Magic Lantern: Prague Comes To Life

In tonight's story, you’ll travel by train to the breathtaking city of Prague in the heart of Bohemia. You slip away from your tour group into a dreamlike version of the city where art, music, history, and fairy tales spring to life all around you - and you discover your miraculous ability to fly. | Czech folklore |
Yoga Nidra-inspired body scan | soothing music
Music: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw; Way Beyond Eternity by Claude Signet; Clairvoyance by Syntropy from EpidemicSound

Transcript

Welcome to Sleep and Sorcery,

A folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

Step across the threshold into a world of myth and magic where you can safely drift off into a deep and comfortable sleep.

My name is Laurel and I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

On each episode of Sleep and Sorcery,

I'll carry you away to a far off time and place where you'll encounter magic and mystery,

Folklore and fairy tales on your way to sleep.

This time is yours.

Concentrate on my voice only as long as it serves you to do so.

And when you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and voyage into sleep.

If you're still awake at the end of the story,

I'll guide you through a relaxing body scan.

Tonight,

You'll travel by train to the breathtaking city of Prague in the heart of Bohemia.

Noticing a curious flickering light in a vacant courtyard,

You slip away from your tour group into a dreamlike version of the city where art,

Music,

History and fairy tales spring to life all around you.

In this magical cityscape,

You discover your miraculous new ability to fly and you soar through some of the city's most magnificent sights by the light of the full moon.

I see a great city whose glory will touch the stars,

Libuche.

Before we begin tonight's story,

Take a moment to slow down.

Sometimes it can feel as though there aren't enough hours in the day and we move through our lives at a breakneck pace trying to maximize productivity.

But right now,

There is nothing you need to do.

There is nowhere you need to be but right here.

Bring your awareness to your body.

Your body is your home.

If you like,

Bring your hands to your body.

Maybe one hand to the heart and the other hand to the belly.

Breathe.

Feel how the belly rises and falls with the breath.

Just settle in here.

Feel the contact between your body and the surface you are sitting on or lying on.

Imagine the imperceptible vibrations of the earth beneath you.

Slow everything down.

And if you like,

Offer a word of thanks to your body,

In your mind or out loud,

For carrying you through this day.

Show your body kindness and gratitude for everything it does for you.

Give your body and your mind the grace and permission to rest.

You deserve it.

A gentle drizzle coats the train window as the central European landscape rushes by.

Another small town radiating outward from a gothic church and town hall shrinks into the distance.

Now,

Acres of farmland,

Wheat,

Barley,

Hops whiz by your eye line.

You smile.

It can't be long now.

To take a last look at the sketch you've been working on,

Then close your notebook and pack it safely into the front pocket of your backpack.

You fold up the tray table and recline backward in your seat,

Letting the pleasant jostling of the train's movement comfort and soothe you.

It's been a quiet ride from Vienna.

A few other passengers in your car took advantage of the calm to sneak in an early afternoon nap or reading session.

Like the young man sitting across the aisle from you,

You couldn't help but squint to make out the title of his reading material as you're always looking for new books to try out.

It was called Too Loud a Solitude.

You made a note in your sketchbook next to a sketch of St.

Stephen's in Vienna.

It might be worth a read.

A stoic conductor makes his way down the aisle offering a few words in German,

Then Czech,

Then English.

You'll be arriving in just a few minutes,

He explains and reminds all passengers to check that they have all their belongings.

You lean your forehead against the glass of the train window and a head refracted through the tiny droplets of rain.

You can see the horizon of farmland slowly transition to suburb,

Industrial buildings and age-old residences staggered with mighty hills and slopes.

Prague awaits.

Your last visit to the city was years ago while you were still in school.

A study tour that immersed you in the language,

Literature and architecture of the Czech lands and their capital city.

Fragments of the trip have returned to you slowly like dreams in these last few months.

You think fondly of a visit to the Lennon Wall,

A crowd-sourced memorial tucked away on quiet Campa Island.

A wall layered with images and messages of love,

Peace and music,

An ever-changing,

Everlasting monument to the beloved Beatle John Lennon.

It's never the same sight twice.

And it's the only place in Prague where graffiti is not only allowed but encouraged.

As you reminisce,

A half-remembered lyric floats quietly through the tunnels of your mind.

