Bathhouse Of The Spirits

In tonight’s bedtime story, you work as an attendant in an enchanted bathhouse – one frequented by essential nature spirits. While waiting for the doors to open at sundown, you help prepare the bathhouse for customers. You encounter many marvelous spirits throughout the night. After the last guest has left, you draw yourself a bath and soak away all your troubles as the sun rises.

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flow, Sensoji by Christian Andersen from Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Soak in the healing waters of a mystical bathhouse in tonight's relaxing bedtime story.

Sleep in Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel and I will be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep in Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Tonight's story features a built-in body scan and meditation for rest and contemplation.

In our bedtime story tonight,

You work as an attendant in a mystical bathhouse frequented by essential nature spirits.

While waiting for the doors to open at sundown,

You help prepare the bathhouse for customers.

You encounter many marvelous spirits throughout the night.

Where the last guest has gone,

You draw yourself a bath and soak away all your troubles as the sun rises.

Then,

Exhausted from the night's work,

You return to your chamber to sleep the day away.

Before we begin,

Take a brief moment to center yourself.

Breathe deeply in and out.

Let go of the day you've had and just be here.

Be still.

Let today's worries or stresses roll off of you like water.

Slow down and settle in as we move into tonight's story.

You like the boiler room.

Most of your coworkers won't even set foot down here,

This chamber of soot,

Darkness,

And hot steam.

But you find it comforting.

Something about the hollow clank of pipes,

The hiss of steam,

And the mumblings of the boiler man.

As curmudgeonly as he is with others,

He has a soft spot for you,

A kind of grandfatherly warmth.

He'd say it's because you bring him cakes before every shift,

Smuggled from the banquet table.

But you think that more than the cakes,

It's the company he appreciates.

You come down well before dusk each evening to bring him your herbal mixes,

Along with news and gossip from upstairs,

And to collect bath tokens for all your shift mates.

In return,

He tells you when there's a faulty pipe and which faucets to avoid as a result.

And he tells you stories sometimes,

Long winding tales while he works at his preparations.

Sometimes he repeats himself or trails off,

But the stories always make you smile.

You've always seen this soft side of him.

It was the boiler man who first took pity on you,

Lost here in the spirit realm,

And advocated for you to be given work here in the bath house.

It was intended to be temporary,

A week at most,

A month,

Six months.

But now,

A year or so later,

You've taken to it.

It feels to you and to others like you've always been part of the staff,

Testing the water,

Welcoming guests,

And laundering towels.

You can't imagine returning to your world now.

And with each passing day,

The realm of man drifts further from your memory,

Like a cloud floating out of sight.

Maybe that's why you like the boiler room so much.

In a place filled with magic and nature,

It's grounded in the things you recognize from your world.

Steam heat,

Pipes and plumbing,

Decidedly unmistical yet mystifying arts nonetheless.

Even if it reminds you of things you didn't like about the human realm,

You find something comforting in its familiarity.

Though your first days in the spirit realm were nerve-filled and strange,

The bath house is the only place that's ever truly felt like home.

Before you came here,

You felt adrift,

Swept along by the unpredictable waves of life.

Yet you also felt trapped in numb routines,

Uninspired and unambitious.

You were lost in a world that was always at odds with its surrounding,

Its environment,

And you yearned for attachment,

Grounding.

So you retreated to the countryside to reconnect with nature and the untamed world,

Just a short trip away to a place well-loved for its natural beauty and legendary history.

You hiked the woods and camped beside quiet streams.

It was lovely,

Surrounded by trees and serenaded by birdsong.

But all the while,

In the back of your mind was the knowledge of its fleeting impermanence,

That your time was so short and soon it would be back to the grind.

It was a cool,

Serene evening when you came upon the gate,

At the edge of the wood where your map indicated there should be a vast,

Rolling hillside where majestic deer are often seen grazing.

Twilight approached and as the trees thinned you stepped into pools of shimmering,

Amethyst light.

But instead of wide open grass and soft hills,

You were stopped in your tracks by a monumental gatehouse,

Its plaster walls peeled with red paint.

You had to crane your neck to see the spire atop the gate and the ornate face of a clock,

Its hands stopped and sealed with rust.

Weeds grew from the cracks in the foundation at the base of the gate,

Speckling the faded red of the plaster with vibrant green.

All you could think was that the map had been printed before this structure was erected,

That beyond it,

Through the open,

Darkened archway,

Lay the grazing fields you sought.

Could that explain the obvious signs of age on the gatehouse?

