The Steam Train And The Somnambulist

In this sleep story, you board an overnight train on your journey to find a cure for insomnia. There’s a woman in your compartment who claims she can put anyone to sleep within 10 seconds. You allow her to work her magic, and within moments, you enter a strange dream world. You recognize the figments of your own imagination as you explore the magical realm.

Train sounds
Hypnosis-inspired meditation

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw, The Sleep by Joseph Beg, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Escape into a dreamy other world via a sleepy train ride in tonight's enchanting sleep story.

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

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

Sleep in Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Tonight's story features a built-in exercise for sleep inspired by principles of hypnosis.

I'd like to thank listener Gareth for the inspiration for tonight's story.

In our story tonight,

You find yourself aboard an overnight train.

You haven't slept in some time and you hope this journey will end in you finding the cure for your insomnia.

There's a woman in your compartment who claims she can put anyone to sleep within 10 seconds.

You allow her to try her magic and within moments you find yourself in a strange dream world guided by the queen of dreams.

You recognize the figments of your own imagination as you explore her magical realm.

Myths are public dreams.

Dreams are private myths.

Joseph Campbell.

Steam and whistle on the evening air.

The smell of Paris,

Bread and wine and city streets still swirls in your senses,

Dreamlike and uncanny in your fatigued state.

The city is a blur behind you now as you approach the platform,

Avoiding collision with other passengers.

Mostly serious looking men in long coats,

Some families,

A couple who might be on their honeymoon by the looks of it.

Who knows?

Paris was not the success you'd hoped for.

No stop on this whirlwind,

Globe-trotting adventure has been.

You feel the rigidity and creak in your muscles with every step,

If you could only sleep.

That's what you've been after all this time.

It's been so long since you've slept.

The days and nights blend into each other,

Blurred at the edges and hopelessly entangled.

The way cream goes into a cup of coffee,

Pure and white and separate,

Then is stirred into the black liquid and sublimated so.

The harder you try to stir the other direction,

To separate the cream once more,

The more seamlessly it dissolves into the coffee.

Thus,

The harder you try to pull the individual threads of your days,

Weeks,

Months of travel and searching,

The more entwined each moment becomes with the larger,

Nebulous thing,

The coffee cup of your memory.

Somewhere in the tangled threads are flashes and images from your search so far.

The smoke-filled rooms and burning sage in New Orleans,

The gentle music of a woman's voice,

An herbalist and priestess who swore she could brew you a sleeping tea.

You vaguely remember the spirals of steam from the cup,

The flavor of anise and peppermint and something else impossible to identify.

Then the dingy cabins of a voyage across the Atlantic,

Traversing the emerald highlands in search of a hidden site of ancient magic,

A place you never found or at least you don't remember finding.

Navigating the twists and turns of old London town in pursuit of a secret corridor where it's rumored that a witch concocts a special potion for dream-filled sleep.

But nothing came of the search save for the dizziness and disorientation of the labyrinthine alleyways.

Then to Paris to seek out a famed Austrian physician known for pioneering new methods of healing through animal magnetism.

Instead you found his student,

An aristocrat fascinated with somnambulism,

Sleepwalking.

He tried to work his methods upon you to induce a sleeping trance to no avail.

But he knew someone in Berlin,

At least those were his last known whereabouts.

The man was something of an adventurer with seemingly limitless wealth and ambition.

The Comte de Saint-Germain he was called.

This aristocrat insisted that the count could help you.

You see he's an alchemist,

Learned in many of the unseen arts.

So here you are,

At Gare Saint-Lazare,

Awaiting your boarding announcement.

There's an enormous elegant locomotive hissing billows of steam at the platform so it appears suspended among swirling clouds like a dream.

A dream of steam,

Your weary mind volunteers.

And you smile at the intrusion.

You long for a dream of steam.

Finally it's time to board the train and you cut through a cloud of steam to ascend the steps to the passenger cabins.

You pass through the bar car and down the narrow passageways along private compartments,

Hoping to find an empty one.

It's your lucky night for you find one quickly and snag it before another passenger comes along.

Not a sleeper car but one with seats comfortable enough to pass the hours.

Outside darkness is falling and a misty rain sprinkles against the windows of the train car.

There's a long ride ahead of you and you're anxious for the train to begin moving but it takes some time for all the passengers to get settled.

You begin writing in your journal.

It's more of a log of your travels all broken into fragments and phrases.

Keeping track of where you've been,

When you've been there and what you've found.

It helps you remember amid all the fatigue and disconnectedness.

