Dreams Of The Blue Lotus | Sleep Story

In tonight’s bedtime story, you float down a mysterious river in search of the mythical blue lotus. Winding your way through a jungle, you take in the intoxicating atmosphere and muse on the magical properties of the flower you seek. When at last you come to the end of the river, you face a test to determine whether you are worthy to achieve the lotus.

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw, Onsen Ritual by Joseph Beg, Magic Surroundings by Drift Far Away, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Float along a jungle river in search of a mythical flower.

In tonight's meditative bedtime story,

Sleep and 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 and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Listen to my voice for as long as you like,

But know that at any time,

You're welcome and invited to drift off to sleep.

Instead of a separate meditation at the end,

This story features many built-in meditation and breathing cues,

Which you can follow if you choose.

Or simply let the words wash over you.

In tonight's story,

You find yourself aboard a raft navigating a mysterious river in search of the mythical blue lotus.

Winding your way through a jungle and forest of reeds,

You take in the intoxicating atmosphere and muse on the magical properties of the flower you seek.

When at last you come to the end of the river,

You face a test to determine whether you are worthy to achieve the lotus.

We have not even to risk the adventure alone,

For the heroes of all time have gone before us.

The labyrinth is thoroughly known.

We have only to follow the thread of the hero path.

And where we had thought to find an abomination,

We shall find a god.

Where we had thought to slay another,

We shall slay ourselves.

Where we had thought to travel outward,

We shall come to the center of our own existence.

And where we had thought to be alone,

We shall be with all the world.

Joseph Campbell,

The hero with a thousand faces.

Hints of sweet jasmine and citrus whisper on the warm breeze.

Through the trees and low-lying vegetation wakes a symphony of sound.

The rustle of ferns and leaves,

The cheer up of a quetzal and the hum of dragonflies,

All woven through like a tapestry by the gentle wind and the murmur of the river.

The wooden raft floats gently down the narrow river.

You gingerly navigate with a smooth pole to avoid running aground of the bank,

So thick with mud and vegetation.

Every inch of this forest is alive,

You think.

From the rich soil to the leaves of the canopy,

Beneath the raft,

In lazily running water swim blue and yellow fish.

They draw your eye each time they flash near the surface,

Dazzling and colorful.

You've come from far away,

And you have farther still to go before you reach your destination.

If indeed the place exists,

For generations it's lived only as an ideal,

A figment in the minds of storytellers and audiences gathered round the fire in the cold,

Dark night.

A promise of hope and restoration.

Your home,

The legends say,

Was once a flourishing oasis,

Verdant and abundant with food and water enough for everyone.

Wherever you stood you could close your eyes,

They say,

And reach up and pluck a ripe fruit from a tree.

The people lived in harmony with the land and all its diverse flora and fauna,

The birds in the trees,

The fish in the stream,

Even the tigers that roamed the land.

It was a paradise,

Until the last blue lotus died.

You see,

It was the blue lotus that sustained this haven,

Made its waters safe to drink and its trees plentiful with fruit.

It once grew wild in your homeland.

The river at night would shine like a blanket of stars with its blue luminescence.

The lotus had the power to heal,

Rejuvenate and strengthen not only the land itself,

But the people and animals living there.

An herbal tea made from its leaves could lengthen life and extend youth.

A salve made from the oils of its petals could quicken the healing of wounds,

And its root could purify toxins.

But such magic never lasts,

The storytellers say,

Because of the greed of mankind.

Over time,

Your people harvested the blue lotus more quickly than it could regenerate.

People who simply longed to look young or hoard the healing benefits for themselves.

Long before you were ever born,

The last blue lotus withered on the surface of the dwindling river and the plentiful trees withered with it.

The birds migrated and the tigers moved on.

The soil,

Once rich enough to bear many crops,

Became dusty and infertile.

Soon the river was only a trickle.

Now the land,

Once a paradise,

Is mostly dry and barren.

Your people remained only because of a prophecy that one day someone would restore the blue lotus and make your home prosperous again.

Each year,

However,

The river floods.

It brings fish and mineral deposits to the banks,

And for a short season the soil is rich enough to till.

There's enough,

Just enough,

For your people to survive.