The peeling paint,

The tangle of weeds,

Or was it all simply a forgery?

Had a carnival or fair come through and built this enormous gate,

Distressing its exterior to look older than it was?

Whatever the case,

Curiosity compelled you onward,

And you stepped into the dark tunnel to discover what lay beyond.

When you emerged,

Moments later,

The dusk shimmered with a veil of emerging moonlight.

The setting sun was obscured on the far side of the gate,

An evening breeze swam through the long grasses over the undulating hills.

It was so peaceful,

So serene.

You knew as you strolled over the gentle slopes that you'd have to return to camp any moment.

It would be dark soon,

But you felt such inner calm and tranquility in this place that you couldn't pull yourself away.

Then,

As the last stretch of sunlight faded,

Glimmering gold over the gatehouse,

A new light sprung up in the east at the highest point of the hills.

A shining tower of yellow light,

In fact,

Flickering like a distant flame.

It drew you in,

Like a moth to its warmth.

Closer and closer you drew,

And the monolith of light separated into decorative lanterns,

Placed perfectly apart on the eaves of an opulent structure.

Your feet found a small footbridge over a clear stream of water,

And here you stopped,

In between grass and stone,

To behold the bathhouse.

You remember it like it was only a moment ago,

How all the tension in your shoulders ran slack when you beheld the mammoth thing,

How you felt awe and strange delight,

And how all at once you felt like bursting into tears and dropping to your knees in admiration.

It was so colorful,

So inviting,

So grand.

You had never seen anything like it.

Then moments later,

While you marveled upward at its majesty,

You became aware that you were not alone on the footbridge.

You found yourself in the midst of a spectral procession toward the doors,

Heavy and crimson,

Which were now swinging open wide.

The folks crossing the bridge around you,

However,

Were clearly of another world.

Some had human-like forms but shone like stars,

With a light that seemed to emanate from within.

Others were animal-like,

Though standing on two legs and conversing like people.

Foxes and cats and deer.

A figure crossed your path who looked like a tall,

Spindly tree that had just uprooted itself from the forest floor.

They were descending upon the structure in droves,

Hardly noticing your existence.

And those who stepped around you,

Still and agape on the bridge.

Finally,

You wrenched yourself from the spot and followed the procession through the doors,

Where the interior dazzled you as much as the exterior.

And you knew right away that you had discovered a place of divine,

Natural magic.

A place that,

Should it accept you,

Could make you happy.

Though,

Of course,

It was not usual practice to grant a human work at a bathhouse like this one,

One that exclusively serves the very spirits of the natural world.

You and the boiler man as your advocate ultimately convinced the owner to let you try.

It was only meant to be temporary.

But you worked hard,

Showed respect,

Earned respect until you were part of the scenery.

The boiler man snaps you back from your thoughts.

You are lost somewhere in there,

He says.

Just dreams and memories,

You tell him,

And you collect the bath tokens for yourself and your shift mates.

But before you go up for your shift,

The boiler man shoves one extra token into your hands with a wink.

You give him an inquisitive look,

To which he only shrugs.

You understand,

This is a little secret between you.

Once in a while,

Usually when he can sense you're especially weary and in need of a break,

He makes sure you have a token for yourself so that after the bathhouse closes in the morning,

You can take a soak of your own.

You mouth a clandestine thank you and retreat to the elevator.

The rest of the staff will be waiting for you.

You can hear the boiler man muttering to himself as you go,

And you smile.

You begin your slow ascent from the underground boiler room,

Haven of dark and dust bunnies,

Through the center of the bathhouse.

The elevator makes a stop on the ground floor,

Its doors sliding open to reveal warm,

Bright light and the grand entrance hall.

Dozens of workers are busy mopping the marble floors,

Arranging the wall hangings,

And preparing the space for the oncoming night and public opening.

Someone joins you on the elevator and you're pleased to see it's Mae,

Your shift mate and good friend.

You greet her warmly and pass along a few soak tokens during the elevator ride.

She gets off on one of the middle floors with a wave.

The whole place bustles with energy.

The air is thick with excitement and anticipation for the opening of the doors at sundown.

Every night in the bathhouse this sensation can be found,

But somehow tonight feels even more alive,

As though the whole place is quivering.

At last,

The elevator stops on the topmost public floor.

You can hear the relaxing harp music and trickle of water from behind them.

Then they open onto a tranquil scene that never ceases to calm your nerves.

The lush,

Rustic tea garden.

You exit the elevator,

Inhaling the scent of eucalyptus,

Jasmine,

And green tea.

