of the cave,

Except no wall being there,

Almost like some kind of a portal,

Or some kind of a whirlpool,

And after finishing the spell,

You walk across the room,

And the closer you get to that spinning purple portal,

The more you notice that slight hum coming from the portal,

And you step through the portal,

And almost in an instant,

You find yourself standing on the edge of what looks like a large lava pit,

In the middle of a savannah,

And you can hear that lava bubbling and popping,

And feel the heat emanating from it,

And then you hear a low rumble coming from deep underneath that lava pit,

And you take some steps away from that pit,

And as that rumble gets louder and louder,

So you back up further and further,

And you can see the top of the lava beginning to move,

Bubbling more,

Seeming to rise,

And you think maybe it's about to explode out,

So you back up even further,

Thinking it might explode out like a geyser,

And then all of a sudden,

You see this griffin burst from the lava,

With flames streaming off of it,

And you hear a strong beat of its wings,

As it launches itself from the lava up into the sky,

And then by the third beat of its wings,

The flames surrounding it go out,

And it flies down and lands between you and that lava pit,

And lowers its head,

And lowers its legs,

And lowers one wing,

As if to say to climb on its back,

And you walk over towards it,

And realise that it's not shying away from you,

It's not responding to you,

It's just remaining there waiting,

And so you trust the griffin,

And you climb onto the back of that griffin,

And as you do,

It straightens its neck,

Lifts its head up,

Stands itself back up,

And launches itself up into the air,

And flies up into the clouds,

And starts flying over the land,

And you survey the land as it flies,

Feeling the wind on your face and your hair,

Holding securely to that griffin,

As it flies through the clouds,

Flies above the clouds,

Occasionally dives down through the clouds,

And swoops around the ground below,

And seems to be almost following landmarks to wherever it's going,

Seeming to follow a bit of river,

Even weaving its flight where it could take the most direct route,

Before suddenly heading in a direction towards a lake among trees,

And then seemingly using that as a landmark,

And spying another landmark,

And heading towards some tall trees that tower above the rest of those trees,

And then swooping down and up over hills,

And low mountains,

And down the other side of those low mountains,

And swooping round,

Almost giving a feeling like you're on a roller coaster,

Feeling a sense of excitement and safety with that air in your hair,

As it seems to work its way from one lake to another,

One landmark to another,

Until eventually you notice something catch the light in the distance,

A glistening,

Sparkling,

And realise that this griffin is taking you there,

And as you get closer you notice that it looks like some kind of clear crystal structure,

Like tall crystals that have interlocked to create almost a tent of crystal,

Towering over the surroundings,

That the sunlight catches and glistens,

Sending what looks like rainbows in all directions as you approach,

And then the griffin lands with a bit of a slide near that crystal structure,

Low as its head,

Low as down its legs,

Low as one of its wings,

As you climb off carefully,

And begin to walk away and walk towards that crystal structure,

And you walk over towards a path that seems to lead into the structure,

And you follow that path in,

And as you walk in,

So you notice the floor seems almost like its made of marble,

Some kind of well polished,

Highly echoey floor,

Where the echoes seem to reverberate around the entire structure,

Around the floor,

Around the crystal walls,

Where the light shines in,

And you can partially see out,

And in the middle of this structure is an ornate chair,

And sitting in that chair is a young woman,

And you walk over towards that young woman,

And as you do you notice the way she's examining you,

You feel that she's almost seeing into your soul,

That the way she's gazing at you seems almost like the way you imagine perhaps a sensor to be scanning someone,

And as she starts to talk,

In the softest,

Most gentle,

Kindest voice,

You feel that somehow she seems to know your true nature,

She seems to know your hopes and desires,

Your fears and anxieties,

And you just have that sense from the way she's communicating that you wouldn't be able to even put into words why you think that,

It's just a feeling you have,

And yet at the same time you feel that this is ok,

That something about her makes you feel so trusting of her,

That you feel like it's ok for her to know your strengths and weaknesses,

Your hopes and fears,

That you instantly feel like you could tell her anything,

And if she's able to help she probably would,

And as she's talking,

You almost find yourself drifting into reveries with the way her voice is so soft and melodic,

So gentle on the ear,

Like you just want to sit down and could listen for hours to whatever she's saying,

But in listening in that way you find that you're almost not hearing because you're not attending to what she's saying,

And then you remember why you're here,

That you were following your map to find that cave,

That you came seeking answers,

That this map said that it would lead you to the greatest discovery you'll ever know,

And it was enough to convince you to go searching,

And you had to search at a time the dragon would be hibernating,

And now you're here,

And you weren't expecting to see someone here,

You thought it would just be something in the cave behind the dragon,

And she tells you to come for a walk with her,

And she walks you through this crystal glass palace,

She pushes on one part of the crystal,

And a door slides open,

And the two of you walk out into the most beautiful flower garden out the back of this palace,