Something about a tree and dreams and living with eyes closed.

Outside the train window,

A formidable equestrian statue tops a thickly forested hill.

Below the city of red roofs and gothic spires materializes,

Nestled in the bend of her mother river.

The rain outside seems to be thinning to vaporous mist in the gauzy afternoon sun.

The train trundles round and through municipal parks and commercial veins,

Offering glimpses of Romanesque,

Medieval,

Brutalist,

And neo-gothic architecture before pulling into the Art Nouveau Lávny Nádraží,

Prague's main railway station.

As you disembark the train,

A familiar fragrance fills your nostrils,

The scent of Prague.

It's so sweet,

So specific,

So nostalgic,

And yet beyond description.

Is it the honey-sweet perfume of the linden trees carried on a summer breeze?

The roasty spices of pastry stalls in the city center?

Whatever it is,

You take the scent in contentedly,

Welcoming the rush of memories that accompany it.

You check your watch and are pleased to see that there's plenty of time to reach your rental apartment and freshen up before meeting up with a tour group in Wenceslas Square.

It's more than a short walk to your accommodations in the Vinohrádě district of the city,

But after a few hours on the train,

You feel energized and excited to walk the cobbled streets of Prague.

You took great pains to fit all your belongings for this trip into a lightweight backpack to allow for just this kind of opportunity.

The walk takes you past the National Museum,

A stunning neo-Renaissance building,

And the charming Namiastí Míru,

Or Peace Square,

Which hosts a lovely market under the towers of the Church of St.

Ludmila.

You stop to purchase a ripe golden apple to enjoy as you walk through the square.

A few labyrinthine twists and turns lead you at last to the apartment,

Tucked away in a quiet courtyard.

The ground floor hosts a little coffee shop,

And you make a mental note of the food menu.

This will make a perfect stop for breakfast in the morning.

A ginger cat snoozes in the flower bed outside the coffee shop's open window.

She raises one eyelid as she senses your passing,

Then closes it again.

Your lodgings are on the third and topmost floor of a sturdy wooden staircase.

You follow the instructions to open the lock box,

Then turn the hefty brass key in the lock and enter the space.

The apartment is even more luxe than the listing suggested.

Spanning the entirety of the third floor,

It's beautifully appointed with a mixture of eclectic styles.

You drop your bag on the floor and start to get your bearings.

Before anything,

You head to the large window that faces out toward the city.

It provides you a unique,

Wide view from which you can see the Church of St.

Ludmila,

The National Museum,

And even the distant and green Letna Park,

Which hangs over the city and the river.

There's a distinct,

Old-world charm to the apartment despite its evident updates and renovations.

It retains thick,

Exposed wood beams across the ceiling,

And you discover that the beams in the airy bedroom are carved with hand-etched floral patterns.

With the rain past,

You look forward to opening the windows tonight to allow in a sweet-smelling summer breeze.

St.

Louis prints hang throughout the apartment,

Depicting architectural details from significant city landmarks,

St.

Vitus Cathedral,

The Old Town Hall,

The Royal Ball Court.

With just over an hour before your walking tour,

You unpack a few essentials and hop into the shower to refresh after the long train ride.

As you stand under the waterfall showerhead,

You feel the warm steam opening your pores.

The eucalyptus-scented cleanser clears your airways.

With every drop of water and every exhale,

Your muscles loosen and relax after the stillness and cramps of the journey.

After drying off,

You feel a complete reset.

Lying down for just a moment on the plush duvet of the bed,

You briefly consider forgoing the walking tour.

After all,

You've been here before,

Albeit many years ago,

And an afternoon nap sounds especially luxurious after the pleasant shower.

But with some effort,

You manage to lift yourself from the comfort of the bed,

Pack up your keys,

Wallet,

And notebook,

And head for the rendezvous point.

As you pass through the courtyard and by the coffee shop downstairs,

You notice the ginger cat has moved from the window flower bed and onto the cobbled sidewalk where she quietly bathes herself.

She chirps as you walk by and follows you for a few steps before becoming distracted by a gaggle of English sparrows arguing over a crumb of pastry in the street.

You retrace many of your steps past the market in Namaste Miro and the National Museum,

But turn toward the city center rather than the train station.

