The Midnight Carnival

In tonight’s sleep story, you board a night bus to a distant destination. When the bus makes a pit stop for refreshments, you find yourself inexorably drawn to a far-off spectacle, which you discover is a mysterious carnival – in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night. You indulge in sweet, magical treats and enjoy fantastical rides. | Tonight’s key ingredients: Faery dust, Body scan
Music: A Glimpse of Avalon The Crystal Castle by Flouw; Clairvoyance by Syntropy, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Visit a mysterious fair populated by magical creatures and impossible attractions in tonight's fantasy bedtime story.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel and I will 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.

Listen to my voice for only as long as it serves you.

When you're ready to surrender to sleep,

Feel free to let go of the story.

It will still be there in the morning.

If you are still awake at the end of the story,

I'll guide you through a soothing body scan for sleep.

In our story tonight,

You board a night bus to a distant destination.

When the bus makes a pit stop for refreshments,

You find yourself inexorably drawn to a far off spectacle which you discover is a mysterious carnival in the middle of nowhere,

In the middle of the night.

You indulge in sweet magical treats and enjoy fantastical rides.

The carnival workers are eager to give you gifts.

Finally,

You return to the bus and fall asleep as your journey continues.

Any time that is betwixt and between or transitional is the fairy's favorite time.

They inhabit transitional spaces,

The bottom of the garden,

Existing in a space between man-made cultivation and wilderness.

Look for them in the space between nurture and nature.

They are to be found at all borders and boundaries,

Or on the edges of water where it is neither land nor lake,

Neither path nor pond.

They come when we are half asleep.

They come at moments when we least expect them,

When our rational mind balances with the fluid irrational.

Brian Froud A sharply defined oval of light pools over the pages of your book.

As the bus rattles over a patch of uneven road,

You struggle to focus your eyes,

Which in your dreariness have read the same sentence over and over a few dozen times.

Perhaps now is the time to give up on reading,

You think.

You'd hoped to bite off a sizable chunk of this substantial novel on the trip,

But it seems sleep has come for you earlier than expected.

The sparkling lights of the city of Albany are well behind you on the interstate,

And the bus spirals now over the Mohawk River into the mountainous hinterlands of upstate New York.

You haven't spent much time in this part of the United States,

But as you move further north,

Away from New York City and toward dense forests and sprawling lakes,

Something in the energy of your surroundings shifts.

Perhaps the darkness of night lends a little extra mystery to the atmosphere.

But there's something about this part of the country that feels wild and ancient,

As though the vibrations of the land are on a different wavelength.

You close your book and reach up to click the light above your seat off.

Only a few lights,

Three or four,

Are still on at seats around you.

But there aren't many passengers anyway,

A dozen maybe.

The rest of the bus and now your seat is dark and quiet.

You recline your seat somewhat.

There's no one in front of or behind you,

And you stretch your legs forward,

Leaning your head against your plush neck pillow.

But you're not quite ready to close your eyes.

From the window,

You always like to sit on the right side of buses or trains so you can see the open country instead of the other side of the highway.

You can make out the silhouettes of tall conifers,

What might be Douglas firs or white pines.

You might be able to tell in the light of day.

There's something mesmerizing about watching the tops of the trees,

The shining black bodies of water,

And occasional small town centers whiz by outside the window.

You've always found this kind of site comforting.

It reminds you of childhood,

Cross-country road trips with family,

Counting windmills or cows in pastures,

Or red cars on the road.

The travel bug bit you late last week.

You are at odds with the mundane routines of your life,

Craving a change of scenery even for a little while.

You've always liked the idea of visiting Quebec,

And with heatwave after heatwave arriving this summer,

You're anxious to escape somewhere milder.

So you packed a few belongings,

Found a cozy-looking rental in Montreal,

And booked the overnight bus north.

You're not sure what you'll do once you get there,

Besides enjoy the green spaces and historic neighborhoods,

But you've decided that it's just what you need,

A last-minute adventure,

With no itinerary,

No guidebook.

The bus's movement is smooth and swift.

Outside the window you can make out fewer and fewer features of the landscape as the area grows dimmer and sparser.

You allow your eyelids to sag,

Then fall closed.