You are pleased to see that on tonight's rotation of opening duties,

You are assigned to the garden.

It's a coveted spot,

As it comes with quiet and solitude,

In contrast to the noisy,

Busy tasks of the workers on the other floors.

Tomorrow you may be assigned to scrubbing the saunas or polishing floors,

But tonight you have the honor of tending the garden.

The natural stones of the path feel cool and comforting on your bare feet.

First,

You slide open the windows and doors on all sides of the floor,

Allowing the last kiss of sunlight to flood the garden.

The flora drinks in these sunset rays,

But it truly thrives by the light of the moon.

You fill a watering can from the trickling fountain pool and make your way down the serpentine path to water the azaleas.

They stand out,

Bright and pink against the deep greens of the shrubbery and dark brown trunks of the trees.

Then,

Carefully,

You prune the ancient black pine and maple trees with a delicate touch.

You take special care with the angle of your shears and your watering can,

Not only because you want to uphold the standards of beauty and elegance of the garden for customers,

But because your time here in the spirit realm has endowed you with an almost transcendent reverence for the natural world.

All things have some untamed spirit within them,

You've learned,

And it is your responsibility to maintain harmony with that spirit.

In this way,

Tending the garden feels ceremonial to you.

After seeing to the shrubs,

Flowers,

And water features,

You venture into the little tea house at the heart of the garden.

Your feet fall softly upon the floors,

Making almost no noise.

In the anteroom,

You prepare the utensils for the tea ceremony,

Aligning them just right.

Then,

You arrange the flowers in the alcove.

Leaving the tea house as quietly as you came,

You light the lanterns along the garden path one by one.

You light the lanterns over the moon bridge,

Leaning over its edge to feed the fish in the pond.

On the far side of the bridge is the enchanted harp from which the constant music plays.

You allow yourself one idle moment to watch its strings plucked by invisible hands or winds.

Then,

You bow your head in reverence and return to the elevator.

You get off on the ground floor,

Where a collective exhale signals the completion of preparatory tasks.

The staff are lining themselves up in the grand hallway before the doors,

Preparing for them to open and allow in a flood of customers.

You're just in time to take your place among your shiftmates,

Including May,

Who winks at you.

She's already shared the bath tokens you brought with the rest of your cohort.

You straighten and smooth your apron,

Folding your hands.

The staff falls quiet,

Waiting.

And then,

With a burst of lively energy and jubilance,

The doors,

Red and gilded and towering,

Swing outward by themselves.

Night has fallen,

Velvet and black beyond the bridge,

But the bathhouse is bright and warm,

A beacon in the darkness.

Through the doors,

The spirits begin to pour inside to a chorus of cheers and welcoming exclamations.

You applaud and call out,

Along with your friends,

The nightly ritual of welcome.

There are familiar customers,

Regulars who return again and again to the bathhouse,

And ones you don't recognize.

Perhaps spirits who rarely grant themselves time for restoration hear for their annual outing of self-care.

An especially put-upon yet dazzling spirit floats by you.

They resemble a great stag with a thousand antlers glittering like a starry sky.

But for all their regal beauty,

In their eyes is all the weariness and weight of the world.

Two attendants rush to their side and take them by the arms,

Leading the spirit to one of the largest baths where high-ticket customers go to soak.

You and May avail yourselves to a willowy spirit who glides across the floor.

You've seen her before.

A local deity of the autumn wind,

Her silk garments seem to flutter with self-generated breeze wherever she goes.

You bow to her,

Then lead her to her favorite of the soaking rooms,

Where the large tub is a sparkling centerpiece.

You like this room,

Too,

More modest than the lavish ones reserved for the great spirits of rivers and mountains,

But bright and welcoming nonetheless.

The ceilings are high and open,

And the walls are painted with fine renderings of the countryside,

Pink mountains,

Crystal lakes,

Cherry trees,

And leaves swept on the wind.

As you escort the spirit into the room,

May opens a small cabinet blended in with the walls,

Releasing a water pipe toward the mouth of the tub.

She clips a bath token to a string,

Gives it a gentle tug,

And the token vanishes out of sight.

Only moments later the spout floods with water,

Which tumbles swiftly into the tub.

Steam and bubbles rise from the bathtub,

Which fills steadily with the scented water.

The smell of chamomile and yuzu fills the room,

And heat radiates in soothing waves from the tub.

You close your eyes for a moment to take in the enchanting scent.

You and May leave the spirit to her soak,

Reminding her of the robe and slippers hanging on the wall,

As well as the bell she can ring if she needs an attendant or to request tea or food brought to her room.