The meeting point for the walking tour is the equestrian statue of Saint Wenceslas in Waclavske na Mjasti or Wenceslas Square.

You find the tour guide easily.

She holds a colorful umbrella bearing the name of the tour company over her shoulder.

She smiles and greets you with a heavy Czech accent and beckons you to join the handful of people already rifling through their guidebooks or conversing about the pleasant change in the weather.

At a few minutes past the hour,

The guide gathers the dozen or so tourists into a circle and introduces herself as Viktorka,

A graduate student from Brno studying history here in Prague.

In today's tour,

She explains,

You'll explore the historic city center,

Learning about the tumultuous history and fascinating legends of the Czech capital.

And there's no better place to begin to that end than here,

At the foot of the statue of Saint Wenceslas or Svati Waclav as he's known by his people.

He is,

As Viktorka explains,

The good King Wenceslas from the Christmas Carol.

And at this,

An older English couple let out a sigh of recognition and exchange an amused glance.

Though Wenceslas was certainly a real person,

Viktorka continues,

His history is mixed and muddled with myth and legend,

Making him in a way analogous to King Arthur of the Britons.

He lived and served as Duke in the 10th century and became a patron saint of Bohemia after his martyrdom.

According to legend,

An army of loyal knights sleep to this day under Mount Blanik.

And in the country's hour of need,

This very statue of Saint Wenceslas will spring to life,

Rouse the sleeping soldiers and march forth.

In this same legend,

The charging Duke will cross the Charles Bridge,

An important stop on today's tour,

Trip upon a loose stone,

And reveal the magic sword of Brunsvik.

Wenceslas will wield this legendary sword in the defense of his country and people.

As Viktorka weaves history and legend,

You gaze at the face of the statue of Saint Wenceslas.

The story does remind you of King Arthur and many other kings under the mountain,

Resting as they await their people's cry of need.

You imagine the statue's face twitching,

Softening,

And stirring into an expression of power and devotion.

You picture the horse upon which Saint Wenceslas sits,

Shaking its head,

Releasing centuries of stupor to carry on hence.

What a sight that would be.

The fantasy hums and thrums through your mind until you realize that the tour group is moving on,

Traveling together down the bustling Wenceslas Square.

You leap to catch up.

As you walk downhill through the enormous boulevard,

Viktorka points out significant sights.

The square is rich with revolutionary history and 20th century landmarks disguised among unassuming commercial outlets.

Viktorka explains that Wenceslas Square is part of Prague's new town,

Though new is relative as the area was constructed under King Charles IV in the 14th century.

You'll now pass through the Powder Gate into the Old Town,

Much of which reaches back to the 12th century and earlier.

The path you'll walk,

She explains,

Is known as the Royal Way,

The traditional coronation route for Bohemian monarchs.

It begins in Republic Square.

The Old Royal Court passes through the Old Town,

Across the Charles Bridge,

And up to the magnificent Prague Castle.

If your tour group can time it just right,

She says,

You should be able to catch the sunset from Charles Bridge.

A titter of approval passes through the members of the group.

The pedestrian corridor of Tseletna Street is packed to the gills with tourists and lined with souvenir shops.

Viktorka moves swiftly,

Raising her umbrella overhead to keep the group together.

When you reach the sprawling Old Town Square,

She finds an open space to gather the group and point out more important landmarks.

There's the towering church of Our Lady before teen.

It spires hanging over the square like a gothic cactus.

At the center of the square,

There's a monument to the reformer Jan Hus and his followers.

A dynamic,

Commanding bronze sculpture depicts Hus himself,

Standing tall,

Appearing to emerge organically from the plinth.

Surrounding him are warriors of his cause and the victorious Czech people.

One clutches a chalice.

The sculpture is rich and full of movement.

Your gaze fixes on the outstretched hand of one of Hus's followers,

Curled into a vital and energetic position.

With great emotion,

Viktorka tells the stories of the Husite wars and the centuries-long struggle of the Czech people for freedom of religion,

Language,

And country.

This square is,

In fact,

A great stage for many of the events of Hus's revolution,

Full of tragedy and triumph.

Viktorka looks at her watch and ushers you across the square,

Where a large crowd appears to be gathering.

It's almost time,

She says,

For the astronomical clock to put on its hourly show.