Though they wait patiently for the permanent return of the vibrant oasis,

Telling tales of the prophesied hero,

You always tried to picture them,

The savior who would bring back the magic flower.

Their face never quite materialized in your mind,

But it was like you could see them in silhouette or through a rippled glass,

Their specific features moldable,

Changeable,

Rearranging like a reflection in the ripples of the river when the tide is high.

Each year,

Just before the river is expected to flow fast and deep once more,

The whole village gathers to make offerings to the land.

At this festival,

They choose a hero,

Someone to try their hand at fulfilling the prophecy and restoring the land.

Dressed in the finest cloths,

Fed with the best of the year's food,

And readied with travelers' tools,

This hero prepares to ride down the flowing river in search of a land where the blue lotus still grows.

In all the years of your life,

Despite the hopes and prayers of your people,

No hero has ever returned with the blue lotus in hand,

But still,

Each year,

The ritual continues.

This year,

You are the hero chosen to undertake the quest.

You were robed in fine linen and presented with a meager yet heartfelt feast of preserved foods from the fertile season.

You were anointed with oils and tinctures to bless your journey.

A raft was made for you by a gifted craftsman.

The local wise woman burned incense while whispering prayers for your well-being and success.

The whole village danced round a fire in the cold desert night to honor you and send you off splendidly.

You've never thought of yourself as a hero,

Only as part of a whole,

Part of your community.

To be singled out thus and given special attention was so far from your usual experience that you now truly cherish the solitude of your raft on the river.

It's given you time to think,

Time to recharge after the overwhelming celebration and send off.

There's no map for an adventure such as this,

Though you know to an extent what kind of terrain you'll face,

For those who have undertaken the journey before have told you a little about their experiences.

They've remained tight-lipped,

However,

About their reasons for returning home empty-handed.

Is it guilt,

You wonder?

How will your journey be different?

The river flows north from home,

And downhill,

You were told of this forest which sings day and night in manifold voices.

Keep your wits sharp,

The others say,

For you'll see things you never dreamt of between those trees.

And the forest itself plays tricks,

But aside from your minimal efforts to steer away from the risen banks,

You are little more than a piece of driftwood,

Surrendering to the directional flow of the river.

The raft,

Steady enough and finely built,

Bobs evenly on the moving water.

From time to time you catch yourself nodding into an almost trance-like state,

Eyes slipping out of focus with the hypnotic sway of the vessel.

You come back to yourself each time,

Like a ball tossed into the air returning to the hand that tossed it.

For a moment you float into a sensation of weightlessness,

Selflessness,

Dissolution from the body.

Then you float back down,

Reclaiming the stability and security of your physical self.

Up you rise,

Out you flow,

Down you sink,

Up and out and down.

The weightless sensation is pleasant,

Liberating,

It's tempting to let yourself glide on the breeze up through the canopy and into the night sky,

Beyond your body.

But each time you slip into that reverie,

You feel the familiar,

Safe tug of your body beneath you,

Pulling you back,

Keeping you close.

The river widens and your raft catches a regular current.

The vegetation is so thick in this part of the forest as to nearly obscure the light,

Though threads of it still squeeze through tiny partings in the leafy overgrowth.

What light makes it to you is enough to reveal the striking colors of the flowering plants,

The vibrant fuchsia of the heliconia,

And buttery,

Bright yellow blooms of plumeria,

All against the thousand shades of green,

Oh such green as you've never seen in your home.

Green and wet,

Pooling with water that seems to trickle from all directions,

Up and down and sideways,

Pooling in the caved surfaces of fronds and sinking into the soil.

Why can't we just live here?

You find yourself wondering.

Perhaps the oasis didn't dry up so much as drift down the river like you're doing now.

Your thoughts meander and coalesce into an image of a floating island,

Green and alive with flowers and birds,

Simply gliding across the desert like a mirage or floating atop a cloud like a dream or a melody.

But no,

You think,

A place like this isn't meant for human interference.

It is unutterably wild,

Its vines and leaves growing without interruption,

Its trees inhabited by innumerable species.

Even now,

Tossed along the river on your raft,

Only exerting the faintest touch against the water and the riverbank,

You feel yourself an intruder in the exquisitely untamed jungle.