You return to the entrance hall to greet more customers,

Directing some to the tea garden or steam saunas on the other floors.

A worker with a tray of small sweets weaves through the crowds in the hall.

You see spirit's eyes widen with hunger and delight.

The whole place is an explosion of color and great joy.

Sometime later,

Like clockwork as it happens each night,

The hall begins to ring with bell after bell from the soaking rooms.

They bounce across the walls and floors and mingle with each other,

A cacophony of singing reverberating bells.

Attendants rush to assist their customers,

Bringing teapots and pitchers of water and fruit slices.

And so it continues into the deep of night,

An ebb and flow of rest and labor.

A wave of customers will arrive,

Dispersed to their destinations within the bathhouse,

Ushered along by attendants.

Then,

With the spirits settled and soaking,

The hall exhales and goes quiet.

Save for polishing the errant scuff on the floor or rearranging a curtain,

The staff slump their shoulders and sigh,

Allowing themselves a brief respite.

Then,

Again all at once,

The bells hum and ring against each other,

And the staff springs to life once more.

Wave after wave,

Bath after bath,

Soak after soak.

It's exhausting work,

But it's rewarding,

Too.

Watching the customers leave refreshed,

Like your autumn wind spirit to whom you wish a fond farewell,

And rejuvenated,

Ready to return to their mountains and rivers and waterfalls.

You feel you've done a small part to restore a piece of the natural world.

You've given it the rest and replenishment it needs to go on thriving in harmony with all around it.

You imagine the autumn wind blowing with renewed vigor,

The night sky shining brighter with stars,

The trees bearing sweeter fruit and more resilient flowers in the coming season.

With the fifth or so rotation of spirits and soaks,

The crowds soon slow to a trickle in and out of the magnificent bathhouse.

The elevator doors spill out satisfied customers,

Lake spirits and ginger spirits,

And the fox-headed spirits of the nearby wood,

Freshened from their spa treatments and steam baths.

The bells chime quieter,

More sporadically,

Then ring no more,

And the only sounds are the draining of tubs,

The hushed conversation between attendants,

And the clinking of china on platters heading back toward the kitchens.

When you've completed your closing duties,

You and May enter the elevator,

Along with a handful of your other shiftmates,

Toward the staff quarters on the topmost floor of the bathhouse.

When you emerge,

You step out onto the open balcony to observe the thinning darkness.

It will be sunrise soon,

An hour or so,

You suppose,

Time for bed.

Though you've been here a year or more,

Observing such nocturnal cycles as the spirits who go about their business by night instead of day,

It still feels strange to you,

Sleeping in the sun and rising with the moon.

But this hour,

Before sunrise,

You cherish.

You eat a light supper with your friends,

Who all retire before you to their private apartments on the shared floor.

You stay up a little while longer.

For the past few months,

You've kept a sunrise ritual.

To wind down from the excitement of the night,

You slip off to the blending room,

A large chamber accessible by the stairs just past the workers' apartments.

You discovered the staircase not long after you started here,

But it took you some time to work up the courage to follow it.

Here the Spice Masters dry and roast the herbs that make up the medicinal bath blends.

They produce the popular yuzu baths and the simple mixtures guests love.

But they experiment,

Too,

With new combinations and ingredients.

Tonight,

When you open the doors,

Your senses are flooded with the almost overwhelming scent of wild mint.

You can feel your eyes water and lungs clear,

As though you've been wrung out like a rag,

Washed of all toxins,

Cleansed.

Pip,

The lead Spice Master,

Gives you a cheerful wave when he sees you,

Peering over his work through thick-clensed glasses.

He's been letting you visit each night before sunrise to observe how he works and even try the blending some mixtures of your own.

You join him at his work desk,

Now smelling the heavenly fusion of mint and licorice root,

Milky tonka bean and spicy cinnamon.

While Pip sifts and tumbles a mix of the wild mint and chamomile,

You toss a blend of dried lemon peel,

Lavender,

And ginseng.

You fill sachets with your mix,

Then tie them with twine.

Next,

You make a melange of the wild mint,

Eucalyptus,

Cedar,

And sage.

You move a wooden spoon through the mixture to ensure all the ingredients are evenly distributed in the bowl.

Pip peers over at what you're doing,

Eyes wide with interest.

He says nothing,

But you can tell he's making notes for his own blends.

Then,

You pour this experimental blend into sachets.

You wonder what the Boiler Man will think when you bring a few to him tomorrow.

