Japanese Tales For Sleep - Reflections & The Star Lovers

Hello, my sleepy friend! I am thrilled to have you join me as we journey together tonight with 2 more mystical Japanese folktales called 'Reflections and 'The Star Lovers'. These are the final Japanese tales of this series (for now). If you want me to be sure to let me know!

Each tale holds a unique charm and has been passed down from generation to generation...reminding us that life, in all its unpredictability, is a beautiful journey of growth and understanding. As usual, we begin with a short settling-in relaxation followed by the storytelling. I hope you enjoy these tales that I’ve chosen...may they bring you restful sleep. Wishing you the sweetest of dreams!

Your friend,
Joanne

Attribution
The music in this track is via Epidemic Sound (purchased license) and Kevin Macleod (Creative Commons) royalty-free.

Transcript

Hello my sleepy friend,

I'm Joanne,

And I'm thrilled to have you join me as we journey together tonight through the gentle whispers of ancient Japan.

These tales have been passed down from generation to generation as a reminder that life,

In all its unpredictability,

Is a beautiful journey of growth and understanding.

Now without further ado,

Let's take a moment to unwind and relax.

Close your eyes,

Breathe deeply,

And let go of the worries of the day.

Feel the tension melting away as you sink into your cozy space.

Relax those beautiful eyes,

Soften your brow,

Allow your shoulders to ease back,

Let your chest and belly be soft,

And allow your arms,

Hands,

And fingers,

Your legs,

Feet,

And toes come to rest.

Let them be loose and limp,

In whichever position brings you the most comfort,

And as you continue to nestle in your sleep space,

And using the power of your imagination,

Visualizing yourself now in a tranquil garden surrounded by cherry blossoms,

With the gentle sound of a babbling brook in the distance,

Perhaps you might notice the sensation of a soft warm breeze that lightly caresses your skin,

You might hear birds singing,

Or the rustling of leaves and tree branches swaying in the soft breeze,

You might see soft fluffy clouds sailing across the vast blue sky above.

Let this peaceful imagery soothe your mind and body as you prepare for this bedtime storytelling.

And so my friend,

Are you ready to be whisked away to the beautiful world of Japan,

And then all the way to dreamland?

Very well,

Go ahead and snuggle under those cozy blankets,

And let's begin.

Reflections Long enough ago,

There dwelt within a day's journey of the city of Kyoto,

A gentleman of simple mind and manners,

But good estate.

His wife,

Rest her soul,

Had been dead these many years,

And the good man lived in great ease and quiet with his only son.

They kept clear of womankind,

And knew nothing at all either of their winning or their bothering ways.

They had good,

Steady men-servants in their house,

And never set eyes on a pair of long sleeves or a scarlet obi from morning till night.

The truth is that they were as happy as the day is long.

Sometimes they labored in the rice fields,

Other days they went fishing.

In the spring,

Forth they went to admire the cherry flower,

Or the plum,

And later they set out to view the iris,

Or the peony,

Or the lotus,

As the case might be.

At these times they would drink a little sake,

And twist their blue and white tenugui about their heads,

And be as jolly as you please,

For there was no one to say them nay.

Soon enough they came home by lantern light.

They wore their oldest clothes,

And were mighty irregular at their meals.

But the pleasures of life were fleeting,

More is the pity,

And presently the father felt old age creeping upon him.

One night,

As he sat smoking and warming his hands over the charcoal,

''Boy,

'' says he,

''it's high time you got married.

Now the gods forbid,

'' cries the young man,

''father,

What makes you say such terrible things?

Or are you joking?

You must be joking,

'' he says.

''I'm not joking at all,

'' says the father,

''I never spoke a truer word,

And that you'll know soon enough.

'' ''But father,

I am mortally afraid of women,

'' ''And am I not the same?

'' says the father,

''I'm sorry for you,

My boy,

'' ''Then what for must I marry?

'' says the son,

''In the way of nature I shall die before long,

And you'll need a wife to take care of you.

'' Now the tears stood in the young man's eyes when he heard this,

For he was tender-hearted,

But all he said was,

''I can take care of myself very well.

'' ''That's the very thing you cannot,

'' says his father.

The long and short of it was that they found the young man a wife.

She was young and as pretty as a picture.

Her name was Tassel.

After they had drunk down the three times three together and so became man and wife,

They stood alone,

The young man looking hard at the girl.

