Christmas Magic: A Guided Sleep Story for Christmas

(Full immersion). Create the perfect Christmas atmosphere in the run-up to the festive season. This guided story for Christmas is a soothing and immersive sleep talk-down story for grown-ups and kids that will relax and induce sleep. It's perfect for all ages, for insomnia, over-hyped kids, for general stress relief, and for people with overactive minds, especially during the festive season. In this particular story, we have blended our Haven series with our Dreamweaver series, to take you on a memorable Christmas journey to the wonders of the far North.

Transcript

Christmas magic Welcome to this festive guided meditation designed to let you effortlessly slip into a deep state of peace and relaxation,

With the option to drift off to sleep,

Make yourself comfortable and close your eyes.

Breathe in through your nose to the count of 4,

Hold your breath to the count of 4,

And then release it through your mouth to a count of 5,

Do this several times,

Thats in for 4,

Hold for 4,

And out for 5.

Now just let your breathing fall into a natural rhythm,

You leave the small village shop feeling the bite of frosty air on your cheeks,

You came down just to get a few last things,

And met with a couple of other people doing the same thing,

The small harbour is quiet,

And the headland that encloses the little bay is sharply outlined by the sunset sky,

The sea lies calm,

The sun is beginning to sink into a rack of dark clouds and you look forward to the cosy welcome of your home,

There are still quite a few villagers about,

Many people here celebrate different things this midwinter,

But all are accepting and welcoming,

Raising their hands to wave at you,

You know that tomorrow there will be a dinner at the village hall for anyone who wants to go,

It seems as if everyone in the haven has been cooking or preparing dishes for the meal,

There has been an air of excitement about the village these last few days,

And now people seem to be rushing around as if to get everything done,

Including you,

Though you don't quite know why,

But you saw that the shop would be shutting soon,

And tonight,

The old inn will be closed,

The feeling of anticipation is as infectious as if a surprise has been planned,

And you find yourself smiling,

In the haven,

Surprises are very welcome,

Because they are apparently planned around what people like and enjoy,

There has been no snow yet,

But the smell of it is in the air,

Cold and dusty,

You are well wrapped up as you walk along the village street,

Past the cottages and little footpaths that wind between them,

Smoke drifts from the chimneys and there is the smell of wood smoke and a touch of frost,

Coloured lights glow in some of the windows,

And where the drapes have not yet been drawn,

You glimpse warm rooms and the play of firelight,

A cat trots across the street and disappears through a cat flap,

As always when you come this way,

You go through the gate into the field of the standing stones,

Your small wood is on the right and across the field to the left is the fairy wood,

Sometime in the summer a path was laid across the field to make it accessible to anyone,

Though the ground on each side is dry and hard,

Most of the trees have lost their leaves now,

Only the beech and the oaks still cling to their bronze coloured leaves,

The evergreens show dark as always,

The path leads through your smaller wood in a gentle curve that follows where the dirt track ran,

You look back toward the fairy wood for a moment and think you glimpse a flash of white as if the great stag has been observing you and is now drawing back into cover,

You have only seen it a few times but it gives you a thrill and a sense of safety like having a guardian,

Yet the whole haven is a guardian,

Maybe the stag is the spirit of it,

You take the path,

Hearing the twitter of a robin echo through the trees,

The sound carries further in the crisp air with the leaves fallen and vegetation curled back into winter sleep,

But already,

Here and there,

You see fresh shoots and the swell of buds on the tree branches that are preparing for spring,

You pass the clearing where the great oak stands proud and ancient,

Towering up into the darkening sky,

It is a strong and comforting presence,

You will sit at its feet again in spring when the air is warm and full of new leaves,

You hear the sound of the stream that rushes through the wood down to the cove,

The small bridge has been widened a little and repaired and the water runs under it cold and very clear,

The path leads on to the gate opposite your house and you cross the quiet lane,

A little further down smoke drifts from the chimney of the old ladies cottage,

The house is hidden behind trees and you can only see the rooftops,

Beyond,

The rolling hills rise toward the moorland,

A few stars are already glittering in the sky there,

But down here,

The last beams of golden sunlight strike through the trees and on to your own house,