Night follows swiftly behind you.

You departed in the early hours of morning when it was still mostly dark,

And only the faintest glimmer of pink dawn disturbed the peaceful azure sky.

You wonder how many leagues you've traveled,

How much further till you reach the land where the blue lotus still blooms.

Those who came before you,

Seeking the mythical flower,

Told you to be on your guard when night falls,

For the forest comes alive at night.

As you float downstream,

You find it hard to believe that this place could come more alive than it is at present.

The undercurrent of sound and song,

The constant movement of water and wind.

The ever-present sense that everything around you is actively growing,

Reaching.

But as darkness comes on,

And thankfully the vegetation thins overhead to allow in shafts of moon and starlight,

You begin to understand what they meant.

The sounds of insects and owls are no more a distant fugue but an orchestra close at hand.

The noises melt into a kind of unified hum,

Which washes pleasantly over you,

Rising and falling in irregular patterns.

All around you night-blooming flowers unfurl their petals before your eyes,

Yellow and pink and violet,

Seeming to generate their own hazy light,

Or perhaps absorbing and reflecting the opal moonlight.

And from those supple-leafed flowers come a network of fragrances,

Earthy musk,

Exotic spice and narcotic amber,

Intoxicating all.

Your head swims,

Your muscles relax,

And your eyelids droop.

You once again drift toward a trance-like state,

But this time you feel yourself collapsing inward,

As though sinking deep into the center of the earth,

Rather than buoyantly floating upward,

Lulled by the gently bobbing raft on the river,

And softened by the union of sound and aroma.

You feel yourself completely relaxing,

Sinking down a level,

Then another,

Settling deep within yourself still.

You endeavor to keep your senses awake,

Should you meet a bend or a fork in the river.

You expect a divergence soon,

For those previous adventurers warned you that you would reach it in the early hours of night.

On you drift,

Mind and body soft,

Reclined on the surface of the raft.

Somewhere a night heron buzzes,

And calls through the trees,

Aided by moonlight,

Where the canopy briefly opens.

You think you can see the fork in the river ahead.

You stiffen and clutch the pole you've been using to steer.

Sitting forward now,

You squint to better make out the path ahead.

Somewhere in the middle of the river's widening berth,

Something,

A tree,

Certainly,

Is protruding straight out of the water.

It's tall,

But the most extraordinary thing about it is its color,

Its color and something else hard to put your finger on from a distance.

As far as you can see,

The tree is a glowing,

Phosphorescent blue,

A pulsing,

Gleaming cerulean.

It's as though the very trunk of this strikingly blue tree has a heartbeat and veins.

As you draw nearer,

Angling your steering pole to slow the raft and give you time to avoid colliding with the thing,

The tree seems to shift and rise and fall gently,

Like waves,

Like breath.

That's what has you so mesmerized.

The tree,

Just like everything in this forest,

Everything that's so miraculously alive,

Seems to breathe in and out.

Without effort,

Without any thought of it,

You feel your breath naturally synchronizing itself to the slow,

Deliberate undulation of the tree.

Slowly in and slowly out,

Your breath slows and deepens to meet the pattern.

With each deep inhale,

You take in more of that hypnotic fragrance.

With each deep exhale,

You feel your muscles relax.

Indeed,

The breathing,

Luminescent tree must mark the fork in the river.

This may be the very choice that determines whether you find the land of the blue lotus.

Of so many before you come home empty-handed simply because they chose the wrong path at this juncture.

No,

Says a lazy,

Yet clear voice,

Echoing from somewhere inside your dizzy,

Tranquil mind.

It wasn't because they chose wrong.

It's because they chose at all.

You loosen your grip on the pole and rest it beside you on the raft.

Your breath and heartbeat are steady,

Still slow and deep and harmonizing with the oscillation of the glowing tree.

You drift toward it,

Straight on.

But there,

Now,

The raft is listing left,

Ever so slightly and then,

Definitively,

The river,

Constant and confident,

Is choosing for you.

All you need do is surrender to it,

Trust it.

A feeling of lightness and liberation,

Sweet relief too.

As the raft corrects against the current and narrowly slides to the left fork,

The rush of water brings you within arm's reach of the breathing tree.