For the life of him,

He did not know what to say to her.

He took a bit of her sleeve and stroked it with his hand.

Still he said nothing and looked mighty foolish.

The girl turned red,

Turned pale,

Turned red again,

And burst into tears.

''Honorable Tassel,

Don't do that,

For the dear God's sake,

'' says the young man.

''I suppose you don't think I'm pretty?

'' ''My dear,

'' he says,

''you're prettier than the bean flower in the field.

You're prettier than the little bantam hen in the farmyard.

You're prettier than the rose carp in the pond.

I hope you'll be happy with my father and me.

'' At this she laughed a little and dried her eyes.

''Get on another pair of hakama,

'' she says,

''and give me those you've got on you.

There's a great hole in them.

I was noticing it all the time of the wedding.

'' Well,

This was not a bad beginning,

And taking one thing with another,

They got on pretty well,

Though of course things were not as they had been in the blessed time when the young man and his father did not set eyes upon a pair of long sleeves or an obi from morning till night.

By and by,

In the way of nature,

The old man died.

It is said he made a very good end,

And left that in a strong box which made his son the richest man in the countryside.

But this was no comfort at all to the poor young man who mourned his father with all his heart.

Day and night he paid reverence to the tomb.

Little sleep or rest he got,

And little heed he gave to his wife,

Mistress Tassel,

And her whimsies,

Or even to the delicate dishes she set before him.

He grew thin and pale,

And she,

Poor maid,

Was at her wits' end to know what to do with him.

At last she said,

''My dear,

And how would it be if you were to go to Kyoto for a little while?

'' ''And what for should I do that?

'' he says.

It was on the tip of her tongue to answer,

To enjoy herself,

But she saw it would never do to say that.

''Oh,

'' she says,

''as a kind of a duty.

They say every man that loves his country should see Kyoto,

And besides,

You might give an eye to fashions,

So as to tell me what like they are when you get home.

My things,

'' she said,

''are sadly behind the times.

I'd like well enough to know what people are wearing.

'' ''I've no heart to go to Kyoto,

'' says the young man,

''and if I had,

It's the planting out time of the rice,

And the things not to be done,

So there's an end of it.

'' All the same,

After two days,

He bids his wife get out his best hakama and haori,

And to make up his bento for a journey.

''I'm thinking of going to Kyoto,

'' he tells her.

''Well,

I am surprised,

'' says Mistress Tassel,

''and what put such an idea into your head,

If I may ask?

'' ''I've been thinking it's kind of a duty,

'' says the young man.

''Oh,

Indeed,

'' says Mistress Tassel to this,

And nothing more,

For she had some grains of sense.

And the next morning,

She packs her husband off bright and early for Kyoto,

And betakes herself to some little matter of housecleaning she has on hand.

The young man stepped out along the road,

Feeling a little better in his spirits,

And before long he reached Kyoto.

It is likely he saw many things to wonder at.

Amongst temples and palaces he went.

He saw castles and gardens,

And marched up and down fine streets of shops,

Gazing about him with eyes wide open,

And his mouth too,

Very like,

For he was a simple soul.

At length,

One fine day,

He came upon a shop,

Full of metal mirrors that glittered in the sunshine.

''Oh,

They're pretty silver moons,

'' says the simple soul to himself,

And he dared to come near and take up a mirror in his hand.

The next minute,

He turned as white as rice,

And sat him down on the seat in the shop door,

Still holding the mirror in his hand and looking into it.

''Why,

Father,

'' he said,

''how did you come here?

You are not dead,

Then?

Now the dear gods be praised for that,

Yet I could have sworn.

But no matter,

Since you are here alive and well.

You are something pale still,

But how young you look.

You move your lips,

Father,

And seem to speak,

But I do not hear you.

You'll come home with me and live with us,

Just as you used to.

You smile,

That is well.

Find mirrors,

My young gentleman,

'' said the shopman,

''the best that can be made,

And that's one of the best of the lot you have there.

I see you are a judge.

'' The young man clutched his mirror tight,

And sat staring stupidly enough,

No doubt.

He trembled.

''How much?

'' he whispered,

''is it for sale?

'' He was in a taking,

Lest his father should be snatched from him.

''For sale it is,

Indeed,

Most noble sir,

'' said the shopman,

''and the price is a trifle.