Then,

Carrying a basket of little sachets and wishing Pip a good day's rest,

You depart the blending room,

Returning to the mild smelling halls of the staff apartments.

You can see a faint rose glimmer from the balcony.

It's almost sunrise.

You open a window in your apartment to let in the fresh morning air.

You're just about to slide into bed when you remember the soak token you have stashed in your apron.

Perhaps the Boiler Man is still awake down there.

A bath would work wonders on your sore muscles.

You go to your bathroom.

Each apartment is equipped with a tub,

Humbler by far than those on the public floors,

But perfectly suitable for your needs.

You knock at the little hatch in the wall to release the spout,

Clip your bath token to the string,

And give it a small tug.

You wait a few moments.

Well,

You suppose the old man went to sleep.

It's no great loss.

But a moment later,

The spout begins to run with water,

Splashing and steaming into the tub.

It's delicately scented with jasmine.

You release the spout when the tub is full,

Feeling a dull ache between your shoulder blades.

Something occurs to you.

You take a sachet of your experimental mint blend from the basket in your hall.

Carefully,

You empty the blend into the water,

Which unlocks the sweet,

Anesthetic aroma of the herbs.

Moving your uniform,

You step slowly into the basin.

The water is hot,

But not uncomfortable.

The skin on your arms and neck prickles as you lower yourself down into the steaming bath.

Your nostrils fill with the mint and eucalyptus,

And you savor the woodsy edge of sage and cedar.

You close your eyes,

Breathing in the healing steam off the water and soak.

The sun is rising steadily outside,

Painting pink and orange streaks across the sky.

The deer may be resuming their grazing patterns on the sea of grass that separates this world from the other.

As you allow your muscles to soften in the hot water,

Resting the back of your head on the cool edge of the tub,

You picture the monumental gate with its peeling,

Red plaster.

And you wonder,

As you often do,

If you'll ever feel moved to return through it.

There was a time when you contemplated it,

But you always put it off to the next morning,

And the next,

And the next.

Inhaling,

The scented steam clears a path within you,

Cleansing you from the inside out.

Exhaling,

You let a little more tension go from your muscles,

Relaxing your face and temples.

Your body adjusts to the temperature of the water,

Finding a calm,

Kindled balance.

You begin to imagine your breath in and out as the autumn wind.

It sweeps in,

Gathering up the scented steam and carrying oxygen to your body.

And it rushes out,

Making little waves on the surface of the water.

In the billowy steam,

You can almost see the bath as a vast lake,

Shrouded in mist beside towering,

Snow-capped mountains.

The autumn wind of your breath disturbs the hanging moisture in the air.

You can feel all soreness melting from your muscles in the warm bath,

Massaged from inside out by your breath and the gentle sway of your body in the water.

In and out,

The autumn wind.

You imagine your exhale rolling out over the lake and the mountains,

Whistling through a golden forest full of foxes and tree spirits,

Then gathering back inward with your inhale,

Bringing the fresh scent and spirit of the countryside into you.

But again,

Sweeping over the grassy hills where the deer graze.

Inward,

Bringing the peace and calm of the herd on sacred ground.

Outward,

Even beyond the gatehouse and the clock tower,

Over the road and into the cities and towns you left behind.

Inward,

Bringing back the sound of laughter,

The smell of cooking spices,

The warmth of human touch.

Outward,

To all corners of the spirit realm and the human one,

All welcome the autumn wind of your breath.

Settling in,

You become aware of the sensation of your toes in the hot water,

Suspended,

Floating in its soporific sway,

The feeling of the water between your toes.

You feel the water work out the tension in the soles of your feet,

Which release and relax in the warmth.

Your heels relax,

Unburdened by pressure or impact,

Simply suspended and soft.

You release the tension in your ankles and the tops of your feet,

Letting them loosen and relax.

Soften the shins and calves.

Release the knees,

Tender and strong.

They've done their work and deserve the rest.

The muscles of your thighs relax in the warm,

Aromatic water.

You send your autumn wind breath to the lower body,

The hips and legs,

Which relax completely.

Your belly rises and falls as you breathe,

Gently releasing tension.

You loosen your chest and the sides of your waist,

Untangling anything you're still clenching.

Feel your heart melt into the soothing,

Healing waters.

Slow yourself down to the rhythm of the natural world.

You feel your arms and hands release,

Suspended in the water,

Your fingers and the spaces between your fingers,

Soft and delicate,

Floating on the surface of the bath.