What feels like only a few moments later,

You're awoken by a sensation of movement,

A lurching motion as the bus slowly grinds to a stop.

You flutter open your eyes to see not inky darkness,

But artificial yellowish light through the window.

It takes a few moments to remember where you are,

Where you're headed.

You inhale deeply and roll the kinks out of your neck,

Then look around at the other bleary-eyed passengers.

The bus driver stands and announces that you'll be parked at this rest stop for twenty minutes.

You can leave the bus,

Stretch your legs,

Get something to eat,

But be back at precisely the time the bus leaves.

You contemplate simply closing your eyes once more and waiting out the break in your seat.

But you feel a rumble of hunger and the beginnings of a charley horse in your calf,

So you opt to leave the bus for a few minutes.

It's nearly midnight and you've been asleep on the bus for a few hours rather than a few moments.

You try to get your bearings in space,

But the name of the rest stop tells you little about your location.

According to the GPS on your phone,

You're somewhere outside of Saratoga Springs.

The pin on the map is in the middle of a largely vacant swath of upstate New York.

This rest stop and a squiggle of highway are the only landmarks in the empty green of the image.

The nearest town looks to be Fort Edward,

A good ways away.

The vacuity in the map is reflected in your surroundings.

Beyond the pale wash of fluorescent light,

The landscape is shrouded in murky darkness.

Every few seconds,

The swell of headlights on the highway floods the scene with momentary illumination and passes.

You are just about to turn into the all-night convenience store to purchase a snack and something to drink.

When a faint glimmer off in the simmering darkness catches your attention,

At first,

You think it's only a mirage,

A reflection perhaps of car lights on a distant reservoir or pond.

But that's not right.

There's something out there generating its own light,

Something very irregular,

Not a blinking signal tower or power generator.

It's nothing,

You think,

Even as your mind invents strange and fantastical explanations for the light.

You've always had an active,

Wild imagination.

Oh,

But it's not nothing.

Before your eyes,

Which are fixed on whatever it is,

The light is shifting and growing,

Expanding or extruding,

Until it's not just one single light source but a network of them,

Shimmering like gold glitter in the dark of the night.

Can anyone else see this,

You wonder?

The lights,

Some of them static and some moving in curious patterns,

Have grown to a large constellation out there.

And you think you hear,

Is it your imagination again or do you really hear it?

A faint spiral of calliope music issuing forth on the night breeze.

Before you even realize what you're doing,

You're walking away from the rest stop,

Away from the bus,

Toward the spinning network of lights like a moth to flame.

It's as though an invisible string draws you inexorably forward,

One that's wrapped around your heart.

And the closer you draw to the lights,

The more the spectacle ahead comes into focus.

Indeed,

That was calliope music,

Jaunty and expressive on the night air.

It grows more present in your ears,

Along with the sound of laughter and shrieks of delight.

A bevy of scents fill your nostrils.

Something rich and animal,

But also the scent of a thousand delicacies.

Sweets and salty popcorn and fried foods and funnel cakes.

Your string lights and floating lanterns is,

To your awe and wonder,

A red and white vintage circus tent,

Its curtains drawn and inviting.

And beyond it,

Impossible that you couldn't see it before,

But there it is,

A brilliantly illuminated ferris wheel.

Rows and rows of stalls for games and food vendors,

All appearing as though they've stepped out of the early twentieth century.

It occurs to you that you might be dreaming.

You might have in fact chosen to close your eyes back there in your bus seat.

You might already be en route once more to Canada.

For surely only steps away from the rest stop,

You would have seen the attractions of a carnival more sharply.

They couldn't have shifted into being before your eyes.

And what would such a thing be doing out here in the middle of the night,

In the middle of nowhere?

But the sounds and smells and sights are so infinitely clear now,

So textured,

Bright and alive with authenticity that it can't be a dream.

It must be real.

There's a bunting covered archway that marks the threshold of the strange carnival,

And you hesitate to step through it,

Drawn as you are to the mystery of it all.

First,

You look at your phone.

It's just now midnight.

Then you turn back and look at the bus and the rest stop.

Rather than a few dozen steps away,

It seems miles and miles off,

As though the distance has stretched through time.

And it feels a world and a half away.