With the most incredible colors and wildlife,

And she goes over to one of the flower beds,

And she crouches down,

And she rests her hand palm up on the soil,

She slides her hand underneath a dandelion with two fingers one side of the stalk,

Two fingers the other side of the stalk,

And that slightly drooping dandelion,

She carefully lifts it up in the palm of her hand,

Straightening it up,

So the yellow flower of the dandelion is resting on her palm and fingers,

And she looks up at you and says,

What do you see,

And you think about it for a moment,

And you wonder what the right answer is,

And you say that you see a weed,

And she asks you why you think this dandelion is a weed,

And you explain that it doesn't fit with the roses and the other flowers that are here,

It's obviously not supposed to be in this flower bed,

If you were cleaning up the flower beds,

Removing the weeds,

You'd remove that dandelion,

And she tells you that you're wrong,

That the dandelion isn't a weed,

That that dandelion is her favorite flower in this flower bed,

That that dandelion is going to turn into something that's fine,

Light,

Tickly,

Something that she'll enjoy just giving the most gentle puff of air to,

And then she'll watch as that dandelion ends up just being a stub on the end of a green stem,

While watching little vehicles carrying the seeds traveling through the air,

Bringing further life to other places,

And that you can't blow on rose petals and get the same effect,

And that that dandelion is in exactly the right place for it,

That she looks forward to that day when she comes outside,

And sees that it's no longer yellow,

And hopes that she's lucky enough to capture that moment where she can come outside,

Before the natural breeze has disrupted the top of the dandelion,

And that there's great pleasure to be taken in fleeting moments,

That if she comes outside too late she'll miss that opportunity,

So she has to keep checking,

She has to keep mindful of what's going on in her garden,

She then lowers that back down to the ground,

Slides her hand back out,

And says that the gift for you,

That knowledge that you seek,

Is an inner understanding that the magic that brought you here,

Is the magic that will take you home,

And that it is connecting with this alternative world,

This world that the few dragons in your world come from,

To guard the entrances to this world,

That it's keeping this world alive,

Sharing stories of magic,

Of dragons,

Of witches,

Sharing stories that are lost to time,

Stories that only children believe,

That's the magic to take from here,

The magic of keeping magic alive in your world,

And they know that you need a little longer to understand that,

And they walk you to the back of this garden,

Where there's the most beautiful tree,

And under that tree,

Hanging from one of the branches,

Is a bench,

Like a swing,

And the two of you sit down on that bench,

And as you sit down,

So you notice the bench bob up and down ever so slightly,

And you notice it's swinging backwards and forwards just slightly with your movement,

And she reaches into a pocket,

And she pulls out a pocket watch,

And she pops the cover of the watch open,

She shows you the face of that watch,

The time on that watch,

She holds it up in front of your face,

And gently begins to swing that pocket watch,

Telling you just to look at the time,

Look at that time,

And just watch that time in the watch,

And you can see,

Can you not,

The way the hands are beginning to move backwards,

That here time can go in a different direction,

And yet you wouldn't notice unless you were looking at a clock,

That things are running in a different way here,

As your eyes follow that watch,

Just gently swinging left and right in front of your eyes,

And while she swings that watch,

And talks so peacefully and gently to you,

And just ever so subtly lowers that watch down,

Very slightly,

And your eyes lower down following that watch,

And you can hear her talking in the background,

But her voice begins to sound more distant,

And you know she's saying something about appreciating magic,

Appreciating the world in a new way,

You notice your eyelids feeling heavier,

And heavier and closing,

And something about the experience feels so comfortable,

And as your eyes close,

You still have this feeling like she's swinging that watch,

And like your eyes are following that swinging watch,

And the feeling that she's still talking to you somehow,

But at the same time you have that feeling that your eyes are starting to open,

And that what you see in front of you is a grass garden,

And the only thing in this grass garden is a pedestal with what looks like some scales on it,