And at last you can see the source of its fluid flutter,

Its supernal hue,

From root to branch.

The tree is covered round with blue morpho butterflies,

Twitching and shifting in a smooth,

Rising and falling motion.

It's not one organism,

But many,

Moving as one.

What wonder.

And as you float by,

The butterflies take notice and take wing,

A thousand of them or more at once,

Launching from the trunk of their home tree and swirling,

Cluttering through the open forest.

They carry their blue incandescence over the surface of the river,

Lighting it up.

They circle around you and your raft,

Their gentle wing beats,

Kicking up a wind on your face.

One alone wouldn't so much as disturb the air,

But all together,

They simulate a fierce gale.

And then,

Leaving only traces of their light and flutter behind,

They disappear into the dark between the trees.

For a few moments,

You hold the sight of them in your mind,

But soon,

You're left to question whether they were ever there at all.

The forest thickens,

Sealing out the moonlight.

Fireflies blink here and there,

Providing brief glimpses of patches of shrubbery.

But your eyes savor the darkness,

And your other senses awaken,

As the night ages and curlews whistle their tremulous calls.

Your tributary narrows.

You become alert once more,

And agile with the staff.

The river is just wide enough for your raft to move through without scraping the banks,

But only with nimble steering and care.

The reeds tickle your shoulders and the sides of your face.

They're growing thickly.

There's more visibility now.

Moonlight streams downward in a milky cascade,

Splashing against the water.

You lean over the front of the raft,

Thinking to take a drink of the cool water.

In the wash of moonglow,

You can see your reflection,

Dimpled by the river's rippling.

You look changed,

Somehow.

You can't quite describe it.

But there,

In the lines of your face,

The curve of your mouth,

It's you,

No doubt.

Not some vision,

But this face,

As echoes of the legendary hero you see in your mind whenever you hear tales from the fireside.

This face is closer to that face.

You cup your hands and take a drink.

The water is cold,

And soothes your dry throat.

When you look once more on the surface of the river,

Your reflection is once again the face you've always known,

Rippled and moonlit.

The river bends sharply now.

You lean strongly to one side to stay afloat.

But the raft hardly wavers.

Somewhere above the woven threads of night birdsong and insects,

Floats another sound,

Perhaps created of the intricate harmonics of all the other sounds of night,

Or perhaps its own,

Individual sound.

A high tone like music,

Or no,

Not like music at all.

As your ears search for it,

Attempt to isolate it,

It slips away,

Only to return atop the breeze as soon as you let it go.

Finally,

You stop trying to hear it,

And simply let it wash over you,

Harmonize with your tranquil state of mind and the languid,

Lulling raft.

And as you turn the twisting bend,

The forest of reeds abates,

Revealing soft grasses and moss-covered stones.

The river narrows suddenly,

So the sides of your raft can't help but scrape the banks.

Soon the channel tapers all the way to a tiny stream,

And the raft,

At last,

Runs aground of the land.

Your body,

Accustomed to the hours of constant flowing motion,

Takes some time to adjust to stillness.

It's as if you can still feel yourself swept along an invisible current.

Beneath the raft,

A trickle runs into the tall grasses ahead.

You sit for a few moments,

Somewhat stunned.

None of those who came before you ever described something like this.

The river coming abruptly to an end.

Should you stay in the raft,

Wait for a sign,

Or should you leave the raft and the river behind,

Take to the jungle on foot?

But there's something through the trees ahead,

Something that gleams.

Your mind flicks back to the tree covered in iridescent blue butterflies,

And indeed,

Whatever light emanating from between the branches is of a similar quality to the light of those winged creatures.

A similar blue,

Too,

Pulsing with soft luminosity.

This is your sign to get up from the raft.

You move slowly,

Allowing your legs to acclimate to solid ground again.

The grasses collapse beneath your feet.

The soil is spongy and pillowy.

You follow the trickle of stream toward the radiant blue light.

The closer you get,

The more it seems to shrink from a nebulous cloud of blue incandescence to a concentrated orb.

You climb cautiously over the exposed roots of a walking tree,

Clinging to its trunk for stability.