Only sixteen minutes until the bus departs to tackle the stretch of highway still ahead.

Perhaps you should go back.

But something swells deep within you,

Growing with a breath that carries the scent of carnival fare,

Something wild and adventurous.

Whatever lies beyond the archway,

The curious mirage and the sticks of New York,

Might be just the thrill,

The escape you've been so desperately craving.

Feeling light as a balloon and letting all thought of the road fall away as you turn your head from the rest stop,

You step beneath the bunting and into the carnival grounds.

At once the sensory experience heightens.

The smells are more enticing.

The lights are more colorful and the sounds are more musical.

A rush of childlike giddiness comes over you.

You feel small and silly,

Frivolous like a child with a pocket full of quarters and an insatiable sweet tooth.

All around you is sugary,

Sweet and overwhelming.

You hardly know where or how to begin.

Eyes wide,

Reflecting the floating paper lanterns,

Wonderful how they seem to hang and bounce on the air,

As if held there by magic,

You wonder what the trick to it is.

You stroll through a line of wood stalls at which people of all ages stand,

Cheer and play games.

All these people,

You think,

In the middle of nowhere,

In the middle of the night,

All these children out of bed.

What a strange phenomenon.

One of the games catches your eye for its bright,

Vibrant colors.

The backdrop of the stall is painted with a thick,

Bold rainbow across its corners.

Your eyes follow the arc of the rainbow to its end in an illustrative pot of gold.

There's also a cartoonish image of a leprechaun,

Smiling and rubbing his hands together as he eyes the treasure.

The game being played,

You recognize,

Is a sort of ring toss.

A coin toss,

Rather.

The participants,

Three children of varying ages,

Are attempting to throw comically large gold coins into their designated pots,

Each pinned to the back of the stall and painted with a dollar sign.

You remember a parent once telling you that all carnival games are rigged,

And you suspect that may be true with this one.

The children are laughing and shouting,

And each misses every toss they make.

You glance at the game operator.

Like the cartoon leprechaun in the backdrop,

He's dressed up in green and gold with a funny top hat and a shamrock at his lapel.

He looks over at you,

And you hastily avert your gaze.

When you look back,

He's still smirking in your direction.

Beneath his hat,

You think you see how curious that his ears come to a subtle point.

He winks at you,

And to your surprise,

Tosses you a coin.

A souvenir,

He calls out.

It's about the size of a quarter and looks to be of real gold.

On one face is an engraving of the rainbow and a pot of gold.

On the other is an image of something like a winged pixie.

You pocket the coin and thank the operator.

You continue to walk through the stalls and observe the goings on.

Your focus is continuously drawn upward with the revolving of the brightly lit ferris wheel.

Incandescent and blooming from the center of the wheel,

Its lights blaze in rippling patterns.

Once you stand directly beneath it,

You're amazed at how monumentally tall it is.

The highest point seems to disappear into clouds and stars.

You're certain now that you should have seen such a thing from the highway.

This carnival is much more than meets the eye.

The rumbling of hunger is still present,

So you approach a food stand.

There's a short line,

Only a couple of people ahead of you,

And they come away carrying armfuls of popcorn and corn dogs.

A freckled young woman with a bright purple pixie haircut asks for your order,

And feeling a craving for sweets,

You cautiously point to a few menu items with enticing names.

Very floss,

You assume,

Is cotton candy,

So you order some.

And to quench your thirst,

You ask for a Sprite Lemonade,

Which must be extra-citrusy and carbonated.

The young woman tells you to your surprise that it's on the house and goes to retrieve your items.

The fairy floss is indeed cotton candy.

It's puffy wisps of spun pink sugar whipped onto a paper cone.

But it shimmers and glints in the carnival lights as though it's run all the way through with sparkling rainbow glitter.

It has an otherworldly quality,

Seeming to disappear and reappear in strands before your eyes.

And the lemonade,

Though pleasantly bubbly,

Is flavored not with citrus soda but with something like tart,

Hibiscus,

Or elderflower nectar.

You enjoy both,

Feeling pleasantly light-headed as you tear off pieces of the fairy floss and let them melt on your tongue.

You check the time on your phone,

And you're surprised to see that the time still reads 12 midnight.

