The Writer, The Wizard And The Owl

This is a Calming, Sleepy Story, written and narrated by me. Tonight, we’ll embark to a quiet village in England on a rainy night to meet a writer and her unexpected visitor: We will step into the serene, candlelit study of Beatrice, drift into the gentle rhythm of the rain falling outside, and follow a mystical journey that will change everything…

Narration and Sound Design by Stephen Dalton

Transcript

Hello,

My friend.

Welcome to your sleep story.

My name is Stephen Dalton.

I'm an Irish storyteller,

And it's my great privilege to be the voice that you listen to as you go to sleep tonight.

Tonight's story takes us to a little sleepy village in England and to a writer who is sitting in her study late at night,

Not able to write.

But then she has a visitor,

A wise and kind owl,

Who takes her on a journey that changes everything.

I won't say any more.

And if you fall asleep before you find out what happens,

You can always start where you left off tomorrow night.

Okay,

Let's do the relaxation session now,

Which will take a few minutes,

Before tonight's sleep story.

I'm going to count down from ten to one,

And as I do,

Allow yourself to let go more and more.

Ten.

Feel the support of the bed beneath you,

Or the floor,

Or whatever you lie upon tonight.

And as you become aware of that feeling of support,

Become aware of a greater support,

The support of the earth beneath everything that we know,

The constantness of the support that our home gives us.

And with that awareness,

Allow yourself to let go a little bit more now.

Soften a little bit more now.

Allow my voice to be an anchor of safety tonight,

To be a voice that guides you to safe places only,

Happy places,

Joyful places,

Places that are far away from all that you know,

But above all,

Safe places.

Feel into your body now.

Where are you holding tonight?

Where are you tense?

Where do you feel pain,

Perhaps?

Just notice.

And if you're tense in a particular area,

See if you can soften now.

And if you're holding,

See if you can soften now.

And if you're in pain,

See if you can breathe into that area and perhaps find a little release from the pain.

Ten.

Seven.

The day is done.

Whatever has been has been.

Whatever will be.

Whatever thoughts you might be having about the day that was or about days to come,

They do not serve you now.

They are not to be fought or to be chased away.

They are to be expected,

To be understood as part of the human experience,

To be allowed to arrive,

Noticed,

And leave.

See them leave now like leaves on a moonlit river or clouds passing through a starlit sky.

This is your moment.

This is your time.

You have nowhere to be now,

Nowhere to go.

Enjoy that fact.

Enjoy that you don't have to do anything right now except listen to a cozy sleep story while enjoying the sound of my voice.

That's all you have to do.

Find joy in that.

Perhaps allow a little gratitude now Gratitude for the simple things,

The shelter you have tonight,

The ones you love.

Whatever it may be,

Find the gratitude.

Peace lives within you.

See if you can find it tonight.

See if you can feel it waiting to become a part of your experience.

Three.

Begin to engage with your imagination now.

Begin to see a beautiful old oak-paneled study and in it sits a riser.

In the candlelight it's raining outside in this place that is far away from all that you know.

Two.

Checking in with your body one more time.

It's worked hard for you today.

It's time to give it rest.

And one.

Completely letting go now as I tell you tonight's sleep story.

It is late on a rainy night in a tiny village in the middle of the English countryside.

Beatrice sits at her desk as she has done for many,

Many years for she has lived a life filled with great triumphs as a writer medieval fiction to be precise and this desk that she sits at is the desk that she penned her great novels from.

But now,

In the dead of night as she sits,

Waiting to write nothing is arriving in her brain.

Beatrice has writer's block.

The moon casts a faint glow through the old worn curtains illuminating the stacks of papers and books that surround Beatrice's desk.

The oak surface is smooth and familiar beneath her fingertips yet tonight it feels like a stranger.

She rests her hand gently on the blank page as though the simple touch might summon the words that once came so easily.

Her breath,

Slow and measured matches the rhythm of the ticking clock on the wall each passing second reminding her of the silence within.

Beatrice has faced many challenges over the years critics,

Deadlines the shifting tides of the literary world but nothing feels as heavy as this.

Yes,

They call it writer's block but to her it feels like more than that.

It is as though a part of her has grown still something deeper than the inability to write.

It is the silence of a soul that once sang and now no melody comes.

The village outside is as quiet as her mind.

She pictures the narrow lanes the tiny houses each one tucked beneath a sky full of stars.

It has always been a place of inspiration but now even the stillness of the countryside feels empty.

Then she hears something at the window.

It is immediately something she knows is friendly and kind and welcome.

It is the hooting of an owl.

She feels compelled to open the window to greet it and in doing so she opens a window onto the rest of her life onto a change that will help her grow in ways she never thought possible.

