Arthurian Sleep Story: Isle Of Avalon

Sleep & Sorcery is one part bedtime story, one part guided meditation, and one part dreamy adventure. In tonight’s calming sleep story, you’ll sail through the mists to the magical isle of Avalon, visit an abandoned cloister, and feel the hum of ancient magic in the dewy spring air. Key ingredients: Arthurian legend | Light ASMR (water, crackling fire) | Yoga Nidra-inspired meditation
Music: A Glimpse of Avalon and Magic in the Mist by Flouw, Sounds by ZapSplat

Transcript

Welcome to Sleep and Sorcery,

A folklore and fantasy-inspired sleep series.

Step across the threshold into a world of myth and magic where you can safely drift off into a deep and comfortable sleep.

My name is Laurel,

And I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

On each episode of Sleep and Sorcery,

I'll whisk you away to a far-off time and place.

To a cozy cottage in the mythical village of Slumbershire,

Or to the mysterious forests of Bohemia,

Or to the court of King Arthur,

Or to a spaceship among the stars.

Concentrate on my voice only as long as it serves you to do so,

And when you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and voyage into sleep.

If you are still awake as the story concludes,

I'll guide you through a relaxing body scan and meditation.

Tonight,

You'll sail through the mists to the magical Isle of Avalon.

Visit an abandoned circle of standing stones,

And feel the hum of ancient magic in the dewy spring air.

You wander through sacred spaces,

Try to decipher strange symbols,

And share a moment of peace with a friendly fox before you come upon an empty cloister.

After exploring the halls,

You find a magnificent library in which to light a fire,

Snuggle up with a book,

And nod off to sleep.

How is it you are in Avalon,

Where I have striven to be with all my might?

And how did you get there?

And how does Arthur the King,

Edward Byrne Jones?

Before we begin tonight's sleep story,

Take a few moments to focus on the sensation of your body,

Whether you're listening to this from the comfort of your bed,

Or on a bus or airplane,

Or anywhere else you're hoping to find meaningful rest.

Notice if you could be 5 or 10% more comfortable.

Shift your body around until you find a position you think you can remain in until you fall asleep.

Once you've found a position of optimal comfort,

Take a deep breath in through your nose.

At the top of the breath,

Hold for just a moment,

Then exhale through the mouth.

Take another deep breath in,

And this time imagine that with the breath comes a warm,

Soft light.

Notice that warmth and light entering through the nose,

Flowing down your throat,

And filling up the belly.

When you exhale,

Imagine the breath leaving through your mouth is carrying with it all the tension,

Stress,

And struggle of your day.

Just let it go.

Breathe in again,

Imagining that warm,

White light entering.

Then exhale,

Letting go of the dark,

The tension,

The stress.

Take one more deep breath in,

And feel the warm,

White light filling up the belly,

Then imagine it spreading to all corners of the body.

Holding up your limbs,

Fingers,

Toes,

Shoulders,

Neck,

All the way to the top of your head.

Now a long exhale as you let everything go.

Go ahead and breathe normally,

Settling into place,

And letting your body feel heavy on your sleep surface.

Try to hold on to the sensation of glowing warmth throughout the whole of your body as we move into tonight's story.

The bow of the little boat carves a path through the shallow water.

It's just clear enough to see minnows,

Their scales briefly catching the light like a flash.

You pull your cloak around your shoulders and gaze ahead.

It strikes you as odd that the water should be so clear when the air is so thick with mist,

It's impossible to see your destination.

But the old boatman steers with a confidence you find reassuring,

Though there's a chill In the early morning air,

You're warm beneath the heavy cloak,

And the gentle sway of the boat brings you a sense of peace you hadn't realized you were missing.

The mist surrounds you on all sides,

Obscuring the shore you departed from.

The boatman assured you that it's a short journey across the water to reach the fabled Isle of Avalon,

But on days like today,

It requires a skilled navigator who's made the journey before,

Lest you lose your way in the fog.

