So just take a moment to allow your eyes to close and allow yourself to begin to relax and 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 fall asleep.
I'm just going to tell this story in the background and it's a story about a potter and this potter lives in a cabin deep in the woods and they have a little workshop attached to the side of the cabin.
One snowy day they sat at their potter's wheel,
Their foot carefully rhythmically moving up and down.
The whole side of this workshop opened up and they can breathe in the cool fresh air,
Feel the breeze of the air on their cheeks,
Hear the dull sounds in the woodland softened by the heavy snow,
The occasional sound of the branches rustling overhead,
Small animals scamper along those branches and sometimes the dull thud of snow falling from the branches landing on the woodland floor.
As they drift into their mind with the rhythm of their foot moving,
Their hands carefully shaping that clay,
Adding a little water to the hands,
Adjusting the pressure and the movement,
Sometimes using the ball of the hands,
Sometimes the outside of the hands,
Other times moving the palms back a little to allow the fingertips to do the work.
Some of the delicate shaping,
Almost hypnotically watching that clay growing and spinning,
Taking on its shape,
Pulling those hands together ever so slightly,
While lifting them up very slowly and carefully,
And then pulling the hands out slightly,
While moving the thumbs over the top and altering that speed slightly with the foot.
And as this potter you have a level of curiosity about how things are created,
How they start as one thing and turn into another,
How a seed can grow into a grand oak tree,
How a caterpillar can go to sleep and wake up a butterfly,
Absorbed in the process of crafting that clay,
Fascinated by the idea that it just starts as a lump,
A dry solid lump,
With a coolness to the touch,
But with just a few simple steps,
It can be worked into something more than it started,
And then picking up the wooden stick with a slight point on the end,
Keeping that spinning going,
And carefully,
Like the needle on a record player,
Touching certain points on the outside,
As patterns and lines just appear,
Almost magically,
Until that looks just as you want,
And when it looks just right,
You carefully let the foot slow the spinning down,
Until it comes to a stand still,
And you leave that there just for a moment,
As you get up and go and wash your hands,
And so you remove that item you've just created,
Carefully scoring just underneath it,
Carefully moving it,
Putting it aside for a moment,
And shortly you'll finish off with that,
But first you walk outside,
You stand out,
On the edge of the snow,
Breathing in the fresh air,
Seeing the vapour as you breathe out,
And seeing off in the distance,
In the woodland,
The white rabbit scampering through the snow,
As if it's trying to leap from one point to another without getting its belly cold on the snow,
Trying to leap from toe to toe,
And you walk a little way out into the snow,
Feeling that crunching sound underfoot,
And you walk slowly,
Deliberately,
So you can really enjoy the sensation and the sound,
As the snow beneath your feet compacts with each step,
And you're really enjoying nature and the blue sky beyond the woodland,
And off to one side,
Just out of sight in this woodland,
Is a lake which is almost totally frozen over,
And down from the lake a little way,
Is the most beautiful stone bridge,
And you head back in to your workshop,
You finish up with the work you were doing,
And later that day,
As the evening's setting in,
You head into your cabin,
And you're greeted by your cat,
Weaving its way around your legs,
Purring,
And you can feel that purring,
From its body,
Through your legs,
As it touches your legs,
And its breathing,
In the most relaxed way,
And you sit down in the living area,
You place down a small ball pit,
Made from an inflatable paddling pool,
And then covered with some thick,
Fluffy fabric,
And then filled with small balls,
And you throw a couple of balls into the pit,
Sometimes other items,
And the cat jumps in,
Dives around,
Finds them,
Grabs other balls,
And gets distracted at times,
Sometimes rolling onto its back,
Holding onto a ball,
And kicking it with its back legs,
Other times,
Kicking so hard,
The ball slips from the front paws,
Knocks its chin,
And lands back among the other balls,
And it has to then try and find the same ball again,
And from time to time,
It'll bring over a ball for you,
To throw for it,
And involve you in its play,
And the fire in the fireplace,
Slowly,
Burns down to embers,
Illuminating the room with the most beautiful glow,
Until it reaches quite late in the evening,
And it's dark outside,
And you have yourself a sandwich,
A slice of cake,
Before sitting down,
And beginning to read a book,
And while you read,
So your eyes get heavier and heavier,
As they scan down each page,