You jot down what you remember from Paris,

Simple words,

Names and sketches of your stay.

Were you there a week?

A month?

More?

It hardly matters.

You remember the marquee and the sleepwalking study.

You remember how the light fell in many hued ribbons through the stained glass at Saint Chapelle.

You remember the darkly sweet fragrance of Bordeaux wines and the taste of flaky French pastry.

You look up from the page a moment later or several moments or several hours perhaps and you're startled to meet a second pair of eyes straight across from you in the train compartment.

Brown eyes that shine in the dimness.

When did the train begin moving?

You wonder as in your periphery the darkened French landscape flies by.

When did someone enter your compartment?

She's sorry to have frightened you.

You seemed so lost in your work that you didn't even notice her come in and she didn't want to say anything to disturb you.

The train was full you see.

This was the only open seat.

You don't have the heart or the energy to protest.

You fold away your journal.

Your memory is failing to call up any other details anyway.

Your silence in the compartment save for the chugging sound of the train trundling along the tracks.

It's soothing really.

Almost soothing enough to fall asleep too.

As you stare out the window at the whizzing landscape of French countryside bathed in pearly moonlight,

You sense that the woman's eyes are fixed on you.

You can feel the warm intensity of her gaze.

You steal a glance back at her to confirm.

She's dressed all in black.

She looks well off you suppose with a black lace veil pulled back over her head,

A high neckline and a curious necklace at her collarbone.

It's an oval locket with a gilded decorative frame around the watercolor illustration of an eye.

You've never seen its like before.

It's strange in the first place to see her traveling alone.

Then again you suppose you're traveling alone and what's really so strange about that.

But for all the eccentricity of her dress and presence,

You feel comfortable sharing the compartment with her.

She radiates an inviting sense of serenity and safety.

Trust perhaps.

After a while she speaks again.

This time it's to comment on your appearance,

Ragged and disheveled.

You've been on the rails,

Ships and roads for too long and your clothing is fraying at the seams.

You only brought so many items with you.

After all you thought you'd be home by now.

But there's a kindness in her voice,

Compassion and insight.

She sees how exhausted you are.

Her accent is neither French nor German as far as you can tell.

Maybe Belgian.

Your mind is too waterlogged to decipher it and understand her words.

So you refocus your energy.

She's introducing herself.

Her name is Vivienne and she might be able to help you.

You're skeptical.

You don't tell her all the details of your fruitless quest so far.

But suffice it to say you've sought out sleep remedies from the most recognized minds across the world.

From magic and science alike.

You're off to Berlin to meet a famous alchemist as a last resort.

No herb,

No tincture,

No treatment,

No process has yet done the trick.

You fear you'll never sleep again.

Vivienne's eyes are soft and sensitive.

She understands.

But then with these hours to pass along the railway,

Why not give her method a chance?

She can lull anyone to sleep within 10 seconds.

Or so she says.

You don't answer straight away.

It's odd,

Isn't it?

An uncanny coincidence that a stranger should take the last empty seat on a train in your compartment.

And this stranger should claim to possess the very thing you're looking for.

Sometimes you wonder if all of this journey has been a long and winding dream.

If you've sleepwalked across oceans and continents and fatigue has only followed you to the realm of dreams.

Now you smile again at the things your mind likes to call up in moments of uncertainty.

Who was it who had the idea of a realm of dreams?

A metaphysical plane we visit in our sleep,

Leaving our bodies behind?

Another world?

What a notion.

And now suddenly,

It doesn't seem a strange coincidence,

This Vivienne and her mysterious method.

It doesn't seem a coincidence at all.

More of a convergence.

There's a reason she's here.

Why she gravitated to your car.

She's here to help you.

So you agree.

Why not give her method a chance?

Let her try.

Before we begin,

She says,

Make sure you're comfortable.

You settle,

Roll your shoulders and cozy up in your seat.

And find a natural,

Nourishing breath.

Don't force it.

Just flow with your breath.

Breathe all the way into the belly.

Be aware of your surroundings,

The points of contact between your body and the surface beneath you,

Your heels,

Your legs,

Your back,

Your arms,

Your shoulders,

Your neck,

The back of your head.

Feel the gentle movement of the train and listen to the sound of the engine,

The train on the tracks.

And once you're comfortable,

Grounded and settled in your breath,

She'll begin.

Are you ready?

Vivian gestures to the locket around her neck and instructs you to focus on the illustration of the eye.

She begins.

You feel your eyes slide out of focus into a fuzzy,

Hazy contentment.