Then you step through a tangle of limbs,

And you find yourself in a moonlit glade.

It's surprising at first.

To see so much sky.

Your eyes are drawn naturally upward to drink in its light.

Oh,

How many stars there are.

How bright the moon is,

Waning just short of full tonight.

But there are two skies here in this clearing,

For a great and glassy pool reflects the moon and stars,

Adding its own glittering essence to their beauty.

You're so captivated by the dual skies,

Their infinite,

Dazzling reflection,

That you forget,

For a moment,

Why you came this way at all,

Until that is.

At the corner of your eye,

A blue-white orb shimmers.

You turn your head to see it,

But then it's gone.

No,

Not gone,

It's only moved,

Hopped,

Or flown out of your line of sight.

You scan for it once more,

And this time,

You see it leap from the branch of a distant tree to a closer one.

Fixing your gaze upon it,

You realize the little glowing orb is moving closer to you,

With every jump,

Until it lands,

For good,

On a twisted vine that encircles a rubber tree.

Right before you,

You blink against its brilliant blue glow,

Shielding your eyes to try to take in more detail,

Soon.

You're not sure whether your eyes adjust or the glow actually dims,

But whatever the case,

You can now see the organism to which you were drawn.

You'd thought it might be another blue morpho,

But it's not so.

No,

Clinging to the twisted vine is no butterfly,

But a little frog.

Its shiny skin is a rich,

Iridescent blue,

Dappled with amorphous black spots.

It's so small,

So dazzlingly blue,

That it looks like a tiny gemstone.

Fixed to the tree,

Its moist black eyes seem focused on you.

You return the concentrated,

Curious gaze.

Then,

Though you don't know what compels you to do it,

You utter a simple,

Hello.

The frog's throat pulses,

And it angles its head,

You again.

The frog says,

You're taken aback.

Certainly,

When you embarked on your journey down the river,

You hadn't expected to meet a talking frog.

At the end of it,

You merely blink,

Mouth agape.

When you process what it was the frog said,

Me again,

You reply,

But I haven't.

Oh,

You have,

The frog says.

Its voice is calm and confident.

The mysterious,

Not quite masculine,

Nor feminine tone makes you think of the wise woman back home every year,

At the same moon.

You come this way,

Oh,

But that wasn't me,

You see.

You're beginning to understand.

Others like me,

Yes,

Have come down the river before,

For generations,

I suppose.

Maybe,

You think,

The frog can't distinguish between you and the others.

Dressed in similar linens,

Driving similar rafts,

But why did none of them warn you that you might face such a creature at river's end?

You seek the blue lotus,

The frog says,

Expectantly.

I seek the lotus.

Yes,

You respond,

Mustering a tone of assurance.

Can you take me to it?

Or tell me,

Is there a land where the blue lotus still grows?

The frog is silent for a moment.

You watch intently as it leaps from the rubber vine to the mossy surface of a boulder.

Here it can look more directly upon you,

Into your eyes.

Why do you seek the lotus?

The frog asks.

The question hangs in the warm night air,

Seeming to twist idly on the breeze.

To restore my land to its former vitality,

You say.

To enrich the soils,

Bring back the birds,

And let the river flow freely all year round to heal the sick and protect the aging.

That's what you always say,

The frog says.

It still believes you and all your predecessors are one persistent pilgrim.

This time,

You decline to correct the frog.

What difference would it make?

I've come a long way,

You say,

Please.

Do you know where I can find the blue lotus?

The frog does not reply,

At least,

Not in words.

In a blaze of cobalt,

It leaps across your eye line,

A magnificent leap that defies belief.

Out across the still and silent pool,

You watch the arc of its jump as if in slow motion,

How it bolts across the sky and delicately falls toward the water.

But when it breaks the surface of the pool,

You hear no splash or crashing,

No,

Only a kind of humming high tone.

It's that sound you could never quite isolate.

It now subsumes all the other sounds of the jungle and falls on your ears like the sweetest song and there on the surface of the pool where the frog landed,

A flare of blue light,

Like fire almost,

The way it leaps upward and unfolds.

No,

Not like fire at all,

You think.

It's as though the very surface of the pool has been made solid and peeled back in layers,

In petals.