You and your tour companions wait with bated breath,

Staring up at the breathtaking clock with its intricate face and complications.

There are hands that tell the time of day,

Of course,

But the face also features an astrolabe which indicates the Earth's position.

The times of sunrise and sunset,

And even the phase of the zodiac.

The buzz of the crowd goes stronger as the hour grows closer.

Viktorka quietly instructs you and your tour group to direct your gaze to the figure of a skeleton which stands on a plinth to the right of the ornate clock face.

In one hand,

The skeleton holds a little bell.

As soon as you lock focus onto it,

The hand begins to move mechanically up and down,

Ringing the tiny bell.

You hear gasps of surprise and delight from the onlookers.

Then,

Above the clock face,

Two small windows open and the carved marionette-like faces of the apostles parade by the window,

Hands outstretched in gestures of blessing.

The skeleton continues to ring his bell.

The chime of it hangs on your ears with a gentle hum,

And you feel a curious kind of prickling at the back of your neck and shoulders,

As if a cool breeze has unexpectedly fluttered by.

For a few moments,

The hum is all you can hear,

Its warm tone surrounding you as the laughter and chatter of the crowd fades into the background.

And for just those few moments,

You have a peculiar feeling of separation from the crowd,

As though you stand on the edge of a humming string,

A shining,

Golden tightrope of musical frequency far above them all.

And from this hovering height,

You can see into the eyes of the saintly statues that rotate into the windows of the clock tower,

And you can almost hear their muttered prayers.

Then in an instant,

You return to the cobblestones and the humming subsides.

The crowd is cheering and dispersing and the clock is still and silent once more.

Victorka leads you onward through the labyrinth of alleyways and pedestrian streets,

But your head still tingles and thrums.

You travel down Karlova Street,

Another picturesque shop-lined corridor that's rich with the warm scent of cinnamon from the pastry stalls.

This street,

Victorka explains,

Leads directly to the Charles Bridge.

You follow her bouncing umbrella through the throngs of tourists.

But before you can reach the end of the winding way,

You begin to hear the humming again,

As though it's followed you from the astronomical clock.

A moment later,

The cool prickling at your neck returns.

You're filled now with an insatiable curiosity,

And you search the street with your eyes and ears to locate the source of the sensation.

And there,

Do you see something or is it just in your mind?

There's a passageway into a courtyard off the road.

From within,

In the dimming light of the late afternoon,

You could swear you can see a faint,

Misty orange glow.

It's somehow different in quality to lamplight.

The light is almost liquid,

And yet no one else seems to notice it.

You turn back to Victorka's umbrella.

She and the tour group are only a few paces ahead.

You could catch up if you want to.

But the urge to investigate the simmering glow is irresistible.

So you follow the light.

As soon as you step through the archway into the courtyard,

Your ears fill once again with the warm hum.

It seems to vibrate quietly with every part of your body and soul filling up the senses.

It sounds like a drop of honey in the throat.

It feels like the music of the movement of celestial bodies.

And it wraps around you like a comforting blanket or warm water.

At the other end of the courtyard,

You can see a dark green door.

From underneath it,

More of that mellow,

Tish and light glows and distinctly flickers.

With the sensation of gliding across the cobblestones,

You move toward the door,

Reach for its handle,

And open it.

What you reveal is extraordinary.

The room is dark,

But the far wall is dazzlingly illuminated.

As your eyes adjust,

You realize that projected upon the wall is the hazy image of a street,

Very like the one you just left.

It might even be a photograph of the same street from an earlier age.

In the center sits a small,

Baroque table upon which is a perplexing contraption that appears to be responsible for the projection.

Inspecting it closer,

You recognize it as some kind of early camera obscura.

The technology looks 19th century at the latest,

But probably older.

It may even be what was called a magic lantern.

The black and white image projected upon the wall of cobbled streets and marionette shops,

Pastry stalls,

And theaters seems to flutter at the edges with a hazy,

Golden ring,

Like a gold filigree.

The quality of the light shifts almost imperceptibly throughout the image,

As though a cloud is passing lazily over the sun in this vision of Karlova Street.

Your whole body is humming.

You draw nearer to the shining image,

Almost as though magnetically attracted to it.