First,

Vivian encourages you to choose a setting to visualize,

Like a staircase or a cave or a ladder or even a spectrum of color,

Something with multiple levels.

And visualize yourself at the top level.

She will count down from 10.

With each number,

You'll sink down another level in your chosen setting.

Down a step on the staircase,

A rung on the ladder,

Or into a wash of another hue's light.

Do you have your image?

Good.

10.

Breathe.

Prepare to sink down a level.

On your exhale,

Feel yourself descend.

9.

Deep breaths.

Sink down once more.

8.

The light changes,

Dims with every level you descend.

7.

Into the cave.

Down the side of the mountain.

6.

Another step down.

5.

Sinking down into the healing darkness.

4.

Feel your mind and body descend,

Shutting down unnecessary thoughts or distractions.

3.

Sink lower.

Deeper down.

2.

On the exhale,

Descend.

1.

Open air and cool breeze on your skin.

A feeling of lightness,

Ease,

Effortlessness.

The sound of vastness.

The smell of amber and gardenia.

Your vision returns as your eyes slowly focus.

Where am I?

You hear yourself say.

Your bare foot,

Your feet stand on something soft as down.

You look down.

It's more than a few moments before you realize that it's the surface of a cloud upon which you stand.

That's odd,

Isn't it?

All around you,

Pure sunset or sunrise.

The one with fingers rosy,

You think.

Rose gold dawn and dusk at once.

Vermilion silk sky and blush gilded edges.

The air is perfumed with unseen flowers.

When you try to move,

It's as though you tread through calm waters.

It's pleasant though,

That little resistance in the air.

That feeling of weightless relief.

You hear your name.

You're not sure from which direction it comes,

But you know the voice.

You turn all around to locate the speaker.

There's nothing but sky on all sides.

Until you turn again and see something that was not there before,

In the distance.

The palace.

And now more is materializing.

Formlessness into solidity and detail.

A road beneath your feet replaces the wisps of vapor,

Winds its way toward the far off palace.

Were you not aboard a train just a moment ago?

Or a lifetime ago?

The sound of the steam engine seems to whistle from someplace far away.

And high above you,

In the limitless vastness of it all,

A train winds like a black serpent around clouds and stars.

Your name again on the wind.

Only you know who is speaking now and where she is.

Viviane is steps ahead on the road.

She no longer wears black,

But ivory silk.

Her feet are bare.

She gestures for you to keep up.

What is this place?

You wonder aloud.

A field of poppies rolls outward as if upon your breath,

Blanketing a newly formed hillside off the path.

Viviane breezes onward and you hurry to keep pace.

But you find yourself distracted many times along the road to the palace.

Your jaw drops as you watch a herd of silver-white unicorns galloping over a distant plain.

It's cocked at such an angle they seem to run straight upward into the sky.

You run to a small and singing waterfall just off the road,

Realizing your sudden thirst.

You cup your hands to drink from it,

But at your touch,

The water splits into a great swarm of butterflies.

You lean over the edge of the waterfall to glimpse the expanse of sky beneath you.

And it becomes clear that all of this slowly materializing world,

Its magic and creatures and natural wonders ride upon the back of an enormous turtle hurtling through the infinite sky aboard this gentle giant.

All around you it seems wonders are forming.

You can see into the mouth of a cave something sparkles deep inside,

Gold or crystals or rare metal ore.

A lone crane flies overhead singing the most achingly beautiful song.

A forest springs up surrounding the palace and its trees seem to hum with musical energy.

You hurry to catch up to Viviane who continues up the road.

She takes little notice of the marvels about her,

But when you reach her you catch a smile upon her face.

You finally reach the palace gate and she welcomes you graciously to her home.

The gates are fashioned of some pearlescent metal you've never seen before.

Vines of silky sweet jasmine climb the bars.

The gate swings wide to allow you and Viviane inside the palace grounds.

You climb the steps and pass through the enormous gilded doorway.

Candlelight.

Dry ceilings and gilt frames end along seemingly endless corridor stretching out into eternity.

The hall is lined with artworks,

Surreal and magnificently alluring.

Some almost recognizable as great works by the master artists,

But ever so slightly distorted from what you remember.

And doors.

Each door unique and distinct.

What is this place?

You ask again,

Hoping for an answer this time.

And Viviane does answer.

You've been here many times,

She says,

But you always forget.

You couldn't possibly,

You protest,

A land of unicorns and turtle gods and flying trains.

It's the land of dreams,

She explains.