Only two boux,

It's almost giving it away I am,

As you'll understand.

'' ''Only two boux?

Now the gods be praised for this,

Their mercy,

'' cried the happy young man.

He smiled from ear to ear,

And he had the purse out of his girdle,

And the money out of his purse in a twinkling.

Now it was the shopman who wished he had asked three boux,

Or even five.

All the same,

He put a good face upon it,

And packed the mirror in a fine white box,

And tied it up with green cords.

''Father,

'' said the young man,

When he had got away with it,

''before we set out for home we must buy some gods for the young woman there,

My wife,

You know.

'' Now for the life of him,

He could not have told why,

But when he came to his home,

The young man never said a word to Mistress Tassel about buying his old father for two boux in the Kyoto shop.

That was where he made his mistake,

As things turned out.

She was as pleased as you like with her coral hairpins,

And her fine new obi from Kyoto.

''I am glad to see him so well and so happy,

'' she said to herself,

''but I must say he's been mighty quick to get over his sorrow after all.

But men are just like children.

'' As for her husband,

Unbeknown to her,

He took a bit of green silk from her treasure box,

And spread it in the cupboard of the Tokonama.

There he placed the mirror in its box of white wood.

Every morning,

Early and every evening late,

He went to the cupboard of the Tokonama and spoke with his father.

Many a jolly talk they had,

And many a hearty laugh together,

And the son was the happiest young man of all that countryside,

For he was a simple soul.

But Mistress Tassel had a quick eye and a sharp ear,

And it was not long before she marked her husband's new ways.

''What for does he go so often to the Tokonama?

'' she asked herself,

''and what has he got there?

'' ''I should be glad enough to know.

'' Not being one to suffer much in silence,

She very soon asked her husband these same things.

He told her the truth,

The good young man,

''and now I have my dear old father home again.

I'm as happy as the day is long,

'' he says.

''Hmm,

'' she says,

''and wasn't too boo cheap?

'' he says,

''and wasn't it a strange thing altogether?

'' ''Cheap indeed,

'' says she,

''and passing strange.

And why,

If I may ask,

'' she says,

''did you not say for all this at first?

'' The young man grew red.

''Indeed,

Then,

I cannot tell you,

My dear,

'' he says,

''I'm sorry,

But I don't know.

'' And with that,

He went out to his work.

Up jumped Mistress Tassel,

The minute his back was turned,

And to the Tokonama she flew on the wings of the wind and flung open the doors with a clang.

''My green silk for sleeve linings,

'' she cried at once,

''but I don't see any old father here.

Only a white wooden box.

What can he keep in it?

'' She opened the box quickly enough.

''What an odd flat shining thing,

'' she said,

And,

Taking up the mirror,

Looked into it.

For a moment she said nothing at all,

But the great tears of anger and jealousy stood in her pretty eyes,

And her face flushed from forehead to chin.

''A woman,

'' she cried,

''a woman.

So that is his secret.

He keeps a woman in this cupboard.

A woman,

Very young and very pretty.

No,

Not pretty at all,

But she thinks herself so.

A dancing girl from Kyoto.

I'll be bound.

Ill-tempered,

Too.

Her face is scarlet.

And oh,

How she frowns,

Nasty little spitfire.

Ah,

Who could have thought it of him?

Ah,

It's a miserable girl I am,

And I've mended his Hakama a hundred times.

Oh,

Oh!

'' With that,

She threw the mirror into its case,

And slammed to the cupboard door upon it.

Herself,

She flung upon the mats,

And cried and sobbed as if her heart would break.

In comes her husband.

''I've broken the thong of my sandals,

'' says he,

''and I've come to.

.

.

'' But what in the world?

And in an instant,

He was down on his knees beside Mistress Tassel,

Doing what he could do to comfort her,

And to get her face up from the floor where she kept it.

''Why,

What is it,

My own darling?

'' says he.

''Your own darling?

'' she answers,

Very fierce through her sobs.

''And I want to go home,

'' she cries.

''But,

My sweet,

You are at home,

And with your own husband.

'' ''Pretty husband,

'' she says,

And pretty goings-on with a woman in the cupboard,

A hateful,

Ugly woman that thinks herself beautiful,

And she has my green sleeve linings there with her to boot.

''Now,

What's all this about women and sleeve linings?