And you reach a point where you're a few pages on from the last point you remember,
Until you turn back a few pages,
Get your attention back onto that,
And continue reading,
But as it gets later and later,
So you find it increasingly difficult,
To continue,
To keep reading and keep focusing,
Often losing your place,
And having no memory of what you've just been reading,
And so needing to jump back a number of pages,
And then deciding that it's a sign that it's time to bed,
And so you head to bed,
And the cat follows you,
And you settle down for the night,
And the next morning,
You wake up,
And you head out,
Pulling a sled,
And you're going to go and get some supplies from the nearby town,
And it's a bit of a trek on foot to get there and back,
And so you start that journey,
You say goodbye to your cat,
You do a quick check around your property,
And then head out into the cold,
And you're wrapped up warm and comfortable,
And yet you can still feel the cold on your cheeks,
And you can still enjoy the silence that this winter environment brings,
And you follow what you know would normally be the path,
Yet currently,
The snow hides any sign of the correct path,
And you're reminded of a story,
About a young lad who arrived at a clear area where no one had trodden on the snow,
And he knew where the right path was,
But he decided,
Just as an experiment,
To tread the wrong path,
And so he walked back and forth,
Treading a wrong path,
And then he went and just sat down watching,
And he watched,
As the path got busier and busier,
And everyone was following his path,
The one he trod,
And doing so without paying any attention to the fact,
It's not the path that's really there,
It's one he happened to just create that morning,
And people were only following it because they saw it,
Rather than just following the route that they've taken,
Perhaps for years,
And as you continue walking,
And seeing the occasional squirrel,
Scampering along branches,
Up tree trunks,
Jumping from tree to tree,
Heading through the woods,
And then down towards the lake,
And then over towards that stone bridge,
Crossing the bridge to the other side,
And continuing on towards the town,
And as you walk,
Your mind occasionally wanders,
But you continue to wander and wander,
Sometimes thinking about those things you need,
Like running over a shopping list in your mind,
Other times,
Thinking of things of more interest,
Like what else you'll build,
What you'd like to do later on,
Or tomorrow,
Perhaps sometimes thinking of the past,
But always walking forward,
And after some time,
By about mid morning,
You can see the beginning of the town,
And the snow is far more trodden here,
With all the people who arrive and depart,
And you're dragging that sled behind you,
But as you arrive at the town,
It actually becomes harder to pull,
Because there are areas where all of the snow has been trodden away,
And so you rest up that sled,
And just walk on foot without pulling it,
And you'll buy items,
And you'll bring them back,
And just place them in there,
And it'll be perfectly safe and fine there,
And the different people you encounter greet you,
And it's such a small town,
Pretty much everyone knows everyone else,
Even those who live around here,
And you head into a shop and buy some ingredients,
You continue on and buy some bits from a bakery,
And you go to a craft store and buy some items there,
And you also decide to go off your shopping list,
And to just have a look around,
See what else you can find,
And you can see at the far end of the town,
Is a man sat on a stool with an easel set up,
Painting a view of that town,
The woodland behind it,
And the mountains way off in the distance on the horizon,
And from his perspective the sun is off to one side of his picture,
And he's in his own world painting that picture,
And you walk down to him,
You walk around behind him,
Getting down and taking a look at that painting,
At the work he's doing,
Watching him for a while,
Looking at the scene he's painting,
And his interpretation of it,
And then you continue going into the different shops,
And then going into a small cafe and having a drink,
And then going on to a bookstore,
And it's a quaint little bookstore with old books,
And as soon as you enter,
The old book smell wafts through the door,
And there's a certain stillness to the silence in this bookstore,
An anticipation of stories to be told,
And you're always trying to find something new to read,
Which is often something old to read,
And as you look around this bookstore,
You find a curious old book,
With a purple cover,
And a strange spiral on the cover,
And your eyes seem to almost get drawn into that spiral,
The lines of the spiral so close,
That sometimes you think you can see grey between the spirals,
But whenever you try and look at the grey,
It just looks white,
And you open that book,
And you feel that the cover is actually soft,
And has a slight velvety feeling to it,