You take your outdoor things off and step inside the embrace of your home,

You are quite ready for dinner and you eat it looking out at the fading light in your garden before drawing the drapes,

You are enclosed within the warmth and soft light of your home,

You are about to settle down for a relaxing evening when there is a knock at the door,

You are surprised but not alarmed as it can only be someone from the haven and you go to the door,

The old lady from the cottage down the lane is standing there,

She is well wrapped up and there is a smile on her face,

She tells you it is time to go and when you ask where,

She tells you a trip on a train,

Just for one night,

Everyone is going,

You are still puzzled but this you realise was the source of excitement in the haven,

The old lady tells you that as it is your first time,

She,

The oldest resident,

Wanted to be the one to tell you,

As you get your coat,

You hear the sound of the pony trap approaching,

It pulls up on the lane beside your gate,

The driver is furled in a big cloak and as always you cannot see their face but they lift their hand in greeting and it is a young hand as you have noted before,

The old lady chatters away as you are both helped in and the trap begins to move,

It carries you down the lane,

Past the old lady's cottage,

You pass the harbour and the inn,

Then the road heads a little inland again,

You see the lamp shining about the tiny old station,

The only train that has ever stopped here is the dreamweaver and you can hear and smell its furnace scent,

As you leave the trap,

It waits on the tracks,

Huge and sleek and beautifully engineered,

Villagers begin to arrive and the train's staff help you onto the train and into the viewing car,

When you are settled they give you a menu of hot drinks and snacks,

The train begins to move forward,

Slowly at first,

Then gradually and powerfully gathering speed,

The staff bring around the trays and the lights in the viewing car dim,

You can see the rush of the dark land pass you,

At times you see a glow in the sky from a far off city or town,

Then there is dark again,

And the twinkle as from distant homes that become further and further apart,

The stars light the sky almost white and with a shooting star burns a trail of light,

It is hypnotic,

Soothing,

Everyone is quiet,

Absorbed in the journey,

You relax back in your seat feeling calm and a little dreamy,

You think you doze for a short time and when you open your eyes,

The sky is illuminated by the aurora borealis,

Curtains and sheets and undulating radiance like rippling silk,

For a long while you simply watch it until out of the corner of your eye you see whiteness flashing by and realise that the dreamweaver is travelling through a snowy landscape,

Pine trees are shrouded in cloaks of white,

The dreamweaver begins to slow and the passengers gather up their coats and hats as it stops smoothly at a tiny station,

Beyond it,

Under that brilliant sky,

Stands sleighs,

Each with a driver,

As you leave the train the crisp cold of the air makes your breath steam in frosty clouds,

You smell snow and pine,

The driver of your sleigh seems so similar to the driver of the pony trap back at the haven,

You ponder the idea but decide to think of it later,

They hand you a little cup that looks as if it was carved out of some semi precious stone,

Steam curls up,

It smells of fruit and spices,

The old lady is in the sleigh next to yours and she tells you not to worry,

They know what you like,

Reassured,

You take a sip and taste the fruits and spice,

It warms you to your bones,

When the sleigh begins to move off,

You are delighted,

It skims easily over the crust of snow into a forest but this is no normal winter forest,

Lights garland some of the trees as if someone has taken the trouble to decorate all this woodland for the winter celebrations,

You smile,

Maybe this is a dream but you can still taste the spices of that warming drink and feel the chill air on your cheeks,

The path winds through the woods,

Above the aura still dances,

You can hear the swish of the other sleighs following,

Then the woods open out and you almost stand up,

You want to laugh out in a kind of disbelief because you know what this place must be,

It looks like a truly enormous cottage,

The size of a castle yet still with a cosy and welcoming appearance,

The windows glow as if lit by candles or lamps and a large pine tree stands before it,

All decorated and gleaming,

A wide path of clear snow leads to the great double doors which swing open as the sleighs draw to a hold,

Warmth and light rush out into the cold night air,

Whatever you had expected Father Christmas to be,

They are that and more,

Jolly,

Yes,

Certainly there is a kindliness to their face but he is ancient too,

You realize,

In the way of a slow growing oak tree that seems to become tougher and stronger with the passing of the years,