It's the place where dreams come to life and where they live on.

Even after you return to your waking life.

What a notion.

Before you know it,

She's pacing down the hallway.

You hurry to catch her passing a blue door carved with the image of a splendid tree and a green door in the shape of a perfect circle.

You must know more.

Viviane tells you she's the steward of the realm.

She watches over all the creations of all dreamers everywhere.

She preserves the halls of dreams.

She catalogs them.

She cares for them.

She's been called a queen,

But she's more of an archivist,

A tender of dreams.

She came to find you,

Having missed your presence for some time,

Your imagination.

The creatures and characters of your dreams have been asking about you.

So this,

You wonder,

This palace and the poppies and the caves,

These are all the pieces of your dreams?

Your own personal reverie,

Viviane smiles.

You've made quite a dream for yourself.

And the doors,

You ask,

See for yourself.

You approach a door on the right.

It's painted a deep purple hue,

And at the level where a different door might have a brass knocker,

There's a glass or crystal sphere perfectly embedded in the wood.

You try to look through the crystal with your eye,

But the image beyond it is too distorted to make out,

Beyond flickering lights and subtle movement.

You swing the door open to reveal a dimly lit room,

Candles and a fireplace,

Strewn with cushions and armchairs and small tables,

Laden with tarot cards and teacups.

You look upward,

But instead of a ceiling you see only sky,

Moon and stars.

You vaguely recall sitting at one of those tables,

Deciphering messages in your tea leaves,

But that was a dream.

One door reveals a mist-shrouded hillside,

A circle of stones lit by a will of the wisps.

Another door leads to a vast,

Impossible library.

Another opens onto a deserted castle hall,

At the center of which is a round table.

One more opens into endless space,

Swirling with the stardust of a colorful nebula.

With each door,

Each realm revealed,

Something stirs within you,

Some mythic yearning or deep enlivening familiarity.

Each mysterious setting feels like yours,

A place you once called home.

There's an emotion you can't readily describe,

Something like homesickness or nostalgia,

A vague longing,

And at the same time a quiet sense of peace.

You come to a point where you know what will lie behind the door before you open it,

As though a whole other life is returning to you,

Piece by piece.

Your heart is very,

Very full.

You continue down the hallway.

Every time you think you've reached its end,

A new length of corridor materializes as the candelabras spring to life.

Viviane is no longer by your side.

She might have gone to tend to another dreamer or to rescue another sleepless soul.

You're not worried.

This is your dream after all,

And you'll surely meet again.

But you slow down.

You could go on like this forever,

Opening doors,

Unveiling realms,

Revisiting past dreams.

Or you could stop moving for once,

Settle down,

Give yourself time and space and grace,

And let a new dream come to you,

Wash over you,

Restore you.

You close your eyes and center your breath and slow yourself down.

And when you open them,

You see that the stretch of corridor before you now leads down a set of stairs.

Candles light the way still.

At the bottom of the steps,

There's a new door.

It's nondescript for now,

No clue as to what lies beyond it.

You take a step down,

And another step,

With each step sinking down a level deeper.

And deeper down.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Ten.

Ten.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

You turn the knob,

And push open the door with With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

With ease,

You step through.

Reviews

Magic! Amazing! I listen to this almost every night to fall asleep or get back to sleep. I’ve only made it to the end once! The best for my insomnia I’ve ever found! Thank you!

I really like her story, voice and cadence. It's a good balance of similar tone and flow without bring repetitive.

Thank you! I fell asleep right away because of your voice, is so relaxing.

Super relaxing and peaceful I highly recommend it.

Love these!

Love Her❤️

Another imaginative, creative story. I loved the train ride.

I love Sleep & Sorcery!
Extremely high quality content!

As story me fell asleep, real life me dreamed of happiness

Really enjoyed it. Will have to listen again for the end.

Such a magnificent mental space these series hold. Laurel's voice and pace is amazing for sending one off to sleep.
I keep coming ck to this one to excitedly heart the end but I never get there.
It's perfectly prepared and centred... Just what I've been looking for in a sleepytime wind down.
I have to be honest in that I struggle to get to the end without falling into a deep sleep - but that's what they're for!!
I look forward to new titles and adventures often.

Lovely and creative. I’ve listened to this story probably a dozen times and still haven’t made it to the end! Thanks for creating this!

Fabulous. I didn't want to fall a sleep because the way you are telling the story is enchanting. But....I did.😴
Thank you so much.💐🙏💐
Blessed Be;
Morgaine🌸

🙏🙏🙏