But you think little of it,

Sipping happily on your lemonade.

You don't even notice that with each bite of fairy floss you eat,

Your feet hover another centimeter off the ground until you step not across grass,

But buoyant,

Thin air.

And now you arrive before a most marvelous sight,

A carousel,

Fashioned like one of the antique steam-powered ones,

With an ornate canopy and bright,

Warm bulbs.

Finishing your refreshments,

You marvel at the smooth movement of the jumping mounts,

Which glide up and down with amazing,

Near-lifelike grace.

The carousel slows to a stop,

Its calliope tune winding down,

And you see that the mounts are not only horses,

But the most marvelous creatures,

Winged horses,

Unicorns,

Horses with fins and long,

Fish-like tails,

Dragons,

Griffins,

Winged lions,

And tigers,

Animals and hybrids that seem to have stepped from the pages of myth,

Fantasy,

And imagination.

You step eagerly into the line to ride the carousel as the previous riders stumble out,

If only to admire the mounts up close.

Once you step aboard the platform,

You're even more impressed with the craftsmanship.

The level of detail,

Texture,

And realism in the creatures is astounding,

And each is more creative than the last.

You hurry to select a mount as children scurry toward the unicorns and tigers.

You find a beautiful,

Unrecognizable animal that seems to call to you on the outer ring.

It's not unlike a horse at first glance,

Though elegant horns grow from its head,

And it's covered from head to toe with silver and blue scales.

Its hind parts are more reptilian,

With a serpentine tail curled behind.

It has wings,

Too,

Which are folded by its side.

It resembles the union of a horse and a dragon,

Something powerful,

Loyal,

And,

You sense,

Lucky.

The operator calls for all riders to board their mounts,

So you climb onto the creature's back and grip the metal pole.

A sense of electric anticipation builds as the gears and cranks begin to turn and the music crescendos.

And you're off.

The merry-go-round turns slowly at first,

Then gathers speed.

Your surroundings become a blur and the breeze feels cool and invigorating.

You feel light-hearted,

Carefree,

And boundless.

Sometime after the ride begins,

The stiff fiberglass and shiny varnish of your mount,

The dragon-horse creature,

Softens beneath you.

You're not sure when it happens.

It's as though a hard outer shell has melted away to reveal the truth underneath.

You look down to see that the dragon-horse,

Scaled and silver-green,

Is gracefully galloping and whipping its head in the wind.

Its snorts and little spirals of smoke escape its nostrils.

It is alive and soft and real.

You hold tight around its neck and look around to the other carousel mounts and riders.

All are alive.

The unicorns,

The winged bears,

The other chimeric wonders.

And all are running,

Galloping,

Flying in place.

Your dragon-horse unfurls its silver wings and soars,

Treading the air in line with its fellows on the carousel platform.

Laughter,

Music,

Whinnies and roars spin around the axis of the carousel.

It's exhilarating,

Unlike anything you've ever experienced.

And yet,

You feel no fear.

Only an innate sense of trust in your steed.

You want the ride to last forever,

Or to break off from the platform and fly off into the dark sky.

You and the dragon-horse feel connected,

Moving as one through the night.

It's blissful.

But after some time,

You feel the gears and the cranks and the motors slowing down.

The world outside the carousel becomes less blurry,

More static.

The sounds of the carnival become louder than the diminishing music of the ride.

And beneath you,

The soft scales of your steed begin to harden once more into lacquer and fiberglass.

Before too late,

Though,

The creature turns its head to look back at you.

And you think you can see a smile or a twinkle in its eye.

You dismount,

Pat the dragon-horse on the muzzle,

Thinking how silly you must look,

And depart the carousel.

Your legs quiver a bit as you readjust to solid ground.

The fairgrounds seem to stretch impossibly onward in all directions.

Endless games,

Rides,

And stalls beckon you to become lost in their labyrinth.

You stop to play a game that looks similar to a balloon pop.

You have a handful of darts,

For example,

But it's not stationary balloons at which you aim.

Instead,

There are floating orbs of soft,

Colorful light that move languidly about the stall.

Fill of the wisps,

As you might have called them,

Had you come upon them in a wood.

Try as you might,

And your aim is good.

You can't seem to hit one.