As you relax into the soft bob of the water,

You reflect on the stories you've heard of the island.

A picture begins to form in your mind of sloping hills covered with lush grass and greenery,

And of apple blossoms flowering on the trees.

You imagine structures,

Too,

Made of stone and hung with glorious tapestries depicting the legendary deeds of King Arthur and his knights.

The name Avalon means Isle of Apples.

Its reputation in legends and lore is of association with magic and mysticism.

Some say it was here that Arthur's magical sword,

Excalibur,

Was first forged,

And the scabbard woven with charms and enchantments to prevent the wearer from being wounded in battle.

In other stories,

The island was a place of distinctly feminine magic,

Beloved by Arthur's half-sister,

The sometimes villainous,

Always powerful Morgan le Fay.

It's best remembered,

However,

As the final resting place of Arthur,

Who,

After falling in battle with Mordred,

Was ferried there by Morgan to rest and heal his wounds.

Legend has it that Arthur did not,

In fact,

Die,

But was healed by the Enchantresses,

And that he rests in Avalon to this day,

Awaiting the hour of his country's greatest need,

At which time he'll rise again to come to its aid.

For many years,

You've felt a quiet ache for Avalon,

A place that only exists in the pages of centuries-old texts,

Or in the minds of dreamers like you.

It was only recently that you dared to imagine it might be a real place,

When you discovered a cryptic map drawn in the margins of an old book handed down by the generations of your family.

The map led you to discover the secluded home of the Old Boatman,

Who now steers through the shimmering mists.

Lost in thoughts of myths and legends,

Soothed by the subtle motion of the water,

You realize your eyelids have closed on their own.

You open them,

Expecting once again to see nothing but mist,

But instead,

Your destination lies ahead,

Emerging from the thick air like the sun from parting heavy clouds.

Your first impression is of overwhelming green,

But as your eyes adjust,

They begin to take in more detail,

Like the pebbly shore just ahead,

The ivory dotting of apple blossoms upon the trees.

You scan upward,

For the green extends high into the morning sky.

More than a gentle slope,

You behold an enormous hill growing from the base of the island.

It's lined by trees,

Which grow sparser toward the crest,

And at the apex,

You can make out a tall stone structure.

You feel a wave of curiosity and awe as the boat approaches the beach.

How could a sight such as this remain hidden from the world,

You wonder?

What mystical curtain have you passed through to arrive at this obscured shore?

As you climb out of the boat,

You thank the kind boatman,

Pulling a few silver coins from a leather pouch inside your cloak.

He is humbled and grateful for the offering.

He wishes you a pleasant visit to the island,

And indicates a bronze bell that hangs from a wooden post near where the boat has docked.

When you're ready to depart,

He says,

Just ring the bell,

And he'll return to ferry you back across the water to the mainland.

You watch as he and the boat disappear once more into the clouds of mist,

And you allow the sense of peaceful solitude to at last sink in.

Inhaling the scents of apple blossom and calendula,

And taking in the songs of wrens and skylarks,

You venture forth toward the heart of the island.

A dense forest surrounds the base of the hill,

And you see an opening in the trees.

Once you enter the opening,

You feel like you have entered another world.

The way the diffuse sunlight of the morning peeks through openings in the canopy,

Pouring toward the ground like spun gold,

The feel of the soft soil beneath your feet,

And the way a path seems to magically materialize before you as you move forward,

All seem to contribute to a sense of otherworldly mystery.

Before long,

You notice some movement at your periphery.

Turning your head to see what's making the movement,

You see nothing but trees.

You continue walking through the forest,

But you notice the movement again,

And this time see a flash of rusty red and white as you turn your head.

Holding still so as not to make a sound,

You focus on the spot where the flash of color disappeared.

After a few moments,

A furry,

Pointed face peers out from behind a thick tree trunk.

The beautiful red fox emerges,

Moving slowly and with care until it stands in the open path behind you.

You and the fox look into each other's eyes,

And any sense of fear of humans the animal may have felt falls away.