Sure you wouldn't grudge poor old father that little green rag for his bed.

Come,

My dear,

I'll buy you twenty sleeve linings.

'' At that,

She jumped to her feet and fairly danced with rage.

''Old father,

Old father!

'' she screamed.

''Am I a fool or a child?

I saw the woman with my own eyes.

'' The poor young man didn't know whether he was on his head or his heels.

''Is it possible that my father is gone?

'' he said,

And he took the mirror from the Tokonama.

''That's well,

Still the same old father that I brought for Tubu.

You seem worried,

Father.

Nay,

Then,

Smile as I do.

There,

That's well.

'' Mistress Tassel came like a little fury and snatched the mirror from his hand.

She gave but one look into it and hurled it to the other end of the room.

It made such a clang against the woodwork that servants and neighbors came rushing in to see what was the matter.

''It is my father,

'' said the young man.

''I bought him in Kyoto for Tubu.

''He keeps a woman in the cupboard who has stolen my green-sleeved linings,

'' sobbed the wife.

After this,

There was a great to-do.

Some of the neighbors took the man's part and some the woman's,

With such a clatter and chatter and noise as never was,

But settle a thing they could not,

And none of them would look into the mirror because they said it was beautiful.

They might have gone on the way they were till doomsday,

But that one of them said,

''Let us ask the Lady Abbas,

For she is a wise woman,

'' and off they all went to do what they might have done sooner.

The Lady Abbas was a pious woman,

The head of a convent of holy nuns.

She was the Great One at prayers and meditations.

She was the Great One at prayers and meditations and at mortifyings of the flesh,

And she was the Clever One nonetheless at human affairs.

They took her the mirror,

And she held it in her hands and looked into it for a long time.

At last she spoke.

''This poor woman,

'' she said,

Touching the mirror,

''for it is as plain as daylight that it is a woman.

This poor woman was so troubled in her mind at the disturbance that she caused in a quiet house that she has taken vows,

Shaved her head,

And become a holy nun.

Thus,

She is in her right place here.

I will keep her and instruct her in prayers and meditations.

Go you home,

My children.

Forgive and forget.

Be friends.

'' Then all the people said,

''The Lady Abbas is the wise woman,

'' and she kept the mirror in her treasure.

Mistress Tassel and her husband went home hand in hand.

''So I was right,

You see,

After all,

'' she said.

''Yes,

Yes,

My dear,

Of course,

'' said the simple young man.

''But I was wondering how my old father would get on at the holy convent.

He was never much of one for religion.

'' THE STAR LOVERS The weaving maiden was the daughter of a deity of light.

Her dwelling was upon the shore of the Milky Way,

Which is the bright river of heaven.

All the day long she sat at her loom and plied her shuttle,

Weaving the gay garments of the gods.

Warp and woof,

Hour by hour,

The colored web grew till it lay fold on fold piled at her feet.

Still,

She never ceased her labor,

For she was afraid.

She had heard a saying,

''Sorrow,

Age-long sorrow,

Shall come upon the weaving maid when she leaves her loom.

'' So she labored,

And the gods had garments to spare,

But she herself,

Poor maiden,

Was ill-clad.

She wrecked nothing of her attire,

Or of the jewels that her father gave her.

She went barefoot,

And let her hair hang down unconfined.

Ever and on,

A long lock fell upon the loom,

And back she flung it over her shoulder.

She did not play with the children of heaven,

Or take her pleasure with celestial youths and maidens.

She did not love or weep.

She was neither glad nor sorry.

She sat weaving,

Weaving,

And wove her being into the many-colored web.

Now her father,

The deity of light,

Grew angry.

He said,

''Daughter,

You weave too much.

'' ''It is my duty,

'' she said.

''At your age to talk of duty,

'' said her father.

''Wherefore are you displeased with me,

My father?

'' she said,

And her fingers plied the shuttle.

''Are you a stock or a stone,

Or a pale flower by the wayside?

'' ''Nay,

'' she said,

''I am none of these.

'' ''Then leave your loom,

My child,

And live.

Take your pleasure.

Be as others are.

'' ''And wherefore should I be as others are?

'' she said.

''Never dare to question me.

Come,

Will you leave your loom?

'' She said,

''Sorrel,

Age-long Sorrel,

Shall come upon the weaving maiden when she leaves her loom.