And as you do,

Its blacks,

Whites,

And grays begin to soften into glimmering gold.

You take another step toward it,

And another,

And another.

And before your eyes,

The image deepens the illusion of dimension upon a flat wall disappearing into a kind of reality.

You step forward once more into the haze,

Through the wall,

And beyond the glow of the magic lantern.

With the next step,

Your feet meet cobblestones again.

You're back on Karlova Street,

And yet it can't be the Karlova Street from which you came.

Number one,

The bustling crowd is gone.

Spinning around on the spot,

You observe that you are alone.

After hours of shoulder-to-shoulder crowds,

You breathe in slowly,

Embracing the quiet and carefree solitude.

Another difference,

The modern candy shops and souvenir chains are nowhere to be seen.

In their place are quiet residences.

You notice the elaborate symbols carved above the door to each house,

An ornate white swan,

A shining key,

A trio of violins,

And a golden wheel.

You wonder if the magic lantern's image sent you backward in time to an era of great kings,

Mad alchemists,

And mysterious legends.

The sun has set,

But lamplight illuminates the corners and shops that surround you.

You take comfort in the silence,

The clear skies,

And the cool summer night.

What a time to explore.

You travel in the direction Viktorka was leading the tour group.

This way to the Charles Bridge,

You think.

It must be quite a sight with no tourists.

You pass through a blackened stone tower,

Carved with elegant relief to reach the bridge.

It spans out leagues before you,

And far in the distance beyond its gentle slope looms another stone tower.

Beneath you,

The river Vultava glitters,

Black and silver and symphonic in the full moonlight.

On the other side of the bridge,

Prague swells like a wave with towering hills.

Of it all,

Prague Castle and the magnificent St.

Vitus Cathedral are curled like some enormous beast sleeping,

Purring,

Watching over the city.

The Charles Bridge itself is lined with dozens of baroque limestone statues fixed to the balustrade in varying positions.

Catholic saints and national heroes gaze down at you as you pass.

You can hear the lap and rush of the river below you,

And the sound eases your mind.

You find a spot to rest against the balustrade,

Taking in the fragrance of the flowering lindens in the moonlight.

Looking back in the direction you came from,

You are moved by the sight of the tower gate and the statues silhouetted against the night sky.

In the ghostly calm,

The statuesque figures almost seem to sway gently to the music of the flowing river.

Then,

Looking over the edge of the bridge,

You see another statue mounted just below you on its own tracery-carved pillar.

A knight clad in stone armor holds a golden sword,

Which gleams as though charged by the moon glow,

Reflecting the movement of the water beneath.

There's something instinctively familiar about him.

And a moment later,

You remember that this is Brunsvik,

The lion knight of Bohemia.

Angling your head,

You can see that around the statue's feet a stone lion is curled.

In the legends,

Brunsvik was traveling through the forest when he came upon a lion who was under attack by a dragon.

In slaying the dragon,

Brunsvik accidentally cleaved the lion's tail down the middle.

But the lion's life was saved,

And thereafter he became the knight's beloved companion.

The story was the legend behind the national seal of the Czech Republic,

A two-tailed lion.

The sword in the statue's hand,

Then,

Is the one Saint Wenceslas will carry into battle in his country's time of need.

Just in thought of these companion legends,

You turn your head just as you perceive subtle motion from below you.

You look back at the statue of Brunsvik,

Which stands perfectly still.

A trick of the low light and shifting water,

You think,

As you prepare to move along.

But there it is again,

A subtle,

Almost imperceptible movement in the statue's sword arm.

You fix your gaze upon Brunsvik now,

And squint as you peer below the armored helmet into the statue's eyes.

And there,

The eyes blink once,

Twice,

Then lock with yours as the statue moves its head.

Brunsvik gives a slight,

Deferential nod to you,

Which you take as a sign of respect.

Your heart is caught in your throat as you notice the soft,

Slow rise and fall of the belly of the sleeping lion.

The statue is alive.

Brunsvik lowers his sword and slowly,

Deliberately turns it around so that the handle faces outward.

He kneels,

Holding the sword delicately in his hands,

The hilt toward you.

After a moment's hesitation,

You reach out your hand toward the hilt.

A rush of images enters your mind,

A fleet of knights at your back,

A galloping horse beneath you,

The clouds parting to let in the sun.