You feel a distinct kinship with the creature.

You continue walking through the forest,

But now you hear the gentle footfalls of the fox behind you at a safe distance.

You are comforted to have a friendly companion on your journey through an unfamiliar place.

The woods grow thicker as the path slopes upward,

And the density of the canopy allows less and less light to reach you,

But just as the path dims,

A little glowing light appears just ahead.

Then another,

And another.

Before your eyes,

The trees are lit up with will of the wisps guiding you along the path.

You glance at the fox,

Who playfully runs after one of the shimmering orbs,

Which flits away like a little bird.

Before long the path grows even steeper,

But the forest and vegetation thins.

Looking upward,

Through gaps in the trees,

You can glimpse the structure at the top of the hill.

You must be more than halfway to the zenith.

Emerging from the wood,

You are grateful for the softness of the morning's light.

You look behind you to see if the fox is still there,

But it's standing just at the edge of the forest,

Gazing after you.

Instinctively,

You understand that the fox is a creature of the wood,

And will remain there until you make your way back.

You nod,

Thankful for the company,

And the fox darts away,

Back into the thickness of trees.

You're not entirely alone,

However,

For a few of the will-of-the-wisps have floated past you from out of the wood.

You take a moment to marvel at their bluish-white bioluminescence.

The few that float on do not carve a straight line to the top of the hill,

But travel buoyantly to your left,

Though your head wants to continue upward toward the tower.

Your heart's curiosity must be satisfied.

So you follow the wisps,

Knowing you have as much time on the island as you like.

They lead you along a winding path,

Spotted with primroses and toadstools.

You step over a clear,

Babbling brook,

Which flows downward toward the ring of forest.

You begin to wonder if the wisps intend to confuse you and get you lost in this strange place,

Until you see where they are leading you.

Before you,

As if rising from the ground,

Is a majestic circle of standing stones.

Approaching the stone circle,

You become acutely aware of the droplets of dew that hang,

Suspended in the still air,

Refracting the sun's light and muffling the distant sounds of birdsong.

Rays of light bounce from stone to stone,

Creating the impression of spider's webs or delicate strings,

Turning the circle into a marvelous harp,

Playing the music of the spheres.

The air within the circle seems to hum with vibrations.

Each of the stones is carved with mysterious ancient symbols and runes.

Some you feel you've seen before,

And others are entirely new to you.

You feel that this must be a sacred place,

Where ancient magic was practiced and remains in the bones of the earth to this day.

You take a deep inhalation and close your eyes,

Imagining white,

Warm magic running through your body,

Then spilling outward from your fingertips like light,

Opening your eyes and placing a hand on the tallest of the stones.

You feel a subtle warmth building in your palm and fingertips and wonder,

Is the heat coming from the stone or from the magic within you?

It takes an enormous effort to pull yourself away from the sensations of strength and magic you feel within the circle of standing stones.

But your inner curiosity compels you upward once more toward the tower at the top of the hill,

Leaving the will of the wisps behind you to float back into the trees.

You ascend.

The muscles of your legs are growing tired,

But you push on.

When you finally reach the summit,

You pause to look back at how far you've come.

You can see the rolling mists that cascade over the water and the island's pebbled shores.

But in the distance,

Beyond the mist,

You can also see the mainland.

By now it must be bustling with busy people going about their busy days.

You might have been one of them had you not chosen this day to follow your heart's curiosity for reflection and adventure.

You thank yourself for centering your own needs,

Turning now to the stone structure that overlooks the magical Isle of Avalon.

You marvel at its size and stature.

From afar it seemed almost toy-like and abstract,

But up close it strikes you with sublime awe.

Elegant tracery adorns the archway entrance,

Which seems to beckon you inside.

You climb the few stone steps to the heavy wooden door and push it open.

Making your way into the entrance hall,

You are amazed to see torches lining the walls that light themselves at your presence,

Providing warmth and light for your exploration.

This truly is a place of magic.