But the pages are quite thick and sturdy,
And mottled,
And the writing in it seems hand written,
And yet it's still quite readable,
And you can see this book is hundreds of years old,
And you can't understand most of the words that you can read,
And as you turn through those pages,
So you discover,
About 10 pages in,
The most beautiful ornate artwork painted on a page in this book,
And the colours of that artwork are so vivid,
Almost unnaturally vivid,
Such an old book,
And as you continue turning through the pages,
You find another picture,
Equally as colourful,
Making you equally as curious,
And you decide that this is the book that you like to purchase,
You don't know what it says,
But you want to be able to look through it,
And you want to really be able to take your time looking through it,
You can pick up the odd word in it,
But it's so old,
There are many words you just don't understand,
And so you buy that book,
You head out of the bookstore,
Continue walking through the town,
The sun now,
Shining brightly down on the town,
And despite the air being really cold,
Your breath being visible before you,
You can see the glistening,
Water running down the icicles hanging from the shop fronts,
And dripping like diamonds to the floor,
Each one catching a glint of light,
You're curious whether it would be possible to take a photograph and time it just right,
To be able to take a photograph moments after a drop of water has fallen from an icicle,
To see that perfect circle hovering beneath that point,
As you carry on walking,
You fill your sled with everything you've got,
You check that that's everything you think you need,
Before starting your journey back,
The way you came,
And as you walk like on the way,
You find yourself often lost in thought,
Your mind wandering to pleasant experiences,
And imagining different futures and different worlds,
You wonder whether you would be able to paint like that painter,
And you're curious to be able to examine the paintings in that book,
And it isn't until towards the end of the day,
That you finally arrive home,
Your cat,
Gazing up momentarily on your arrival,
Opening an eye,
And then snuggling back down,
And you have yourself some food,
You pack things away,
Before sitting down to look through that book,
And as you continue to look through the book,
You notice the vividness of the different colours on each page,
And how each image seems to be of a slightly unusual yet natural looking environment,
You have a forest landscape with mountains in the background,
And yet the sky has a slight purple tinge to it,
You have an ocean with the white water rolling in on the shore,
Vivid blue sky,
Deep blue ocean,
A golden sandy beach,
And yet,
There's an octopus seeming to be flying through the sky,
Looking like it's mid colour change,
Each picture resembles reality,
It seems almost like a very natural representation of reality,
And yet there's something slightly unusual about it,
And you continue turning through the pages,
Not really reading the words,
Just catching the occasional word you understand,
But really to look at the different pictures,
And as you near the back of the book,
So you see a waterfall picture,
And it looks fairly standard at first,
A waterfall probably in some woodland,
Flowing down a cliff,
Stones either side,
Trees at the top and the bottom,
The white spray at the foot of the waterfall,
And yet,
Something about the water flowing down,
Seems slightly unusual,
There seems to be a slight shimmering colour to that waterfall,
Almost like oil floating on water,
It changes colour slightly depending on the angle you look at it,
And this waterfall seems painted in a way that makes that paint look so smooth,
The paint almost looks like water,
Whereas the paint on the other pictures,
Has a slightly lumpier look to it,
You can clearly tell it was painted,
And you touch that paint with your fingertips,
Sliding your fingertips gently down the waterfall,
And bizarrely,
That paint feels slightly wet,
But apart from being a curiosity,
When you touch your thumb and fingers together,
And they all feel dry,
You don't think much more of it,
You think it's just perhaps,
You becoming over absorbed in looking through this book,
And so you continue to turn through those pages,
And as you turn through those pages,
So,
When one of the pages turns,
You suddenly just hear an almost imperceptible sound,
Like a singing bowl has just been struck,
And it's that kind of sound where you don't fully know whether you just heard something,
Or whether it was just a moment in your mind,
And so the thought quickly leaves you as you continue turning the pages,
But then,
When you get a certain number of pages through,
The same thing happens again,
Only this time that singing bowl sounds louder,
And the sound of it lingers long enough for you to be consciously aware that you definitely heard it,
Because you're still hearing it,