It's just a little bit beyond your reach.

You lean forward,

Stretching your hand out as you slide on your belly against the balustrade,

Just a little further.

Your hand never meets the hilt of the gleaming sword.

As you reach and lean against the side of the bridge,

The humming sensation returns,

And you feel your limbs plucked and pulled as if by golden strings.

Like a marionette,

An unseen force pulls you upward,

Away from the water,

And up,

Up over the bridge toward the silvery moon.

You float,

Unsupported,

As through water,

Your arms and legs drifting about independently.

You gaze down at the bridge beneath you,

Lit only by moonlight.

You can see a solitary figure marching slowly down the length of the bridge.

A sword is sheathed at his hip,

And behind him a sleepy lion follows,

Uttering a low grumble as he drags his heavy limbs.

In Brunsvik's wake,

One after another of the statues on the bridge step carefully down from their platforms and join in his contemplative walk.

Soon they,

Too,

Are silhouettes against the Lamplit city.

You wonder if statues all over Prague are coming to life,

Strolling,

Reveling,

Dancing in vacant moonlit squares.

Drifting lazily above the scene,

You begin to swim across the sky.

A warm breeze ripples through your hair as you soar over the river,

In which the moon and stars reflect,

Glittering white against the black water.

You coast along a stream of warm air.

Before long you have enough balance and control that you feel as though you've always had the ability to fly.

You only needed to take the leap of faith to discover it.

A shimmering golden haze seems to blanket the city below you,

Rising like steam from gas lamps in the alleyways.

You soar over red rooftops,

Copper cupolas,

And secret gardens toward the castle on high.

You touch down before the stately towers of St.

Vitus Cathedral,

Which spiral and blend into the black sky.

Above its pointed archways and heavy doors,

Illuminated by lamplight,

Gilded mosaics depict archangels and religious scenes.

Higher still a delicate rose window,

Looming gargoyles,

Intricate gothic tracery.

You kick off from the ground once more and rise into the air,

Soaring around the towers and buttresses of the cathedral.

You admire the stained glass,

Some traditional and some modern,

With Art Nouveau detail and arresting realism.

It's not,

You realize,

That the magic lantern has sent you back in time.

Rather,

It's transported you to a miraculous version of Prague,

In which all time is collapsed and the power is yours in the palm of your hand.

Finding a safe balcony on which to stand,

You touch down again,

Marveling at the view from this,

One of the highest points of elevation in the city of Prague.

The golden haze of lamps and lanterns mingles like mist with the silver glow of the moon and starlight,

And the river glitters far beneath.

Just to the south,

The towering Petrine Hill is blanketed with thick trees and vegetation,

And an impressive iron tower emerges from the green as though reaching upward to kiss the moon.

You can see a lattice of impossibly winding streets and alleyways,

A Byzantine network of paths less traveled.

Your eyes light on a vast Renaissance revival building that overlooks the opposite side of the river,

Crowned with gold and adorned with winged statues driving three-horse chariots.

Like the statues of the Charles Bridge,

These too spring to life,

The horses bounding into the night sky with abandon and soaring off until they disappear into the distant northern horizon.

You drink in the superlative beauty of the moonlit city,

Which seems to generate its own midnight incandescence.

As lovely as it is by day,

With its outdoor markets and attractions,

Prague is,

In your estimation,

Night blooming.

Like the statues waking all around you,

The city breathes,

Stirs,

Ripples in the still of the night.

You breathe deeply,

Inhaling the sweet perfume of lindens carried on the night breeze and try to align your breath to the subtle sweep of the earth,

The rolling hillside.

Beneath the Gothic churches,

Cobbled courtyards,

And manicured gardens,

The ancient language of the land still resonates like hidden music.

Closing your eyes,

You imagine what the land must have looked like before the city.

You open your eyes and behold a quiet,

Untouched natural landscape,

Water,

Trees,

Hills,

Rocks.

No bridges,

No churches,

No statues.

Instead of atop the cathedral,

You now sit upon a craggy bluff that overhangs the Vultava.

The only light is the brilliant moon and a dazzling assemblage of stars,

More than you've ever seen in the night sky.

The only sounds are the lazy lap of water and the hum of crickets.