You sense that no one else is here,

And you feel safe and held inside these walls.

Much as you imagined,

The halls are lined with magnificent tapestries.

Though they must be centuries old,

The gold and crimson threads look new in the flickering torchlight.

You stop to look closely at one,

Which seems to depict many of the adventures of King Arthur.

On the left side of the weaving you can make out a turreted castle approached by men on horseback.

The leader,

Arthur himself,

Is armed in gold shining plate and wears an elaborate jeweled golden crown.

Reading the image from left to right,

Your eyes fall upon two individuals,

A man and woman who stand close together before a fountain.

The man holds a sword,

And the woman is lavishly dressed.

These must be the lovers Lancelot and Guinevere.

The background of the tapestry is woven with a rich indigo and peppered with deep red roses and acanthus.

The next tapestry you stop to admire portrays the last days of Arthur's life in Avalon.

The king reposes on a bed at the center,

Surrounded by women,

Some playing harps,

Some praying,

And some administering healing herbs.

The woman who sits cradling Arthur's head must,

You imagine,

Be Morgan herself.

Outside the king's chamber another woman waits to blow a horn.

Not so vividly colored as the first tapestry,

Yet imbued with such naturalistic perspective and authentic emotion,

You find that it's moved you to tears.

There's a familiarity in the eyes and features of the women,

Too.

You feel as though you've seen these faces before,

A peculiar sensation of deja vu prickles at the nape of your neck.

As you stroll past the edge of the hanging,

You come upon a doorway.

Gravity moves you through it,

And torches spring to life to illuminate the chamber.

With delight,

You recognize it as a library.

The shelves which stretch from the floors to the high,

Vaulted ceilings of the chamber are lined with thick,

Leather-bound tomes.

You run your hand across the spines of a shelf at shoulder level.

Some appear to be books of fairy tales,

And others resemble grimoires.

Much of the lettering on the books is too old to read,

But you're astonished by the absence of dust on the books or shelves.

It's as though the space has repelled any signs of age or abandonment.

You gaze upward at the towering stacks,

And one book with a forest-green binding and gold-foil lettering stands out to you,

But it's much too high to reach.

Feeling a sudden impulse,

You reach your hand upward.

It's as if your movement is guided by an unseen force.

You feel the same sensation of warmth and light that you felt in the stone circle tingling from your shoulder to your fingertips.

The power coursing through you is so undeniable that you're almost unsurprised to see the forest-green book budge from its place.

It slides out from between its neighbors and floats gingerly down into your outstretched hand like a leaf falling from a tree.

You run your fingers across the textured cover and read the embossed lettering of the title,

Recognizing it as a collection of Celtic legends,

One that a dear caretaker read to you when you were a child.

You carry the book to the heart of the library,

Where a piece of furniture resembling a chaise lounge sits before a stone fireplace.

Moving your hand out again toward the fireplace,

You feel warmth build in your fingers once more,

Magically kindling the logs into a crackling fire.

Your muscles,

Aching from the morning's climb,

Long for the comfort of rest.

So you curl up in the lounge,

Pulling a thick wool blanket over your legs.

You open the book of legends and begin to read by the light of the fire.

Inside the front cover,

You are unsurprised to discover a handwritten inscription,

Your own name.

The stories flood back to you as you take them in,

And they nourish and comfort you as they once did in childhood.

Before long,

Lulled by the flicker of the flame,

You feel your eyelids become heavy and begin to droop.

You think of the rolling mists around the island and feel a wave of tranquility and safety,

Knowing that Avalon is yours alone,

That this is a homecoming.

Your fingertips tingle with traces of the magic you now possess,

And perhaps that you always did.

I deserve meaningful rest,

You think,

As you allow your eyes to close and surrender to a swell of drowsiness.

The fire magically dims,

Glowing just enough to keep you warm and cozy.

On the shores of the island,

A bell waits to be rung when you're ready to return to the world,

But for now,

You sleep in the heart of Avalon,

The realm of ancient magic,

Surrounded by forests and mist.