And you don't know where it's coming from,
And you close up that book,
Keeping a finger on that page,
Holding the front of the book with a thumb,
And the rest of your hand holding the back of the book,
And you stand up and you wander around,
Taking a look,
Trying to figure out where that singing bowl sound is coming from,
But wherever you go in your property,
It doesn't get louder or quieter,
The sound stays the same,
You even,
Even though you think it's perhaps an unusual idea,
Place the book up beside your head,
To see if the sound was coming from the book,
But the sound doesn't seem to be coming from anywhere,
It just seems to be,
And now as you've been searching a while,
It obviously fades,
And so you just go and sit back down,
Curious what's going on,
And you continue looking through the book,
And at an even spaced number of pages again,
The sound happens again,
Only this time,
There's more to it,
There's not just one sound of a singing bowl,
There seems to be multiple bowls sounding around you,
And then the gentle distant sound of an orchestra,
Not an orchestra in full swing of a song,
But that sound of an orchestra,
Before they start playing,
And because it's coming from all around you,
You have this feeling like perhaps it's outside of the cabin,
And so you walk out of the cabin,
And you can hear that orchestra sound,
And you can see the stars overhead,
The familiar sights of the different constellations,
Twinkling and sparkling,
The occasional shooting star fizzing overhead,
And the sound is coming all around you,
But you still can't pinpoint where from,
And you see in the darkness,
The most beautiful,
Friendly looking white wolf,
Just sitting there on the edge of the woodland,
As if being a guardian of you and your cabin,
And this experience you're having,
And you head back in and close the door,
And in the darkness,
You turn on some soft lights,
And you turn on some fairy lights,
That are up lining the bookshelf,
A small lamp,
And you sit back down for a minute,
Continuing to look through the book,
And then you mark a page with a bookmark,
Closing the book for a moment,
You get a pad,
And you write on that pad with a purple fountain pen,
As that fountain pen moves so gently over the page,
And you write down a bit about the experience you're having,
Thinking this is something that perhaps,
You might want to be aware of,
And remember,
Or maybe even confirm that it was a real experience,
And that you can just look and see,
Yes,
It was real,
Because I wrote it down and I remember writing it,
And then you get back to that book,
And something begins to change,
The cabin around you,
Starts to go fuzzy,
As if,
It's disappearing,
And a new reality begins to form,
And you hear a slight buzzing sound,
Like changing a TV channel,
As the cabin phases out of this reality,
And then you find yourself in a new reality,
And the book is no longer in your hand,
The chair's no longer there,
You're just standing,
In the middle of a forest,
At night time,
And you look around you,
You can see how inky dark the night sky here is,
Compared to the sky you just looked at,
You can see fireflies,
Flitting around,
Dancing between the trees,
And there's a bizarre glowing path,
And so you begin to just follow that path,
Noticing that lining the path,
The tufts of glowing grass,
And glowing mushrooms,
And each step on the path you take,
Which between the glowing sides,
Looks almost jet black,
Seems to respond to each footstep,
As if the kinetic energy,
Triggers the grass beneath each step,
To glow,
And it remains glowing for a short period of time,
And so as you continue walking,
If you look back,
You see the brightest footsteps are the ones you've just taken,
And they peter out,
In the direction you've just come,
And the 8 to 10 footsteps back,
Are barely visible,
And that fading footsteps,
Are gradually moving towards where you're stood,
And you continue walking,
Leaving footprints in this path,
And you're unsure where this path leads,
And why you're here,
How you got here,
But you continue walking anyway,
Curiosity drives you on,
And you have this deep sense,
Of how safe this environment is,
Like something's watching over you,
Make sure you don't lose your way,
And that you follow this path to the destination,
But as you follow this path,
You find that it ends at a tree,
And it's a very wide,
Very tall tree,
And you walk up to that tree,
And there's a slight warmth given off by the tree,
You run your fingertips around the bark of the tree,
Until you find a loose bit of bark,
That your fingers catch in slightly,
And as they do,
They move that bit of bark,
And a door springs open,
And you carefully,
With a slight creak,
Pull that door open,
And step inside,
And find,
There's a descending staircase,
And so you descend down that staircase,
All the way down,
Following those steps deeper,
And deeper,
Under this tree,
And the silence,
Almost feeling heavy around you,
Like the most comfortable blanket wrapping you up,
