Jessica Porter (0:11)

Hi, I'm Jessica Porter and welcome back to Sleep Magic, a podcast where I help you find the magic of your own mind, helping you to sleep better and live better. Thank you everyone for being here. It's so nice to feel connected to you all. We've gotten some nice feedback lately. I just want to say on Spotify there is a young girl, Journey. She's 11 years old from Nova Scotia and she would like to hear a very specific type of episode from the perspective of a cat. And I don't know if I can do that journey. I just don't know. I'll have to think about it. But no matter what, just so you know, I'm a cat person too, so I completely appreciate the suggestion. Weirdly, a couple of people had birthdays around our doing the birthday cake episode. So happy birthday to Natalia and Georgie. And on Apple we heard from Mark in Vermont, someone named Candyman, Mama Meliss, Shelly, Auntie Rin, Sneaker Mutt Girl Woman. These are great names. I can't name everyone, but I wish I could. Thank you so much everyone for letting us know that you're there, that you're listening, that this is working for you, that you're finding relaxation in your own bodies and minds. That's so cool. That's so great. And thank you for spreading the word to the people around you, spreading the vibe. Sleep is so important. Let's help each other sleep. So thanks. Before we get started, let's hear a quick word from our sponsors who make this free content possible. Hey Sleep Magic listeners. We talk a lot about rest, movement and mindfulness. But let's be real financial stress can undo all that calm in a heartbeat. That's why I switched to Mint Mobile. They offer premium wireless for just $15 a month for your first three months with fast data, unlimited talk and text and coverage on the nation's largest 5G network. I came from one of the big three carriers and I've been genuinely impressed. I kept my phone and number and even when I travel, Mint makes it easy to stay connected with simple, affordable add ons. This year, skip breaking a sweat and breaking the bank. Get your summer savings and shop premium Wireless plans@mintmobile.com SleepMagic that's mintmobile.com SleepMagic Upfront payment of $45 for 3 month 5 gigabyte plan required equivalent to $15 a month New customer offer for first 3 months only, then full price plan options available. 10 taxes and fees extra. See Mint Mobile for details. Hey Sleep Magic listeners. You know around here we believe that when you rest better, everything gets a little easier. Your mood, your energy, your outlook. And since it's Mental Health Awareness Month, we want to make it even easier for you to take really good care of yourself right now. During the week of May 12 to May 19, you can upgrade to Sleep Magic Premium for just $4.99 a month. It's usually $6.99, so if you've been wanting to join Team Magic, this is a great time to lock in our lowest price. And with Premium, you'll get access to our entire library of calming meditations, visualizations and sleep stories. Get this ad free. Completely ad free. Plus you'll unlock a brand new Premium episode every other week, so there's always something fresh to support your rest whenever you need it. So if you've been wanting to go even deeper with your hypnosis practice, this is the perfect time to start. Just tap the link in the show notes or upgrade inside your Apple podcast app. But don't wait. This special offer ends Monday. Tonight Wuthering Heights Wuthering Heights, the story of two families and their dramatic intertwining on the Yorkshire moors, is considered one of the greatest works of English literature. Published in 1847, Emily Bronte's novel is renowned for its intense characters, its atmospheric setting and unconventional narrative style. It explores complex themes like love, revenge and social class, and it was published under the pseudonym Ellis Bell. Emily Bronte was one of the famous Bronte sisters. Charlotte wrote Jane Eyre, and Anne wrote a couple of novels herself, and Wuthering Heights was Emily's only novel as she died at the tender age of 30. Altogether, the Bronte sisters had a pretty tragic upbringing and sort of a strange life, so it's amazing that they created as much as they did and as beautifully as they did. I've spent the last week looking over chapter after chapter of the book, trying to find the perfect one for sleeping, and it's pretty hard to pin one down. So I just thought I'd start at the beginning when Mr. Lockwood arrives and meets Heathcliff. So as always, we will start with some deep, deep relaxation. It's the end of the day, time to take a load off, and as you go deeper and deeper, allow Emily Bronte's words to help you unravel and unwind on the stormy moors of Yorkshire. So get yourself into a safe and comfortable position and let's begin. Allow your eyes to close easily and gently. It feels so nice to be lying down and to be letting go. And if you've been listening to sleep magic for a while. You're getting really good at letting go. Letting go is a practice. And like anything else, as you're practicing, it's getting easier and easier, more and more natural for you to let go. So bring your awareness now to your breath. It's like your awareness is this laser beam that you've been beaming out into the world, focusing here and focusing there, maybe not even paying attention to what you're paying attention to, just moving fast. But now, as you bring your awareness back to your breath, and you really focus, coming home to your breath, everything is slowing down. And it feels nice to slow down. Good. And now I'd like you to bring your awareness up into your eyelids. And imagine that your eyelids are feeling heavy, sleepy and relaxed. And as your eyelids are getting heavier and heavier, because you're imagining that they're getting heavier and heavier. And where you point your imagination, your whole body follows. And your eyelids are feeling so heavy now. And I'd like you to accept the suggestion that your eyelids are so heavy they simply will not open. Open. And of course, they can open if you want to open them, but we're pretending now that they can't. So as you pretend that your eyelids are so heavy, they simply will not open, and you feel that heaviness. Imagine now that you're trying to open your eyes by wiggling your eyebrows, but they're remaining shut. Play this game with me. Wiggle your eyebrows, but your eyes remain closed. Good. You can stop now. Now, this relaxation that you have around your eyes, let's imagine it moving back now into your head. Feel that heaviness in your eyelids moving back now so that your whole head is feeling heavy. And imagine how warm mist is filling your skull and the muscles of your face are softening and relaxing and letting go. And the sound of my voice is taking you deeper and causing your head to sink even deeper into the pillow as all mental tension disappears. As your head feels nice and heavy, your shoulders are feeling nice and heavy, sort of melting. And the heaviness is moving down your arms, all the way down your arms as they feel deliciously heavy because their work is done