Though they move slowly,

They always jump an inch to the left or right when your dart comes flying.

The operator takes pity on you,

However,

And offers you a consolation prize.

A simple,

But charming tin ring.

A strange prize,

You think,

And curious that the workers of this carnival seem so eager to give you things for free.

He urges you to try the ring on,

But an instinct tells you not to.

Instead,

You pocket it,

Ensuring him that you'll find a chain to tie it around your neck.

As you continue to explore the grounds,

Checking the clock on your phone once more and noting that it's still just 12 midnight,

You catch the fragrance of white sage incense on the air.

Your head swims as you look around for the sores and see a small,

Dark purple tent nestled between larger food and activity stalls.

Over the beaded entrance to the tent is a humble sign,

With handwritten,

Curlicue letters,

Reading,

Fortune teller.

Simply not one to seek out such things,

You find your curiosity impossible to ignore.

You part the black and purple beaded curtain and enter the tent.

It's tiny,

Only large enough for two people to fit comfortably inside.

And there's one person,

Already seated,

At the small round table in the center.

An embroidered black drape hangs over the edges of the table,

And on the drape sit a crystal ball,

A deck of oracle cards,

And a burning candle.

The seated person,

Presumably the fortune teller,

Wears a sheer,

Dark veil over their head.

You can see the shine of a pair of dark eyes,

But not much more.

With a gentle voice and a gesture of delicate hands,

They beckon you to sit down.

It's funny,

Once you sit at the little table,

A hazy silver mist seems to settle about you.

The outside noises and music of the carnival grow quiet,

Muffled,

Distant.

It's just you and the fortune teller.

They wonder if you have a question,

Something you're seeking answers to or guidance about.

You open your mouth to speak,

But they assure you you don't have to say it out loud.

You try to think of a question.

In truth,

You have many.

About the direction of your life,

About your choices,

About your relationships,

About risks you want to take,

About things you want to change.

It's hard to find just one simple question.

So you take your time until the right question emerges.

Not the ultimate question,

But the right question for right now,

On this leg of your journey.

When you're ready,

You look into the fortune teller's veiled eyes and nod.

They reach for the oracle deck,

Shuffle it casually and reveal the top card.

It's a vague and abstract but nonetheless appealing image.

On a deep blue backdrop,

You see what look like dandelion seeds,

White and wispy.

From the seeds grow long wisps of gossamer light which stream toward the bottom of the card,

Almost in the shape of a flowing gown.

The guardian at the gate,

Says the fortune teller.

This card represents your current state.

It indicates that you recognize the immeasurable hugeness and wildness of the world.

That you see life as an adventure or the potential of one.

But you may feel lost or torn in a world of infinite possibilities.

You may feel overwhelmed by choice or afraid to take a first step towards something real and life changing.

They turn the next card over.

The image on the card is of a bluish fairy hunched over and covering their face.

Though from between slender fingers,

One green eye peers out at the looker,

Inquisitive.

The fairy's hair is dark and wild,

Frazzled,

Pointed ears and what might be horns or tree branches stick out from the tufts of it.

This is the obstacle,

The fortune teller explains.

This card can represent sudden,

Unexpected change,

The breakdown of routines and structure,

The loss of one's footing.

It may mean you've settled into something comfortable in life,

Only to suddenly lose that sense of equilibrium.

Or it can be read in a more global or even cosmic sense.

That the world you know has broken down around you and you are one of many attempting to adapt to the new order.

It can signal the need to reevaluate your life,

Shuffle off any baggage you may be carrying and start on a new path.

The fortune teller turns over one more card.

Behind the veil,

You can see their eyes glittering with what might be interest or excitement.

You too feel your breath catch when you see the illustration.

It's of a fairy woman with wings spread and luminescent in a bath of moon and starlight.

She's crowned with tiny glowing flowers and surrounded by little sparkles of light.

Of her open right hand floats a gleaming orb.

On her face is a serene,

Peaceful expression.

Her gown is luminous and delicate as gossamer.

You look between this card and the first one,

The guardian at the gate,

And recognize that the sweeping gown shapes reflect one another almost perfectly.

The weaver of dreams,

The fortune teller says,

Their voice tinged with awe and mystery,

A very special card indeed.