As the window creaks open there is no fear only a strange sense of welcome as though the owl had been waiting for her all along.

The cool night air rushes into the room carrying with it the scent of earth and wood and the sound of the rain falling.

Beatrice closes her eyes for a moment breathing in deeply.

When she opens them again the owl is there perched just beyond the windowsill its great amber eyes fixed on her with a gaze so deep and knowing it feels as though it sees into her very soul.

In this small,

Quiet act opening the window to greet this gentle creature Beatrice feels something shift inside her a change stirs within her something she doesn't yet understand but welcomes with an open heart.

This owl with its quiet presence and steady gaze brings with it the promise of growth of renewal paths she never imagined she would walk.

The owl blinks slow and deliberate as if beckoning Beatrice to follow.

Without a word she goes downstairs and steps out of the doorway of her house her bare feet touching the cool,

Wet ground beneath her.

The rain is falling but it doesn't matter somehow and the owl begins to swoop ahead guiding her through the familiar lanes but something is different the air feels heavier filled with a quiet magic she can't quite place.

As she follows the owl a strange sensation begins to hum in her chest like a forgotten memory stirring to life.

She doesn't question where they are going only that she must follow.

They pass through the narrow streets the ones Beatrice has walked a thousand times before but tonight they feel unfamiliar as though the world around her is shifting.

She feels safe content happy even as the owl flies low and steady leading her toward the edge of the village toward a place she's never gone before.

Then with a flap of its great wings the owl lands on a large stone a marker of some kind hidden beneath vines and moss.

Beatrice steps closer feeling the pull of something ancient in the air.

The stone glows faintly beneath the moon and as she reaches out to touch it the world around her begins to blur.

The owl's hoot sounds again but this time it feels distant as if coming from another place.

The scent of wood smoke fills her nostrils and when Beatrice blinks she finds herself standing in the same village but it is not the village she knows.

Thatched roofs rise where modern homes once stood and the roads are not paved but mere dirt tracks.

People in simple worn clothes walk through the streets carrying baskets of grain and firewood.

She looks around her heart racing and realizes that the owl has brought her back not to her own time but to medieval times the times she has written about for decades the times she has dreamt of visiting all of her life.

Beatrice looks around and takes in the sight.

The rain is still falling and she is still in her village but this is a different era.

The owl perches on a nearby tree watching her with those wise,

Steady eyes as if waiting for her to understand.

Time has shifted around her and with it she feels a strange exhilaration.

Beatrice isn't afraid she feels alive more alive than she has in years.

The block that once held her back is already lifting as if the past itself is unlocking something within her.

She knows that the owl has led her to this time to this place for a reason.

There is a story here in this ancient version of her home waiting for her to discover it a story only she can write.

The owl flutters from the tree and takes flight again beckoning Beatrice to follow.

It is dusk in the village and there is a beautiful feeling in the air.

Her feet move instinctively along the dirt paths of this ancient village.

She walks past the simple huts past villagers who seem unaware of her presence and the owl leads her further beyond the edge of the village into the dense forest that lies just beyond.

They move through the forest the owl's silent flight guides her deeper into the woods until at last they reach a clearing.

In the center stands a stone cottage its roof thatched and its windows glowing with the faintest flicker of firelight.

Beatrice feels it before she sees it a presence ancient and powerful radiating from within.

The owl lands on a branch near the entrance giving one final hoot before it vanishes into the night.

Beatrice hesitates but something pulls her forward a deep knowing that whatever lies inside this cottage holds the answers she's been seeking even if she didn't know she was looking for them.

She pushes open the heavy wooden door and inside sitting by the fire is a figure cloaked in deep rich robes his long silver hair falls around his shoulders and his piercing eyes sharp as the owl's meet hers the moment she steps inside.

Beatrice Fairweather the man says his voice low and warm as though he's known her all her life I the air in the room seems to hum with magic and though Beatrice feels a flicker of disbelief she knows exactly who this man is Merlin the great wizard of legend somehow impossibly she stands in his presence why am I here?