There,

Unfurling slowly in the center of the water is a gleaming blue lily,

A lotus.

You feel a tremendous exhale escape your lips,

A sigh of wonder and awe.

That streaming note,

That hum,

Is issuing,

You realize,

From the center of the lotus.

And before you have time to think,

To consider,

You've leapt into the water yourself.

It's not so very deep.

You feel your feet graze the silty bottom before you start to swim toward the center.

And it's not quite cold either,

Not like the river through the forest.

Your heart beats an elated rhythm to think that you,

After generations of others who have taken on this quest,

Generations of ritual and prayer,

You will be the one to achieve the lotus and bring it home to your people.

The cries of joy they'll cry,

The admiration with which they'll shower you.

Already you can see,

Smell,

And hear the land coming back to life,

The birds singing once more in the flowering trees,

The tigers prowling,

Purring,

The river running wild,

All of it,

Alive and vibrant with blue lotuses.

Now you're nearing the breathtaking blue flower at the center of the pool.

Your eyes drink of its dazzling hue.

You feel warmth radiating from it like a low flame.

It's so beautiful,

So luminous,

You almost can't bear to look upon it.

But then,

Neither can you bear to look away.

And the closer you come to it,

The more the light from the lotus and the frequency of sound seem to expand,

Intensify,

Until the sound and the light envelop you,

Wrapping you up,

As though with a warm,

Comforting quilt.

You can see that like before,

When you floated past the tree and folded by blue butterflies,

The lotus dilates and contracts,

Making it appear to breathe in and out,

Unfolding and folding,

Swelling,

Collapsing,

Inhaling,

Exhaling.

You stop swimming and let your toes touch the bottom of the pool.

Will you reach out and take the blue lotus,

Swim back to shore,

Hike back to your raft and find a way to row upstream,

Or make the journey home on foot?

Through the forest?

No.

You find that your arms will not reach.

They are content to float by your sides,

Swaying gently among the liquid stars.

It is enough,

For now,

To bathe in the soft light and the song of the lotus,

To watch it breathe,

And to let your breath align to its soporific rhythm.

The lotus uncurls its elegant,

Curved petals.

Inside,

At the center of the flower,

You see a burst of pale yellow you hadn't seen before.

The heart of the lotus shines like the sun,

Hidden amid the brilliant blue enclosure.

The petals close,

Obscuring for a moment that golden center.

Open.

Close.

Breathing in and out,

You stay this way for a long time,

Breathing with and through the lotus,

Swaying softly in the water,

Your mind clears,

Empties of all concerns.

Whenever a thought comes to disturb the peace in your mind,

A question of the time of night,

Or of what you should do next,

For instance,

You simply breathe it out as the lotus petals curl inward,

Letting the thought ride on down the river,

In the exquisite emptiness,

The clarity of your mind.

One thought surfaces,

Like a lily sprung from the mud to float atop the water,

One thought that you allow to take root,

It blooms and breathes in time.

Ah,

You think,

Now I understand.

You remain a little longer,

Breathing,

Swaying,

Softening,

Relaxing,

And then,

When the time feels right,

And the waning moon is lost over the trees,

You turn and you swim back to shore,

From the banks you look back,

The whole pool from here seems to be awash in lotus blue,

With a glow like bioluminescence,

You can see the stem and root beneath the fluttering flower,

How it reaches down,

Like an umbilical cord,

To the center of the world,

To think,

That you might once have wanted to sever that connection,

To pull the lotus up from its root.

The path home,

Through the forest,

Is not a straight line,

But a long and winding one,

Your linen clothing dries under the morning sun,

Which you follow in its arc across the sky through partings in the trees,

Southward,

The walk gives you time to think,

All the while your breath remains steady,

Your heart soft and open,

For you carry with you now something of greater value than a single sacred flower,

You hold within you the seed of secret knowledge,

A boon to bring home to your people,

It was never about the blue lotus,

You know that now,

You were never meant to seize it,

Possess it,

Give it to your people,

It was never yours to give,

And never theirs to lose,

The frog asked you why you sought the lotus,

Your answer,

You understand now,

Was simple and insufficient,

But the answer,

The true answer is simpler still,

The blue lotus is not a magical cure for illness,

Nor is it the key to revitalizing the land,

The land already does this,

Once a year,

When the river floods,

Depositing enough rich minerals in the soil to sustain your people until the cycle begins anew,