This is the lesson they continue.

With the knowledge of the situation and the obstacle,

And here they gesture to the first two cards,

The dream weaver is trying to tell you something.

She is a kind of guide,

But more like a flash of intuition,

Creative inspiration,

Or otherworldly revelation.

She might be reaching out to encourage you to trust the instinct or inspiration you receive,

Even if it feels like it's coming from out of nowhere.

For just as she is self-illuminating,

Generating her own light,

That energy is coming from within you.

You sit with the cards for a little while,

Exploring the intricacies of the illustrations,

Curious and contemplative.

The fortune teller seems in no rush to dismiss you.

The guardian at the gate,

The change in routine,

The weaver of dreams,

The situation,

The obstacle,

The lesson.

All the cards seem to call out to you,

But you're not quite sure of the message they're trying to convey.

You thank the fortune teller and begin to ask how much you owe,

But they,

Like the food vendor and the game operator,

Insist that your first reading is on the house.

You give them a puzzled look,

But they sweep the three cards into a neat pile and hand them to you to keep.

You're bemused,

But you accept the gift,

Knowing you can contemplate the message further.

How generous the workers at this carnival have been.

Before you leave the tent,

The fortune teller asks your name.

You turn and you're about to open your mouth to speak when you see that she's lifted her veil.

There are the dark,

Heavily-lidded eyes,

Along with delicate,

Childlike features and a sly grin that gives you pause.

Something deep within whispers to you,

An instinct or a flash of intuition,

Whispers that you should not give the fortune teller your name.

You don't feel any sense of danger or trepidation,

But you listen to the voice and all you say to the fortune teller is,

I'm a traveler.

When you leave the tent,

The sounds of laughter,

Song,

And popcorn popping return.

You pass beneath the towering ferris wheel again,

Craning your neck in the attempt to see its zenith,

Which disappears into a passing cloud far above you.

Your pocket is heavy with your gifts,

The coin,

The ring,

The cards.

Though there's still much to see,

Experience,

And explore on the fairgrounds,

You begin to feel like it's time to go.

You can't explain it,

But somehow you understand that you should leave soon,

Or you might become lost in this place.

You check the time again.

Still it's only just turned midnight,

But that doesn't seem strange to you at all.

You breeze past the food stalls,

Games,

And rides.

You're walking through a row you think you've been through already,

But there are attractions now that you don't recognize from before.

Perhaps they set up or changed over while you were having your fortune told.

A laughing,

Blindfolded child attempts to pin the tail on a cartoon dragon.

A sparkling haze gathers at the corners of your eyes as you move toward the exit.

You can see the archway,

And it's bunting from here,

But as you walk,

It doesn't seem to get any closer.

You overhear a man calling for folks to gather round.

He stands before the open flaps of the circus tent on a decorative platform,

Ushering attendees inside for a marvelous presentation.

As you pass,

He looks directly at you,

Pleading for audiences to go and see the fantastical attraction before it's too late.

You consider heeding his call to go inside and witness whatever wonders lie within,

But no,

You've already decided to make your way out.

You continue toward the exit,

Ignoring the calls of ride operators,

Food vendors,

And game attendants hawking their wares and attractions in your direction.

Finally,

After what seems like hours and miles of walking,

The exit is in reach.

You almost turn around for one last look at the magnificent carnival,

But you resist.

Bunting tells you to resist,

And with a deep breath,

You pass under the bunting once more.

A strange sensation passes over you,

A sort of rush like wind or water,

And your feet thud against the dark grass as though you've fallen from a not-so-significant height.

You catch your breath,

And now you turn back.

The bunting,

The archway,

The red and white tent,

The stalls,

The carousel,

And the ferris wheel have vanished.

With them,

The sense of popcorn and fried foods,

And the sound of the calliope,

You stand alone in a dark field.

There's no moon,

But there are many,

Many stars overhead.

You can see from here the uncanny yellow of the rest stops light.

The bus hasn't left yet,

You realize,

With a sigh of relief.

You check the time.

It's 12.

01.

Curious.

You walk back to the rest stop,

Feeling less nimble,

Less light on your feet than a moment before.

A dream brought on by delirious exhaustion and inky darkness and gnawing hunger,

You think.