And his eyes are merry but also intelligent,

They are eyes that have seen time pass,

He welcomes you all in,

The house is huge but comfortable,

The furniture looks lovingly worn,

Smoothed by polish and the years,

Above the fireplaces are wreaths of holly,

The berries bright as glossy paint and a small living tree in an earthenware pot,

There is a scent which you cannot quite identify until you decide it is the smell of christmas,

A kind of magic that children often feel but adults can lose,

Here it is possible to believe in everything again,

Father christmas nods and you accept without questioning that he heard your thoughts,

He says this is one of the few places left in the world with magic,

But they do exist,

And you and the other guests have just come from one of them,

He leads you all out along corridors to what you assume is the workshop,

There is certainly industry,

The tap of hammers,

Conveyor belts piled with as yet unwrapped gifts,

But it looks more like a giant model,

And as for the helpers,

If you look at them,

You see the traditional santas elves,

But from the corners of your eyes they are quite different,

And you are reminded of your midsummer night in the fairywood,

They are beings of earth and fire and starlight,

One of the helpers looks at you and gives a smile as if sharing a secret with you,

It is called glamour,

Father christmas tells you quite casually,

Everyone sees what they expect to see,

There is a storeroom next to the workshop,

Which is impossibly big and yet seems bigger even than that,

As if it just stretches,

Here the gifts are wrapped and carried along more conveyor belts to be stacked in neat piles,

At the very end stands santas sleigh,

Like the room,

It seems huge,

Made of heavy painted wood,

Decorated with tinsel and pine boughs and holly,

It must weigh tons you think,

And you think it would need a steamroller to pull it,

But reindeer are waiting in the traces,

They are enormous animals,

As big as moose,

Their antlers gold,

They look like some ancient species that roamed the tundra thousands of years ago,

Father christmas gives you a wink and says kindly to just call it magic,

Its more fun,

Gifts are being loaded onto the sleigh,

You watch as some of the helpers come around,

Offering the same hot spicy drink,

Then bells tinkle and this seems to be a signal for the doors to swing open,

Winter crisp air enters and you can see snow falling outside,

In an alcove near the doors is an old leather bound ledger,

It is open and you can see writing on it,

The old lady guides you toward it and you see that it is only a slim book,

That,

She explains,

Is because very few people ever come here,

When you ask what its for,

She laughs and tells you it is for visitors to write down what they would like as a present,

It might be something real or a little bit of magic,

You think for a moment,

Then write and put the pen aside,

The other guests follow you and you step outside,

The snow drifts down,

Soft as feathers,

Melting on your clothes and glittering in the light from the doors,

You are escorted back to your sleigh and you all wait a moment as santas sleigh emerges from the store room,

It dwarfs your own smaller sleigh,

He gives a wide and cheery wave and calls that he'll race you home,

Santas sleigh begins to move,

Slowly at first,

Then the reindeer begin to trot and the sleigh gains speed,

There is a sparkle of multicoloured lights like fairy dust and then it is lifting above the snow and into the air,

It swoops once like a farewell above you and then is gone trailing glitter,

For a moment everyone is silent,

Then your own sleigh moves and you are taken back through the glowing forest to the tiny train station,

The journey back seems much quicker and you are beginning to feel sleepy,

Maybe it was the drink or the potency of the magic or both,

It seems a very short time before you and the old lady are being helped onto the pony trap and trotting through the dark toward your home,

Outside you lift your eyes toward the sky thinking you can hear tiny far off bells,

You feel a flake of snow land on your face and melt,

Others follow it,

Slowly you enter your home and get ready for bed,

There is a warm weariness in your limbs and your bed is clean and comfortable supporting you so that your whole body is cradled,

You close your eyes and utterly relax,

Tomorrow you'll remember the experience and think about the magic of it and the magic of the haven,

But now with that distant sound of silvery bells still half audible,

You drift off to sleep.

Reviews

This is a lovely voice. I
t really puts me to sleep because I’ve never heard it to the end!

Wonderful story. It created a movie in my mind. Loved the sound effects. Just perfect!

Great sound effects and sense of place. Yet still soothing.

Yet another delightful recording! Thank you so much!!

Thank you for this wonderful magical Christmas story. It was so immersive. One I will come back to again 🙏🎄