The lotus is life,

And breath,

And ritual,

It opens,

Shining like the sun,

And closes,

Beaming like the moon,

It rises and falls like the river,

And generates itself anew,

Just like the earth,

Just like the year,

It was never about the lotus,

It was always about the ritual,

The flood,

The journey,

Each year when your people feast and bless a hero,

They exalt the life-giving,

Life-affirming cycles of the natural world,

What true hero would pluck the lotus from the mud and break that ritual,

That respect?

How many of your forebears came to this same realization by way of the raft on the river?

Did they too converse with a jungle frog,

Or did it appear to them with another face,

A blue morpho butterfly,

A tiger with sapphire eyes?

By day the jungle sings with the rattle of kingfishers and buzz of insects,

The river is always at your right hand,

Even if the path you take may stray now and then,

And soon the forest is behind you,

Wild and beautiful thing,

Hidden therein a sacred pool that mirrors the sky and nurtures the great secrets of the universe,

A place of revelation,

A place of self-investigation,

The heart of the jungle,

And indeed,

The very navel of the world,

Pulsing and dazzling and bathe in lotus blue.

Good night.

Reviews

WERE GOING UP UP UP ITS OUR MOMENT YOU KNOW TOGETHER WERE GLOWING GONNA BE GONNNA BE GOLDEN OH OUR TIME NO FEARS NO LIES THATS WHO WERE BORN TO BE WAITED SO LONG TO BREAK THESE WALLS DOWN TO WAKE UP AND FEEL LIKE ME PUT THESE PATTERNS ALL IN THE PAST NOW AND FINALLY LIVE LIKE THE GIRL THEY ALL SEE NO MORE HIDING NOW IM SHINING LIKE IM BORN TO BE ‘CAUSE WE ARE HUNTERS VOICES STRONG AND I KNOW ILL BELIVE WERE GOING UP UP UP ITS OUR MOMENT YOU KNOW TOGETHER WERE GLOWING GONNA BE GONNA BE GOLDEN OH UP UP UP ITS OUR MOMENT YOU KNOW TOGETHER WERE GLOWING GONNA BE GONNA BE GOLDEN OH OUR TIME NO FEARS NO LIES THATS WHO WERE BORN TO BE YOU KNOW WRERE GONNA BE GONNA BE GOLDEN WERE GONNA BE GONNA BE YOU KNOW WERE BORN TO BE BORN TO BE GLOWING LIKE EVERY ___ OH OUR TIME NO FEARS NO LIES THATS WHO WERE BORN TO BE!

Nice way to go to sleep. I don't remember hearing the end of this meditation story. I'm glad this meditation found me last night. It helped my anxiety and relaxed my mind. Thank you very much. Have a wonderful day 🙏 ❤️ 🙂

A Snoozy Delight

Love your voice❣️

Like so many others, I fell asleep before the ending! 🙏
Will relisten to hear how story ends! 🦋🦋🩵🪷🪷

Absolutely beautiful! I love all your stories so far! Thank you!

Must do again! I drifted off!! Thank you 😊

This is another great meditation and story. Thank you once again.

Beautiful imagery and meaningful storyline that calms and gently allows the body to drift off to sleep.

I never hear the end. Or even the middle for the matter. Which is great. Not all sleep meditations do that for me. But the story sounds so beautiful that I would like to hear all of it. ☺️

I love all of your stories and your soft beautiful voice. I have most bookmarked! The ending of this one touched me deeply, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. 💜

I have never heard the end of one of these stories. 💕💕

A story of experiencing the inner knowingness. Thank you.

💖💖💖 This is another one of your stories which I will likely never know how it develops. This lulls me into sleep in minutes.

A wonderfully relaxing meditation that seems to dream with me! This story allows me to drift into a peaceful sleep, with glowing trees and blue flowers drifting in and out of it. I’ve already listened to this story four times and still can’t reach the end! Thank you so much for this meditation Lorel!

You are amazing— these sharings are amazing! Thank you so much