In peace and harmony,
And within that silence,
You have this feeling that it somehow links back to the frequencies of a singing bowl,
And at the base of this tree,
Deep beneath that tree,
You walk out into the most cozy looking room,
And hovering in this room,
Is a green fairy,
Her wings buzzing gently behind her,
So fast,
That you can barely tell that she has wings,
It's just a slight blur around the back of her,
And she welcomes you,
Says that she's glad you've come here,
That you've been expected,
And you ask why and how did you get here,
And she explains that the book you picked up was painted and written with specific magical ink,
And when you touched the waterfall with your fingertips,
The water that was painted with the most colorful ink,
The most magical ink,
The ink infused through your fingers,
Transporting you to the land the ink came from,
And the experience will only last a short while,
As the ink dissipates,
But that's long enough here for you to explore and learn,
To discover something new you didn't know,
And the fairy shows you through to another door,
She opens that door,
And it's a small door,
And you have to crouch all the way down,
To be able to exit through this door,
And as you exit through this door,
It's like daytime again,
But daytime in a whole new land,
Not the land you took here,
Or the location you came from,
It's a vast open plain,
With a beautiful river running through it,
And you can feel the ground vibrate,
As you notice a mammoth come into view,
And as you turn to look at the mammoth,
You see there's a whole herd of mammoths,
And they get so close,
You reach out,
And you touch the side of that mammoth,
Barely reaching up to the top of its leg,
And your hand running through the pelt of that mammoth,
As you look around you,
And see this unusual world,
And the fairy is flying off a little way in front of you,
And so you follow,
And she seems to be directing you somewhere,
And as she directs you,
She tells you there are some bits you might want to gather up,
That you might just find interesting,
And says that it would be good if you had a basket to do so,
So she flies down among the grass,
And you see her flitting around in that grass,
The grass waving and weaving,
As she cuts bits of grass down and pulls grass down,
And then weaves the most beautiful basket with the grass,
And she hands you that basket and tells you to carry that with you,
As she takes you down by the river,
And you follow that river a little way,
And then you notice that that river,
As it descends down a cliff,
Is the same one from that picture,
As you descend down the side of the river,
And you turn and look back,
And the way the sunlight here,
In this unusual place,
Catches the water,
Makes it seem to glow with all the colours of the rainbow,
But something about your eyes here,
Expands those colours out,
And she explains that most of the creatures here have even more receptors,
And detect very different colours of a very different experience,
And while you're here,
You see this world as they do,
Because you're here in an unusual way,
And she goes on to explain that when you thought that everything went hazy,
Your reality disappeared,
That's not technically how it happened,
Everything went hazy,
Because you,
As a consciousness,
Temporarily disappeared,
That it would be unrealistic to expect an entire reality to vanish,
So reality there is still there,
Reality here is here,
And your consciousness is made up of energy,
It's just information moving around,
And so that has just moved elsewhere,
It's just shifted slightly,
From the frequencies of one reality into the frequencies of another,
And that in the reality you came from,
It's almost like the body,
The mind,
Is just on pause for a moment,
As you're here exploring,
The ink just allowed you to alter your state,
And so now you're here,
Seeing this reality as it is seen by those here,
And your consciousness has created an image of what your body would be like here for you,
And phased into this reality,
Everything here sees you as you see you,
And things you do here,
You can take back with you,
Because this specific reality has a certain level of magic to it,
Which is why that ink was found here and used there,
And as the fairy talks,
So she occasionally picks different plants,
And tells you that you might want to introduce these to your home,
Just to the inside of your home,
And she makes some slight cuts to them so they won't be able to spread any pollen or do any more than be something decorative when back in your reality,
And you ask about those paintings,
About the drawings,
Whether they're of real places,
Like this waterfall,
And if so,
Did the author see them before,
And the fairy says that the author had visited this place,
And so all of those pictures are real locations here,
And they're all in reach,
And she's taking you to one now,
As she veers off,
Cuts through the forest here,