You purchase some snacks from the convenience store and re-board the bus with a few minutes to spare.

The bus pulls away from the stop and gains momentum on the dark stretch of highway through lake country,

The Adirondacks,

And coniferous forest.

Before long,

Swayed by the gentle rocking of the vehicle,

The pale white shine of headlights on black pavement.

You close your eyes.

In your pocket,

There is a coin engraved with the symbols of flight,

Lightness,

And air.

A rainbow touching down.

There is a ring forged from the metals of the earth,

Rooted to the land.

There are three cards reaching out to deliver you a message.

A guardian,

A seismic shift,

And a dream weaver.

You won't realize they're there until morning breaks over Montreal.

Music Soften and breathe and be still.

Feel the earth beneath you,

Solid and vast,

Always in motion and yet always right where you left it.

There's nowhere else you need to be right now but here,

Preparing to sleep.

Bring your awareness to the soles of your feet,

The toes and the heels,

The bottoms of the feet.

Release any tension and soften the bottoms of the feet.

Let go and ground yourself.

Feel rooted,

Connected to the earth and balanced in space.

Follow the sensation into the ankles.

Feel the ankles grow heavy,

Grounded,

Rooted and release any strain in the feet or the ankles,

Especially the front of the ankles,

The tops of the feet.

Let your feet and ankles become heavy and dig deep into the earth like roots in the soil.

Now move awareness to your calves.

Let them become heavy,

Rooted,

Grounded and balanced.

Feel where the calves or shins touch your sleep surface and let them sink slowly and softly.

Open the knees.

Let the joints loosen and relax.

And the thighs soften,

Sink into the sleep surface,

Grounded,

Surrender.

The hips and the sacrum melt,

Become heavy,

Grounded through your roots,

Seeking balance and connection with the earth beneath you.

Relax the spine,

The tailbone and vertebra by vertebra,

Sinking one by one,

Becoming heavy and rooted,

Connected with your sleep surface,

Soften into the earth.

Relax the shoulders and the neck,

Finding surrender to gravity,

Sinking and softening.

Let the upper arms become heavy,

Languid and soft,

Sinking into your sleep surface.

Open the elbows,

Let the joints be loose and easy.

Relax the forearms and the wrists,

Soften the wrists.

And ease and heaviness,

Soften the palms of the hands,

The backs of the hands and all the fingers.

Relax the face,

The jaw,

The mouth,

The eyes and forehead and the scalp.

Open everything,

Root down and sink.

Know that the earth will catch and support you.

Feel the whole body,

Heavy against the earth,

Rooted and grounded,

Cradled,

Be still and soft.

Now is the time for stillness.

In the morning,

Fairy dust,

Flight and adventure.

For now,

Rest,

Roots and ease.

Good night.

Reviews

Yep, had a nice nap thank you!!✨🍃💚♥️✨🙏🏽😊

As always an excellent story, so well read and so calming. For me this was quite exciting and I heard most of the story. I think this story is handy, for me, when I know I won’t fall asleep quickly and want to stay calm. I fell asleep as soon as it ended.

Beautiful storytelling, soothing voice and overall performance is amazing.

Always lovely 🥰🥰🥰

Love this story and your voice, I come back to this one a lot 🙏

Wonderful story! Your voice is so calming, thank u!
Tami

I always fall asleep quickly & sleep deeply with thhis story. Soothing

This was Magical! Maybe some day I'll find my Carnival. 🤹🍿🍭🎠🚆🚇🎪🔮Thank you for sharing this Fantastical Journey 💜

I can't tell you how many times I've listened to this story. It is my go-to that I listen to almost nightly. Something about it is just so calming and sleepy.

I have no idea how good the story line is about the carnival because I fall asleep within 15 minutes of this sleep story starting.

Thanks Laurel for a wonderful and relaxing sleep story.

I can see it all… in dream sized shards as I wake and sleep…always delightful.

Thank you for another wonderful story.

Very relaxing!

This is amazing and dreamy with such magical imagery. Love it!

Wonderful. That saved me yesterday. Bless you . 🙏

I’m really enjoying this series and don’t think I’ve made it past 10 minutes of active listening. That’s great because it means I’m sound asleep by then!💕