for the day. And as your arms are getting heavier, this wonderful relaxation is moving down into your hands. And your fingers. And the palms of your hands feel like they're tingling a little. And the energy is moving all the way down and out your finger. And it feels so nice to let go. Good. Now imagine that relaxation that was up inside your head, that mist. Let's imagine it moving down through Your neck now down into your chest. Imagine that mist of relaxation now is swirling around inside your chest, surrounding and supporting your heart. Imagine that mist of relaxation is sort of holding your heart, protecting it, caring for it, nourishing it, as all emotional tension disappears. As the relaxation moves down, down, down, down deep into your belly. Imagine that mist moving down into your pelvic region. And your belly sort of holds that mist like a bow. And that mist is softening and relaxing and soothing your whole inner world, your whole torso is feeling so relaxed, heavy on the bed and soft and relaxed on the inside as your breath gets deeper. And any muscles you may hold unconsciously during the day are letting go. And all the sounds going on around you, sounds you may be hearing from within your bedroom or outside. Bring your awareness to those sounds right now and let them take you deeper as you surrender into relaxation. And those sounds, which are simply vibrations, are moving through you, taking you deeper. And as I read the story tonight, the sound of my voice will also take you deeper and deeper as the relaxation moves down into your legs now, all the way down into your feet and your toes. Because the day is done and you are free to let go. Chapter one. 1801. I have just returned from a visit to my landlord, the solitary neighbor that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country in all England. I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from. From the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist's heaven. And Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow. He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves with a jealous resolution still further in his waistcoat as I announced my name. Mr. Heathcliff, I said. A nod, was the answer. Mr. Lockwood. Your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possible after my arrival to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange. I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts. Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir, he interrupted, wincing. I should not allow anyone to inconvenience me if I could hinder it. Walk in. The walk in was uttered with closed teeth and expressed the sentiment Go to the deuce. Even the gate over which he leant manifested no, no sympathizing movement to the words. And I think that circumstance determined me to accept the invitation. I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself. When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly push preceded me up the causeway, calling as we entered the court, Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse and bring up some wine. Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose, was the reflection suggested by this compound. No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge cutters. Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man, very old perhaps, though pale and sinewy. The Lord help us, he soliloquized in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse, looking meantime in my face so sourly that I charitably continue conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent. Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling, Wuthering being a significant provincial adjective descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times. Indeed, one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house, and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong. The narrow windows are deeply set in the wall and the corners defended with large jutting stones. Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front and especially about the principal door, above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date 1500 and the name Hareton Earnshaw. I would have made a few comments and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner, but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium. One step brought us into the family sitting room without any introductory lobby or passage. They call it here the house. Preeminently it includes kitchen and parlor generally, but I believe, I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether in another quarter, at least, I distinguished a chatter of tongues and a clatter of culinary utensils deep within, and I observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking about the huge fireplace Nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin colanders on the walls. One end indeed reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row on a vast oak dresser to the very roof. The latter had never been underdrawn. Its entire annals anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden with oat cakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton and ham concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villainous old guns and a couple of horse pistols and by the way of ornament, three gaudily painted canisters disposed along in its ledge. The floor was of smooth white stone, the chairs high backed primitive structures painted green. One or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge liver colored pork pointer surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies and other dogs haunted other recesses. The apartment and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as belonging to a homely northern farmer with a stubborn countenance and stalwart limbs set out to advantage in knee breeches and gaiters. Such an individual, seated in his armchair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before him, is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles among these hills if you go at the right time after dinner. But Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of living. He is a dark skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners. A gentleman that is as much a gentleman as many a country squire. Rather slovenly perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence because he has an erect and handsome figure and rather morose. Possibly some people might suspect him of a degree of underbred pride. I have a sympathetic cord within that tells me it is nothing of the sort. I know by instinct his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays of feeling to manifestations of mutual kindliness. He'll love and hate equally undercover and esteem it a species of impertinence to be loved or hated. Again. Again. No, I'm running on too fast. I bestow my own attributes over liberally on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar reasons for keeping his hand out of the way when he meets a would be acquaintance. To those which actuate me, let me hope my constitution is almost peculiar. My