Your shoulders,

Your shoulder blades,

Your lower back releasing any tension and relaxing any strain.

Your upper back.

Let the neck feel loose and unburdened.

Even the muscles of the face,

The jaw,

The mouth,

The tongue,

The throat,

The nose and cheeks,

The temples,

The eyebrows and the space between them,

The forehead,

The skull.

Let the relaxing fragrance and the warmth of the water invite softness and slowness.

Let your skin invite the moisture of the steam.

Let yourself surrender and be cleansed from inside to out.

You soak in the bath until the sun's rays stream into the apartment from the window.

Feeling it once rejuvenated and prepared for sleep,

You step out of the tub,

Wrap yourself in a plush towel and return to your bedroom.

You close the windows to darken the room.

A pair of linen pajamas are folded neatly on the edge of your bed.

In dress,

Feeling the airy softness of the fabric against your clean skin.

Climbing into bed,

You snuggle against your pillow and pull the blankets up to your neck,

Making a cozy little nest for yourself.

As you close your eyes,

You can hear the whistle of the autumn wind blowing with strength and softness against the walls and windows of the bathhouse.

You remember the sensation of your breath and its yearning to extend even beyond the borders of the spirit realm,

Toward the world of man,

That place you foresore a long time ago.

In the moments before you fall asleep,

You think on the human realm fondly.

For the first time since you came here,

You see it behind your eyes,

Recalling its problems,

Of course,

But also its beauty and ingenuity.

You picture it as flawed but worthy,

Just as any natural place of blessing.

And worth saving,

Too,

What wisdoms you could bring back with you,

What devotion and admiration for the natural world.

If you did go back,

You might do a small part to bring balance to the realms.

One day you might go back,

Someday.

Good night.

Good night.

Good night.

Good night.

Good night.

Good night.

Good night.

Reviews

Words cannot convey how much I adore and appreciate your work. Thank you for sharing your gifts with us 🫶🏽

This is a wonderful story and a great reading giving me a good night's sleep.

I love it. It seems like a Miyazaki! And I love Miyazaki!

Well, 2 nights I (2nd night starting partway through) I still haven’t made it to the actual bathing part of the bath house so I guess it works! I need really long sleep stories because if it’s too short then I’m not asleep enough, so I wake up when it ends and am worse off than before. Also they can’t have too much plot or I stay awake to find out “what happens.” This one is nice and long and the perfect balance between a story and just kind of “rambling” ( I mean that in the very best way, having trouble thinking of a better word choice!). Great voice and phrasing and storytelling.

One of the best! Thank you! 😊

I’ve listened to this a few times now and my new favourite. I made a conscious effort to stay awake to listen to it last night, such a good story. Still didn’t get to the end! Thank you 🙏

Reminded me of my favorite anime movie Spirited Away. Thank you for keeping my mind occupied on this sleepless night.

Thank you 💜

Loved this!!

This has never failed to put me to sleep. Maybe someday I’ll hear it all! Can you make more inspired by Miyazaki films? Thanks so much.

Another great bedtime tale from Laurel. Keep up the formidable work! X

This is one of my favourite sleep stories, it reminds me of spirited away by studio ghibli which is a big comfort movie for me, so no wonder I love this story. It’s very soothing to fall asleep to:)

I loved falling to sleep to this meditation! I also just want to add the Lorel has a wonderful gift for writing and telling story’s, and that mixed with her angelic voice and soft tones, makes this story a amazing one that I recommend to anyone who wishes to sleep.

Lorel’s soothing voice lulled me to sleep, where my dreams were of majestic mountain spirits, and scented fumes wafting from the water of peace, where quiet consumes me, and my hopes are of kindness. This story truly changed me for the better. One question, what type of spirit is May? Thank you so much!!!

Me after your reply: I love all of those movies!!!

Awesome, as always! It will take me a bunch of times to get through it all, because you work so well, my sleep sorcerer!🙏🏼🧙‍♀️

I love Bathhouse of the Spirits because Laurel has such a beautiful voice and a wonderful tone as well as a extraordinary volume of her voice! Her story telling always transports me to the realm of the spirits! By the way I fell asleep when you got to the part about explaining when ‘you’ first saw the bathhouse. Also, can you please do a story about a dragon who explores the world looking for gold and other treasures? Oh, or one about a gardener who meets a talking plant or another magical thing? Thank you! Five stars! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I love this creative story! It helps me to sleep everytime.

Absolutely fabulous just love your stories thank you so much ❤️🌹

Another amazing story I never hear the end of.

Love!! 💖💖💖