Peace,

Like you've never known.

You bathe in it.

The exquisite austerity and quiet of the scene remind you of a story,

Something you read the last time you visited.

It might be history or legend or something of both.

You search your mind for the details.

Her name was Libuche,

You recall,

A queen who lived a long,

Long time ago.

She was the youngest and wisest of her father's three daughters and gifted with prophecy.

After her father's passing,

She ruled her people wisely from her seat at Visharad.

One day she was moved to walk out upon a rocky cliff overlooking the Vultava.

In the golden glow of the sunset,

Libuche envisioned a great city,

One whose glory would touch the stars.

She had this city built,

Nestled in the bend of the river and gave it the name Praha,

From the word for threshold.

I see a great city,

You utter,

Your words hanging in the sweet silence,

Whose glory will touch the stars.

Your chest thrums with the ancient vibrations of the earth and the hum of invisible bells,

The pluck of golden strings.

The river churns and the hills stir as churches,

Courtyards,

Gardens,

Towers,

Bridges all bloom forth from nothing,

Shimmering with golden haze.

The tallest towers seem to stretch impossibly upward,

Pricking new pinholes into the starry sky.

You rise to your feet and behold Prague in its moonlit splendor,

Shining and quiet and still like a plate photograph.

As the hum recedes and you get your bearings,

The image before you of a city reborn reveals itself as just that,

A photograph projected upon the wall of a dark room by a magic lantern.

You reach toward it and your hand meets the cool plaster.

You step out back into the courtyard and your eyes adjust to the purple twilight.

Beyond the archway,

You can hear the bustle of tourists who move like a wave toward the Charles Bridge.

The lamps across the city are just being lit.

You consider rejoining the tour group.

Viktorka may not have noticed your absence yet.

With a final glance at the green door,

You head toward the passage to Karlova Street.

And yet you feel exhausted from your secret adventure.

There's a soft,

Comfortable bed waiting for you in your apartment.

Rest and solitude.

Before leaving the courtyard with a flicker of inspiration,

You kick off from the ground and take flight.

Slow down and soften.

Breathe.

Feel your body melting into the surface of your bed.

Imagine the imperceptible vibrations of the earth beneath you.

Like oscillating waves that resonate through you.

A secret language or music.

Bring your attention to the toes of the right foot.

And the space between the toes.

The ball mound of the right foot.

The arch of the foot.

The right heel.

The right ankle.

The shin.

And calf.

The right knee.

The right thigh.

Feel the whole right leg.

The right buttocks.

And hip.

Softening.

Slowing down.

Now bring awareness to the left toes and the space between the toes.

The left ball mound.

The left arch.

Left heel.

Left ankle.

The left shin.

And calf.

The knee.

The thigh.

Feel the whole left leg.

And the left buttocks.

And left hip.

Soften.

Slow down.

Feel both legs together,

The whole lower body.

Breathe.

Bring awareness to the low back.

Let go of any tension or strain.

Let your awareness travel up the spine.

Feel the mid back and upper back.

Bring awareness to the belly.

The chest.

The shoulders.

Feel the whole torso.

The whole back.

And release.

Let go.

Soften.

Feel the fingers of the right hand and the space between the fingers.

The palm of the right hand.

The wrist.

The forearm.

Elbow.

Upper arm.

The right armpit.

Feel the whole right arm and where it meets the shoulder.

Release.

Now feel the left hand,

Fingers,

And the spaces between the fingers.

The palm of the left hand.

The left wrist.

The forearm.

The left elbow.

The upper arm.

The armpit.

Feel the whole left arm.

Feel where it meets the shoulder.

And soften and release.

Let the whole body soften and melt into your sleep surface.

Let your awareness travel up your neck to the base of the head,

To your ears,

Your jaw,

Your face,

Your temples,

The top of your head.

Let go of everything.

Open into the earth,

The ancient vibrations,

The humming strings,

The secret music.

You are exactly where you're supposed to be.

Good night.

Reviews

This was so awesome it took me to a whole another millennium

❤️💫

🙏🙏🙏

I fell asleep before the clocktower could chime. Thank you so much, I will be listening to this story again!!! ♥️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤

Love this whole approach - fantastic. It’s so creative and really helps me fall asleep. So grateful! 🙏🌟