And you walk over to the scales,

And you see that on one side is a weight,

Weighing one side down,

And the other side is a feather,

And then you notice as you watch that that feather seems to be moving down,

As if the feather starts to weigh more,

Until the scales are level,

And when those scales become level,

You start to hear the sound of children playing in the background,

And you look up from the scales,

And you see some children playing hopscotch,

Some children singing and playing with skipping ropes,

Some children playing in a tent full of blankets,

Some children cooling down to some other children from a tree house,

Some children sitting around a pond with their trousers rolled up,

And their feet in the water,

And you walk away from the scales,

And you observe all these children,

And you see the games they're playing,

And the way they're occupying themselves,

The things that they're spending time thinking about,

And then you look back at those scales,

And as you watch the scales and see the children in the background,

So you begin to notice those children growing up,

And you notice them not interacting with each other in the same way,

And you notice that weight getting heavier and heavier,

That the feather seems to be getting lighter and lighter,

And then as the scenes keep changing,

And those children seem to become young adults,

You notice that they start spending more time on their own,

Seemingly focused in their own worlds,

And they're near each other,

But they may will be miles apart,

And that weight seems to be getting heavier and heavier,

And that feather lifts higher and higher,

And you notice the sky getting grayer and grayer,

But it's turning from the most beautiful blue sky to an overcast gray sky,

And then you see those children getting older and older and older,

And then you hear a clunk,

As that weight weighs so much that it's totally pushed down one side,

And the feather is so light it's totally up the other side,

And you walk to the scales,

And you grab hold of the weight on the scales,

And you feel that weight needs to be moved,

And so you try to lift that weight with all of your might,

And the harder you try,

The heavier that weight seems to get,

And so you try harder and harder to lift and remove that weight,

And find it impossible,

And so instead you turn to the feather,

And you start to have a sense of that feather getting lighter and lighter,

And find that as that feather seems to get lighter and lighter,

And you carefully lift that feather slightly off the weight more and more,

So less of the feather is touching the weight,

So the scale on that side seems to start lowering down,

But if the feather totally leaves the weight,

The scale suddenly thuds down on the heavy side,

So you very carefully lift that feather,

Making it lighter and lighter,

While keeping a part of it in contact with the scale,

Letting it lower while you lift,

In a careful balance,

And as you do,

You notice the clouds clearing,

The blue sky returning,

The adults seemingly reverting back to being playful children again,

Until you carefully rest that feather in its lightest possible position on the scales,

And you don't really understand how you've done or are doing what it is you've done,

But somehow you've equalised things again,

And while it's like this,

You then lift that lighter heavy weight,

And you walk to the pond,

And you call over the duck,

And the duck swims to the shore,

Waddles over to you as you crouch down on one knee,

It then extends and flaps and stretches itself,

Flapping its wings,

And then it slows that flapping down,

And then nuzzles behind its back,

Nuzzles down its wings,

Seemingly grooming itself with its beak,

And then with its bill,

It grabs one of its own feathers,

Turns to face you,

And drops that feather into your hand,

And you walk back to the scales,

And you carefully place that feather where the weight once was,

Creating an equilibrium between both sides,

And as you do that,

You start to hear that voice talking in the background,

And your eyes blink open to see that watch swinging left and right,

And then seeing the watch being curled up into the woman's hands again,

The cover of the watch being sealed with a click,

She asks you to hold your hands out,

And so in a cup-like shape you hold your hands out,

She places that watch in one hand,

And places your other hand over the top of it,

And says this is for you,

Take it with you,

It'll connect you with this magical realm,

And it'll help you to continue to spread magic through your world,

And then she ushers you up,

And the two of you walk through the garden,

Walk back into that crystal palace,

She says goodbye,

And you walk through the crystal palace,

Footsteps echoing,

Reverberating,

Walking out the front,

And seeing that griffin,

And the griffin is positioned again for you to climb on top,

So you climb on the griffin,

It takes off,

And seems to follow the reverse route all the way back to where you started,

Following its same landmarks across this land,

And you do your best to gaze around,

And take in as much of this land as you can,

As you go,

Getting an idea of what this land looks like,

Where the hills are,

The valleys are,

The mountains are,

The different trees are all based,

The lakes,

The rivers,

Trying to see what wildlife you can notice,

And when that griffin arrives back where it collected you,

You dismount from the griffin,

You see that portal,

You head back through the portal,

You find your way through the cave,

Around the sleeping dragon,

Back out among the trees,

And then out into the snow,

And you head home,

And once home,

You drift asleep,

Having the most wonderful night's sleep,

And the next morning,

You awaken with this compulsion,

And you head to a typewriter,

And your fingers seem to automatically begin to type,

And you find something satisfying about typing on an old fashioned typewriter,

Your fingers begin to type out,

One word after another,

As if somehow what's going on in your mind just comes straight out of your fingertips,

And in the background,

A cat meows,

And then settles down in front of a fire,

And relaxes down in front of that fire,

As a dog walks alongside you,

And settles down in a little dog bed right beside your feet,

As if they know that all of your attention is on what your fingertips are doing,

And you feel almost like an observer on the experience,

As if your eyes are just watching words appear on paper,

That your fingertips independently of you,

Are typing,

And after a number of days and nights of regular typing,

And a handful of breaks,

Suddenly hundreds of pages have been typed,

And you send those pages off,

And many months later,

You wake up in the morning to the sound of a thud at the front door,

You go to the front door,

And you see lying on the ground an envelope,

You open that envelope,

And inside you find the first copy of the book that you wrote over that period of time,