dear mother used to to say I should never have a comfortable home, and only last summer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of one while enjoying a month of Fine weather at the sea coast. I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating creature, a real goddess in my eyes. As long as she took no notice of me, I never told my love vocally. Still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears. She understood me at last, and looked or returned the sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I confess it was shame. Shrunk icily into myself like a snail at every glance, retired colder and farther, till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mama to decamp. By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness. How undeserved I alone can appreciate. I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that towards which my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother who had left her nursery and was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs. Her lip curled up and her white teeth watering for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl. You'd better let that dog alone, growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his foot. She's not accustomed to be spoiled, not kept for a pet. Then, striding to a side door, he shouted again, Joseph. Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but gave no intimation of ascending. So his master dived down to him, leaving me vis a vis the ruffian dog and a pair of grim, shaggy sheepdogs who shared with her a jealous guardianship over all my movements. Not anxious to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still, but imagining they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy. So irritated madam that she suddenly broke into a fury and leapt on my knees. I flung her back and hastened to eat, interpose the table between us. This proceeding aroused the whole hive. Half a dozen four footed friends of various sizes and ages issued from hidden dens to the common center. I felt my heels and coatlapse peculiar subjects of assault and parrying off the larger combatants. As effectually as I could with the poker, I was constrained to demand allowed assistance from some of the household and re establishing peace. Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious phlegm. I don't think they moved one second faster than usual, though the hearth was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping. Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen made more dispatch. A lusty dame with tucked up gown, bare arms, and fire flushed cheeks rushed into the midst of us flourishing a frying pan, and used that weapon and her tongue to such purpose that the storm subsided magically, and she only remained heaving like a sea after a high wind when her master entered on the scene. What the devil is the matter? He asked, eyeing me in a manner that I could EAS ill endure after this inhospitable treatment. But the devil indeed, I muttered. The herd of possessed swine could have had no worse spirits in them than those animals of yours, sir. You might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers. They won't meddle with persons who touch nothing, he remarked, putting the bottle before me and restoring the displaced table. The dogs do right to be vigilant. Take a glass of wine. No, thank you. Not bitten, are you? If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter. Heathcliff's countenance relaxed into a grin. Come, come, he said. You are flurried, Mr. Lockwood. Here, take a little wine. Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house, that I and my dogs I am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them. Your health, sir. I bowed and returned the pledge, beginning to perceive that it would be foolish to sit sulking for the misbehavior of a pack of curs. Besides, I felt loath to yield the fellow further in amusement at my expense, since his humour took that turn. He probably, swayed by prudential consideration of the folly of offending a good tenant, relaxed a little in the laconic style of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and introduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest to me, a discourse on the Advantages and Disadvantages of my Present Place of retirement. I found him very intelligent on the topics we touched, and before I went home I was encouraged so far as to volunteer another visit tomorrow. He evidently wished no repetition of my intrusion. I shall go, notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself compared with him. Chapter 3 While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the candle and not make a noise for her master had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered. She had only lived there a year or two, and they had so many queer goings on she could not begin to be curious. Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a clothes press, and a large oak case with squares cut out near the top, resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I looked inside and perceived it to be a singular sort of old fashioned couch, very conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little closet and the ledge of a window which it enclosed served as a table. I slid back the paneled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff and everyone else. The ledge where I placed my candle had a few mildewed books piled up in one corner, and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and small. Catherine Earnshaw here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to Catherine Linton. In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window and continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw, Heathcliff, Linton till my eyes closed, but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as specters. The air swarmed with Catherines, and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I discovered my candle wick reclining on one of the antique volumes and perfuming the place with an odor of roasted calf skin. I snuffed it off and, very ill at ease under the influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the injured tone on my knee. It was a testament. In lean type and smelling dreadfully musty, A flyleaf bore the inscription Catherine Earnshaw her book and a date some quarter of a century back. I shut it and took up another and another till I had examined all. Catherine's library was select, and its state of dilapidation proved to have been well used, though not altogether for a legitimate purpose. Scarcely one chapter had escaped a pen and ink commentary, at least the appearance of one, covering every morsel of blank that the printer had left. Some were detached sentences, other parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed childish hand at the top of an extra page. Quite a treasure probably. When first lighted on, I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph. Rudely yet powerfully sketched, an immediate interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics. It.