'' ''A foolish saying,

'' cried her father,

''not worthy of credence.

What do we know of age-long Sorrel?

Are we not gods?

'' With that,

He took her shuttle from her hand gently,

And covered the loom with a cloth,

And he caused her to be very richly attired,

And they put jewels upon her,

And garlanded her head with flowers of paradise.

And her father gave her for spouse the herd-boy of heaven,

Who tended his flocks upon the banks of the bright river.

Now the maiden was changed indeed.

Her eyes were stars,

And her lips were ruddy.

She went dancing and singing all the day.

Long hours she played with the children of heaven,

And she took her pleasure with the celestial youths and maidens.

Lightly she went,

Her feet were shod with silver.

Her lover,

The herd-boy,

Held her by the hand.

She laughed,

So that the very gods laughed with her,

And high heaven re-echoed with the sounds of mirth.

She was careless.

Little did she think of duty,

Or of the garments of the gods.

As for her loom,

She never went near it,

From one moon's end to another.

''I have my life to live,

'' she said.

''I'll weave it into a web no more.

'' And the herd-boy,

Her lover,

Clasped her in his arms.

Her face was all tears and smiles,

And she hid it on his breast.

So she lived her life.

But her father,

The deity of light,

Was angry.

''It is too much,

'' he said.

''Is the girl mad?

She will become the laughing-stock of heaven.

Besides,

Who is to weave the new spring garments of the gods?

'' Three times he warned his daughter.

Three times she laughed softly and shook her head.

''Your hand opened the door,

My father,

'' she said.

''But no hand,

Either of god or of mortal,

Can shut it.

'' He said,

''You shall find it otherwise to your cost,

'' and he banished the herd-boy forever and ever to the farther side of the bright river.

The magpies flew together from far and near,

And they spread their wings for a frail bridge across the river,

And the herd-boy went over the frail bridge,

And immediately the magpies flew away to the ends of the earth,

And the weaving maiden could not follow.

She was the saddest thing in heaven.

Long,

Long she stood upon the shore,

And held out her arms to the herd-boy who tended his oxen desolate and in tears.

Long,

Long she lay and wept upon the sand.

Long,

Long she brooded,

Looking on the ground.

She arose and went to her loom.

She cast aside the cloth that covered it.

She took her shuttle in her hand.

''Age-long sorrow,

'' she said,

''age-long sorrow.

'' Presently she dropped the shuttle.

''Ah,

'' she moaned,

''the pain of it,

'' and she leaned her head against the loom.

But in a little while,

She said,

''Yet I would not be as once I was.

I did not love or weep.

I was neither glad nor sorry.

Now I love and I weep,

And I am glad and I am sorry.

'' Her tears fell like rain,

But she took up the shuttle and labored diligently,

Weaving the garments of the gods.

Sometimes the web was gray with grief.

Sometimes it was rosy with dreams.

The gods were fain to go strangely clad.

The maiden's father,

The deity of light,

For once was well pleased.

''This is my good,

Diligent child,

'' he said.

''Now you are quiet and happy.

'' ''The quiet of dark despair,

'' she said.

''Happy?

I am the saddest thing in heaven.

'' ''I am sorry,

'' said the deity of light.

''What shall I do?

Give me back my lover.

'' ''Nay,

Child,

That I cannot do.

He is banished forever and ever by the decree of a deity that cannot be broken.

'' ''I knew it,

'' she said.

''Yet something I can do,

'' he said.

''Listen,

On the seventh day of the seventh moon,

I will summon the magpies together from the ends of the earth,

And they shall be a bridge over the bright river of heaven,

So that the weaving maiden shall lightly cross to the waiting herdboy on the farther shore.

'' So it was.

On the seventh day of the seventh moon came the magpies from far and near,

And they spread their wings for a frail bridge,

And the weaving maiden went over by the frail bridge.

Her eyes were like stars,

And her heart like a bird in her bosom,

And the herdboy was there to meet her upon the farther shore.

And so it is still.

Oh,

True lovers,

Upon the seventh day of the seventh moon,

These two keep their tryst.

Only if the rain falls with thunder and cloud and hail,

And the bright river of heaven is swollen and swift,

The magpies cannot make a bridge for the weaving maiden,

Alack the dreary time.

Therefore,

True lovers,

Pray the gods for fair weather.

Sweet dreams,

My friend.