And you go and sit in a comfortable chair to look at what it was that you wrote,

And you decide to autograph the title page of this first book,

Of the first ever copy of this first book,

And you write one of one,

And that this is the first ever copy,

The pre-print copy,

And you decide that you'll leave that in a second-hand shop for someone else to discover one day,

And then you carry on reading through that story to see what the story is about,

Because you had this sense of your hands automatically wrote the story,

And you just trusted yourself,

And let that writing happen automatically,

And you start reading,

Once upon a time in a land far away,

There lived a young porcupine,

And this young porcupine was an excitable porcupine,

They always wanted to be invited to parties,

But whenever they would attend parties,

They would get all excited,

They'd run around,

They'd try and play with the other animals,

They'd try and play with the cats,

The foxes,

The dogs,

The badgers,

The squirrels,

But eventually the other animals would say they don't want to play with you,

Because as soon as they get to the party balloons,

They would inadvertently burst the balloons,

And the bursting balloons would make the other animals jump,

And get scared,

And get annoyed that their balloons have been burst,

But one day,

When this porcupine was out,

They encountered a strange creature,

They were walking along a beach,

When this creature seemed to flop its way along,

And looked like it was struggling so much to move,

And as they approached the creature,

They noticed that the creature had what looked like its house on its back,

And weird wings,

Where its legs should be,

And they asked the creature if they needed any help,

And the creature said they were just trying to get to the sea,

And so the porcupine helped to dig a channel to the sea,

To help to bring some of that water from the sea closer to this strange creature,

This creature said that it was a turtle,

And that it was actually not very easy to walk on land,

But it's a very good swimmer,

And it can hold its breath for so long,

And the porcupine helped that turtle all the way to the sea,

And in return the turtle came back to the shore with some seaweed,

And gave the porcupine that seaweed,

And said to the porcupine just roll in that seaweed a little bit,

And the porcupine rolled in the seaweed,

And the seaweed caught on its spines,

And the porcupine couldn't reach to get that seaweed off right now,

And the seaweed just seemed to stick in those spines,

And the porcupine realized that with the seaweed on its spines,

If it covered its spines,

It didn't burst any balloons,

It couldn't burst any balloons,

But it just had to think of a way of being able to solve problems like this,

Rather than seeing itself as somehow bad or a failure,

That that strange creature hadn't seen itself as bad or a failure,

It was good at swimming,

Its legs just weren't very good at walking,

And the porcupine started interacting with the other animals,

And asked them for help,

And one of the animals,

A sheep,

Said that they felt that they could help,

And they went over to a tree,

And they started rubbing themselves against the tree,

And they kept rubbing,

And rubbing,

And rubbing,

And then turning around,

And rubbing themselves some more,

And then a duck came over to the tree,

And gathered up all that wool,

And then a team of ducks started sticking that wool all around the outside of the porcupine,

Until the porcupine looked like a strange sheep,

And the animals laughed at what the porcupine looked like,

In a friendly way,

At the porcupine's new jacket,

But the porcupine liked this new strange woolen jacket,

That was helped to be made by these animals,

That allowed it to begin to fit in,

And join in things that previously it couldn't join in,

And as you continue reading through this book,

You find out that this story carries on,

With this band of friends going on adventures,

This band of friends having a picnic,

Continuing on to,

Where the porcupine is amused by the earrings that the sheep gets one day,

These jangling earrings,

And as that story continues,

Let's talk about that friendly sheep,

Making friends with the local dragon,

And the animals having to help that dragon,

To be able to interact in a friendly way,

Without accidentally burning anyone,

And you notice in this book,

This talk of witches and wizards,

Fairies and trolls,

And you realize this story,

Designed for children,

Is the first in a series,

Just pouring out of your mind,

Onto the page,

Sharing that magic,

Keeping the magic world alive,

And you notice that in every single book,

From that day on that you write,

There always seems to be a magical portal,

Or a doorway,

Whether it's a strange stone arch,

Found in the middle of a field,

Or a small hole in the base of a tree,

Or a cave,

In a craggy rock,

You notice,

That you seem to now share,

Magic,

To keep magic alive among children,

Who will hopefully grow up to keep magic alive among their children,

And in doing so,

They'll keep magic alive in themselves,

And as you come to this realization,

Of the true meaning of that journey,

To that cave,

Of the discovery you made on that day,

A warmness,

Fills your heart and begins to spread,

Through your body,

As you head off to bed,

With that warmness,

With these worlds,

You're creating,

Playing around in your mind,

As if these characters are real,

And living in this land you dream of,

Where you can meet them when you sleep and dream,

Where you follow the adventures of Philip the Porcupine,

Where he stops being known as the prickly person,

To being known as the soft one,

As you drift and float,

So comfortably,

So peacefully,

And so relaxed,

Asleep.