She asks her voice barely above a whisper her mind still struggling to grasp the reality before her Merlin smiles a knowing look in his ancient eyes you have come because you seek a story Beatrice a story that has been buried not in books or scrolls but deep within your own heart he gestures to the seat beside him and she moves almost as if in a dream to sit the fire crackles softly casting long shadows across the stone walls I will tell you a tale Merlin continues his voice calm yet filled with power it is a story of transformation of seeing the world not through the eyes of what is but what could be listen well for this tale holds the key to what you seek Beatrice leans in her heart pounding with anticipation as Merlin begins once long ago there was a great forest and in that forest lived a small bird this bird though unremarkable in appearance held a deep magic but it did not know it it spent its days flitting from tree to tree content but unaware of the great gift it carried within one day a storm came fierce and terrible and the forest was torn apart the bird fragile and frightened found itself lost and alone in its fear it cried not realizing that in its song lay the power to calm the storm Merlin paused his eyes fixed on Beatrice and so it sang the storm quieted the winds stilled and the bird realized that all along it had carried the power to change the world around it but the magic was not in the song itself it was in the act of believing Beatrice felt the weight of his words settle into her the story wasn't just about the bird it was about her about the power she had forgotten buried beneath the years of self-doubt and the silence of her creativity you have forgotten your magic Beatrice Merlin said gently but it is still within you waiting to be sung the words that elude you now are not gone they are simply waiting for you to believe in them again Beatrice's eyes filled with tears not of sadness but of recognition the block that had held her captive the silence that had felt so oppressive was not the absence of her creativity it was her own fear of her power to believe that she still held the ability to shape the world with her words Merlin's gaze softened now the ending of your story Beatrice all you must do now is write it the fire flickered softly casting warmth across the room Beatrice sat in silence absorbing the tale her heart lighter than it had been in years she could literally feel the words returning the stories waiting to be written and as she looked at Merlin she understood that this moment this journey was not just about one story it was about the way she would see the world from now on the owl had brought her here across time and space to remind her of her power and with it she knew she would create not just stories but a life full of magic once more Beatrice sat in silence for quite some time the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room Merlin's story so simple yet so life-changing settled into her mind like a key turning in a lock she felt something shift inside her a forgotten door opening which had disappeared into the night reappeared at the window its glowing eyes fixed on her without a word Beatrice knew her time in this ancient world was coming to an end she rose from her chair offering Merlin a nod of gratitude though words seemed unnecessary between them Merlin said softly as she moved toward the door the magic is within you always with that she stepped outside the cool nice air filling her lungs once more the village around her seemed to shimmer as if the edges of this world were beginning to blur the owl flapped its wings gliding effortlessly ahead leading her back through the trees back through time itself with each step the world grew more familiar the trees seemed more familiar the air lighter and soon the village she had always known appeared before her her little home village with its quiet streets and tidy homes stretched out once more beneath the rainy night the owl hovered briefly above her looking at her smiling at her off into the darkness Beatrice stood still for a moment as the rain fell from above she took it all in the magic Merlin's words it all felt like a dream and yet she knew it had been real she could still feel the hum of that ancient magic in her bones the quiet reminder that the power had always been hers the owl had simply shown her the way with a deep breath she returned to her house the familiar scent of wood and paper greeted her as she stepped back into her dimly lit study the blank page still sat on her desk waiting patiently but this time it no longer felt like a burden Beatrice sat down her hands hovering over the keys she closed her eyes letting the stillness of the night wash over her one last time as if the words had been waiting all along the story unfolded before her flowing from her fingertips like water each sentence felt alive vibrant filled with a new sense of purpose the block that had once held her was gone replaced by a deep trust in herself in the magic that lived within her she wrote with ease her mind no longer cluttered with doubt her heart no longer heavy with fear though Beatrice barely noticed eventually after much writing in the old fashioned way,

I might add with pen and paper she leaned back looking at the pages before her feeling the weight of what she had just created it wasn't just a story it was a new beginning and as the night started to slowly fade towards the day Beatrice felt the weight of sleep catch up with her she glanced at the pages on her desk her heart full her mind clear a long peaceful sigh slowly she rose from her chair her body heavy with a pleasant fatigue the journey the magic the story Merlin and of course the kind and wise owl they had all done their part and now it was time she moved through her quiet house and made her way to her bedroom and as she slipped beneath the covers Beatrice felt a deep peace settle over her once restless and full of uncertainty now felt still she closed her eyes the image of the owl and Merlin's knowing smile lingering in her thoughts her breathing slowed the soft rhythm of sleep overtaking her this was to be a sleep like no other a deep moment of rest after the magic of the night and so now she drifted into sleep with a gentle smile her heart full knowing that when she woke the story would still be there waiting for her to continue there was only the softness of sleep wrapping around her to dreams

Reviews

This was lovely and the meditation at begining was easy to follow

I love all of your stories. I do fall asleep, but will listen to them again. Eventually someday, I will hear the whole story. Thank you for such wonderful stories and the most amazing narration. 🙂

I will be listening again! More please 🙏🏼 😴😴😴

Wonderful so far….so soothing I fell asleep so tomorrow will listen again 🙏🏻thank you so much

Love your voice + stories. 💞🫂👍🥱😉Thank you soooo much! 🙏

So amazing! Thank you!