Join us now on a guided journey into a mythical place of fantasy,
Where elves and other beings of legend and magic still exist.
In this guided visualisation,
You will find and meet with them.
To prepare for your journey,
Find a comfortable place where you'll not be disturbed and sit or lie down,
Close your eyes and take a few long deep breaths,
And then just fall into a natural breathing pattern.
You are walking through the quiet green shadows of a forest,
Following a path that winds among the trees.
All around you,
The ancient peace of the woods,
Gleams of sunlight,
The faint stir of a breeze in the upper branches,
Distant birdsong.
You think that you have followed this path before,
Perhaps in a dream,
And that you are looking for something.
You don't know what,
Only that you will know when you find it.
The path curves around a great old tree,
Then rises toward a small hillock.
A stream pours over it,
Dashing downward into a mossy gully of ferns.
And it is then when you see it.
A statue,
As one might see in a park or stately home,
But old,
So very old.
Time has worn it smooth,
But the shape of a person standing with one hand outstretched is still visible.
You sense,
You know that it was carved before the pyramids,
Before the standing stones that dot the landscape of the world.
It stands in a shaft of sunlight,
Hazy with the flight of tiny insects and floating pollen,
Making it seem numinous,
Dreamlike,
As if the stone is not quite solid.
The light dances,
Coalesces and sparkles over the statue,
Which seems to dissolve,
To vanish entirely.
The gleaming light pours down in front of you and solidifies into a human form.
Sunbeams shiver down a long spill of hair.
There is a simple circlet of gold about their brow.
The warrior from the sea haven steps forward and greets you with their warm smile,
A sword at their side,
And their face is as powerful,
As beautiful and as kind.
They say they thought you might find this place,
It is ancient and hidden,
But there are a few of them still on the borders of the human world,
On the edges of dreams.
And the elves,
They tell you,
Can still travel between your worlds and theirs.
Those who want to,
Can find portals anywhere,
But always on the edges,
Between water and land,
Twilight and darkness.
Anywhere that is a border,
Even the simplest things,
A doorway,
A gate,
A road,
A mirror,
They begin to walk and gesture for you to follow.
You climb the small hill on which the statue stood.
Beyond,
The path leads toward two huge trees that form a living archway.
It is filled with a shimmering light,
With an almost liquid quality.
The warrior extends their hand,
You take it,
And you both step through.
There is no sensation save that of a brief here and gone feeling of warmth as you pass between worlds.
You stare.
This is nothing like the sea haven you visited.
Vast mountains spike the sky like a wall across the world,
Trailing snow plumes from the rugged peaks.
The sky over them is a limitless sapphire blue.
Welcome,
They say,
To the towers of the wind.
The mountains drop white slopes,
Merging into the green of conifers.
Below them,
A huge castle or palace has been built.
Towers and spires rise,
Glimmering as if fashioned from Mother of Pearl.
It seems to stretch for miles,
More like a city than one building.
A wide paved road runs below you,
Curving up to great gates.
The warrior leads you along the road.
Despite the great snow-clad mountains,
The sun here is warm.
You enter the double gates into a huge courtyard,
Then ascend wide steps through double doors.
Graceful pillars stretch up to the roof,
And you touch one of them,
Seeing that it looks as if gems or semi-precious stones have been melted and run through the marble in whirls and streams of colour.
This hallway leads to columnates that run through green gardens to other buildings.
The gardens are vibrant with colour,
Flowing water,
Trees,
And blossoming flowers.
Here and there you see men and women,
Walking or talking quietly,
And when they see you,
They smile in welcome,
As if you are expected here.
There is a sound which you cannot identify at first,
Until you see the wind harps and chimes of crystal.
The music they make is not human.
It is played by the winds,
And it is beautiful,
Unearthly.
You come to a room that opens into a private garden,
The colours warm and relaxing.
You are invited to sit down on a comfortable couch.
A tray on a low table holds food and drink.
These rooms are yours,
The warrior tells you,
For whenever you wish to come here,
They will be kept for you.
Their face is like a statue's in the light,
Impossibly beautiful,
But their smile is as warm as that of an old friend.
You ask why you would be welcome here,
As you were at the sea haven.
That,
They say,
Is usually a question asked by someone who does not think they deserve something.
But why would you think that you don't deserve it?
The elves know you,
And value you,
Whatever you may feel about yourself.
As do the dragon lords,
And that is all that should concern you.
You settle back on the couch,
Lulled by the atmosphere,
By the warrior's company,
Which asks nothing of you,
But is strong and comforting.
The melody of the chimes and harps is distant,
A lovely background.
Take some time now,
To talk to the warrior,
Who you know understands you,
And the life you live.
After conversing with the warrior for a while,
You alight from the couch,
And take some time to explore this remarkable place.
The warrior shadows you about the rooms,
Which look as if they were designed with your taste in mind.
Soon,
You enter into the garden.
It is bounded by walls,
And far beyond and above,
The mountains.
The towers of the wind blaze white against the sky,
That has turned an opalescent blue with twilight.
Night-blooming flowers begin to distill their fragrance into the lucent air.
You watch as nightfall descends,
And the stars open,
Thick as scattered jewels,
In sweeps and patterns of brilliance.
Some of the patterns look vaguely familiar,
The others strange.
There is no haze of pollution here to dim their light,
And the immensity of the night sky is breathtaking.
The elf stiffens,
Their attention fixed on the mountains.
You can see nothing for a while,
And then a shift a shape appears,
Black against the starsheen,
And enormous.
Some huge winged thing that flies toward the castle,
And with a vast creak of wings and rush of air,
Passes overhead.
That is strange,
The elf murmurs.
The high citadel of the dragonlords lies to the north,
Our longtime friends and allies,
You know of it,
They do not pass over without acknowledgement.
They frown as if thinking,
I believe I should go to them,
They shrug,
And then their attention returns to you.
They say that just for now you should leave,
But only,
They add,
For a short time.
They lead you back into your rooms,
And you sit down.
They take your hand for a moment,
In a strong yet gentle clasp.
Relax,
They say,
Close your eyes,
And listen to the wind chimes,
It will not be long until you return.