Focus on a sensation of warmth and sparkling light,

A humming magic that rotates through the different parts of your body.

When I say the name of a body part,

Imagine that magic light filling up or shining on that part of the body,

And move to the next part as I say it aloud.

When you're ready to surrender to sleep,

Let the voice go.

Right thumb,

Index finger,

Middle finger,

Ring finger,

Pinky finger,

The space between the fingers,

Right hand palm,

Back of the hand,

Wrist,

Forearm,

Elbow,

Upper arm,

Shoulder,

Right side of the chest,

Right waist,

Hip,

Thigh,

Knee,

Right lower leg,

Ankle,

Heel,

Sole of the foot,

Top of the foot,

Right big toe,

Second toe,

Third toe,

Fourth toe,

Fifth toe,

The space between each of the toes.

Feel the whole right side of the body humming with warm,

Glowing magic.

Now move to the left hand thumb,

Index finger,

Middle finger,

Ring finger,

Pinky finger,

The space between the fingers,

Left hand palm,

Back of the hand,

Wrist,

Forearm,

Elbow,

Upper arm,

Shoulder,

Left side of the chest,

Left waist,

Hip,

Thigh,

Knee,

Left lower leg,

Ankle,

Heel,

Sole of the foot,

Top of the foot,

Left big toe,

Second toe,

Third toe,

Fourth toe,

Fifth toe,

The space between each of the toes.

Feel the whole left side of the body coursing with glowing light.

Feel both sides of the body together.

Now feel that light and sparkling magic fill up the throat,

The neck,

The jaw,

The sides of the face,

The forehead,

All the way to the crown of the head.

Feel the whole body warm,

Pulsing with white magic.

Feel the whole body.

Good night.

Reviews

I love how this story starts with mysterious fog, moves on to normal/expected discoveries, and ends with an unusual library. Nicely done!

How wonderful! 🧘‍♀️🦋🙏✨️😴

Thank you Laurel
I'm going through and listening to your collection in chronological order and making sure I leave to leave a nice review. Somtimes the option to review isn't there come the morning. Looking forward to the next season 😊 Thank you

I keep falling asleep before the end, thank you for this story that is so rich in imagery.

I absolutely love this and I've never even heard the whole thing! Your soothing voice and stories work wonders. Thank you! ♥️💤🛌🙏

Thank you for the Magickal trip to Avalon! Mists of Avalon has been one of my favorite books! Your words wove a journey that transported me to that place of Magick! Thank you! This one I listened to upon waking so as to experience the storytelling! Blessed be!

Love these stories! Voice is amazing and relaxing. Long for those people who have trouble sleeping.

I didn’t get to hear much of what I’m sure is a good story as it put me right to sleep! Thank you 🙏🏼

Wow.....Laurel, this is the most beautiful meditation ever.🤍 Maybe it's silly, but I will always believe in Avalon and that we all carry the ancient Magic in us...Thank you for sharing your enchanted gift and for reminding us.🌸🙏🌸
I really needed this reminder, in life these days, it's easy to let the Magic, hope and believes fade away...
Blessed Be;
Morgaine🦊

Very calming after my emotionally difficult day. Thank you.

Just perfectly divine, thank you

Lovely, magical…but I’m still awake. Sigh. I’ll try another of your tales! 🙏🦋🌀💫

giving it 5 stars, however i have no idea if the story is any good as i was asleep 5 minutes in ..... 😊

I just love these “stories”! They work so well, even when crazy stressed and mind a whiring! Thank you for my sanity!

Thank you🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻A three-thirty and a four hour stretch of sleep: I cant remember the last time I had a night like that. And the content? No clue. Miraculous. Thank you
🙏🏻😴🙏🏻🌟🙏🏻😴🙏🏻

Lovely
Works a treat.

Loved this! Just what I needed to fall asleep on a night when my mind wouldn’t shut down. 🙏🏼

🙏🏽