And saying that she's cutting out a corner of this river,
It flows down to the coast,
And on arrival at the coast,
You exit the forest,
And the sun here is beginning to set,
And you see the purple of the sky,
And then you see what looks like a rock formation near the cliffs,
Almost looking like it's breathing,
But then you notice it rises up into the air,
And changes colour as it rises,
And you notice that it's an octopus,
Similar to the one that you had seen in the drawing,
Lifting from the rocks,
Flying up into the sky,
Moving slow and graceful,
And you see some lizards,
Darting into some holes for the night,
As the warmth of the sun fades,
And you continue exploring,
And that fairy guides you along the coast,
And you can see along the coast as you hear the way the water rolls into the shore,
What looks like a small campfire,
And a small little camp,
And you head over towards that,
And the fairy introduces you,
And tells you that this sage is the wisest being in the land,
And they already know your name,
And so they greet you and talk to you,
As if they already know you,
And they hand you a journal,
And they tell you it's the journal of the person who wrote that book,
Of their experiences when they explored this land,
Only this journal,
Being from this magic place,
Instantly translates into writing that you can read and fully understand,
And the journal will help you understand the book,
As they tell the same story of this adventure,
And then they hand you a small origami bird,
And they tell you to place that on your windowsill,
And that will let the creatures of the woodland and the higher beings know that you have this interdimensional connection,
And the means to psychically travel through the dimensions,
And you'll be able to explore those dimensions,
But rather than currently just touching that ink,
And going to the one other dimension where the ink came from,
They're going to give you something which can help you to be able to move from one dimension to another,
Through more than just these dimensions,
It'll be a guide,
A guide who will be able to support you,
Be with you,
And all you have to do,
Is whisper its name,
And the consciousness of that guide will be there,
And this sage hands you a small teddy bear,
And then the sage tells you that secret word,
And you then lean over,
And you whisper that secret word to the teddy bear,
And in a slight haze,
The teddy bear suddenly seems to have a cape,
And become conscious,
And it greets you and meets you,
And introduces itself,
And anytime you don't need them to be around,
They just travel back in consciously from this location,
To wherever they want to be,
But they have a connection with that teddy bear,
That's inert when it just sits there,
But becomes the guide,
When you whisper that word,
And want it to be there for you,
And as the guide,
And you can hold that teddy bear,
Or it can hold you,
And when you have contact,
The two of you fall into the same frequency,
And can then travel through different universes,
Through different realities,
And so then,
You begin to make your way back,
Guided by that green fairy,
And you feel things beginning to shift for you,
And the fairy explains you're finding your way back to your reality,
And to remember everything here,
And as everything goes fuzzy and hazy around you,
So you find reality shifting,
And you find yourself back in that chair,
And that teddy bear sat on a chair to one side of you,
And you wonder whether it was just a dream,
But then there's a teddy bear,
And as you look around,
You then notice that grass basket on the floor beside the chair,
Containing flowers,
And you place those flowers into vases,
And put them around your cabin,
And then you notice writing appearing in the mist on the window,
Just saying,
Remember the experience,
And with that,
You find the journal,
Just sitting on a side in front of the window,
And you pick up that journal,
And on the first page,
It says,
To the reader,
Connect with me,
And write your name here,
And so,
You pick up that fountain pen,
You sign your name in that journal,
You then begin to look through the journal,
Reading the experiences of the author,
And before heading to bed,
Knowing you've got a lot to look forward to in the future,
As you begin to drift asleep,
And it's very late at night,
You hear a sound of a duck quacking way off in the distance,
Probably down near the lake,
The very slight sounds from the woodland outside,
As you turn over and rest your head on the pillow,
And you place one hand slightly under the pillow,
You feel something under the pillow,
You notice it's that origami bird,
And so you fold that out,
So that it can stand up,
You go and place it on a window,
In view of the outside,
Curious about how that will shape the experiences for you in the future,
Before then settling down again in bed,
Your mind going over the experiences,
As you drift and float,
So peacefully,
So soundly,
Asleep,
Into slumberland.
