Halloween At Wizard School

In tonight’s bedtime story, you’ll enjoy a splendid Halloween celebration in the great feasting hall at the school of sorcery. After taking in your fill, the professors escort students to the castle grounds to participate in a Halloween festival and a Samhain ritual, then take a broomstick ride in the moonlight.

Tonight’s key ingredients:
Harry Potter-inspired
Bonfire sounds
Body scan

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

Transcript

Experience the childlike joy of Halloween at Wizard School in tonight's magical sleep story.

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

My name is Laurel and I'll be your guide on our fantastical journey tonight.

Sleep in Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

If you're still awake,

As the story concludes,

I'll guide you through a body scan for rest and relaxation.

In tonight's story,

You'll enjoy a splendid Halloween celebration in the great feasting hall at the School of Sorcery.

After taking in your fill,

The professors escort students to the castle grounds to participate in a Halloween festival and a Samhain ritual.

You and your close friends slip away from the spectacle to take a broomstick ride under the full moon.

Exhilarated and exhausted,

You return to your dormitories within the castle to fall asleep.

Anyone could see that the wind was a special wind this night,

And the darkness took on a special feel because it was All Hallows Eve.

Everything seemed cut from soft black velvet,

Or gold,

Or orange velvet.

Smoke panted up out of a thousand chimneys like the plumes of funeral parades.

From kitchen windows drifted two pumpkin smells,

Gourds being cut,

Pies being baked.

The Halloween tree,

Ray Bradbury.

Though you're no longer a little one,

The rituals surrounding All Hallows Eve never fail to send you into a state of pure,

Childish glee.

The feeling of bright giddiness runs through you like a current of electricity made ever more tingly and effervescent by the rush of students down the marble staircases toward the feasting hall.

Voices,

Laughter and shouts and whispers bounce off the thick stone walls of the castle,

Home to a centuries-old school of sorcery.

Your feet and the feet of hundreds of other young witches and wizards fall softly into well-worn grooves in the stairs,

Steps once trod by the great sorcerers of the ages.

This year,

Your final year in school,

You're keenly aware of the legacies and shadows in which you walk.

Every time you climb or descend this staircase,

You glide closer to a nebulous future beyond books and homework and classes.

A strange freedom awaits for which you are equally excited and desperate for time to slow down so that you might savor the joys of this season.

The Halloween celebration is the most highly anticipated annual event at the school.

The staff pulls out all the stops in celebrating the occasion,

Beginning with the most magnificent banquet supper.

Even before you set foot in the hall,

The sweet and savory aroma of the Halloween feast wafts toward you so potent it's almost visible.

Your mouth waters at the first whiff and you feel almost dizzy with delight.

The cooks must have truly outdone themselves this time.

And as you pass through the doors,

Arms hooked with your two best friends to avoid being separated in the supper rush,

The sight of the feast nearly knocks you out too.

On top of the glorious scent,

The hall is decorated from stone floors to cathedral high ceilings.

There are pumpkins of all sizes,

Some small enough to fit in your hands and others nearly the size of houses.

These,

You know,

Were grown in the pumpkin patch by the gamekeeper,

Karadoc.

You could see them growing when looking out of your dormitory window,

And you marveled each day at their ballooning size.

Some of the smaller ones bob and float in the air and are intricately carved with enthralling faces,

Magical symbols,

Or exquisite patterns.

Candles flicker in their centers and across the hall by the thousands.

The long tables that line the hall are dotted with magnificent centerpieces,

Floral arrangements of pure black,

Midnight purple,

And deep crimson.

Black dahlias,

Bat orchids,

Queen of the night tulips and black roses.

In between,

Elegant gothic candelabras hold dripping white tapers with pooling wax.

And oh,

Such stunningly plated dishes of food.

Rare delicacies and comfort foods and homemade candies and desserts are piled in dazzling abundance.

A shiver runs up your spine.

You and your closest friends,

Violet and Brahm,

Hurry to your favorite table and slide into the benches before you lose the seats.

You like to sit closer to the teacher's table on feast nights,

And especially the Halloween feasts.

This is for a few reasons.

Ostensibly it's to be in sight of the show-stopping centerpieces at the head teacher's seat.

But more than anything,

It's to get a close look at the teacher's Halloween costumes,

For no one puts in such an effort as the teachers.

This year is no exception.

There are several eye-catching ensembles at the staff table.

Caradoc,

Who towers over even the tallest wizards,

Makes an exceptionally convincing Frankenstein's monster.

The magical history teacher,

Professor Lovage,

An eccentric but likable character,

Is dressed as what must be a 19th century vampire.

And the head teacher,

A stately,

Usually straight-laced woman,

Has done herself up as Queen Elizabeth the First,

Complete with powdered face,

Lavish collar,

And overstated gown.

Decadent pearls and rubies are strung around her neck,

And a sparkling diadem rests atop fiery curls.

Most astoundingly,

She appears to have enchanted the threads of her brocade.

The Tudor roses embroidered in her gown bloom and close before your eyes.

A subtle,

Captivating magic.

As students hurriedly fill the benches,

And as eyes widen and mouths water at the sight and smells of the feast,

The head teacher stands.

All eagerly await her command before digging into the mountains of food.

She raises her arms,

Gives a word of welcome,

And then,

With a sparkle in her eye,

Cries,

Enjoy.

The word is hardly past her lips before hands begin reaching for drumsticks,

Candied apples,

And warm,

Flaky hand pies.

Where before there was laughter and conversation,

Now the only sounds echoing about the hall are the clinking of cutlery and exclamations of culinary delight.

It's the most sumptuous,

Satisfying meal you can remember,

And perhaps even more delicious for knowing that it will be your last Halloween feast here,

At least as a student.

Indeed,

This realization seems to fall upon your shoulders like a cloak.

There's a sweet sadness to it.

A sense of being already past this moment and looking back upon it with nostalgia.

You glance at Brom and Violet surreptitiously as they gulp down their beverages and enjoy their suppers,

And you smile to yourself,

Aching to hold the moment just a little bit longer.

The smell and the taste and the warmth of the feast,

Let it sparkle upon your eyes and ears and tongue just a little longer.

The student costumes provide a visual delight as well.

Nearly everyone has traded in their school uniform,

Black robes,

Vests,

Skirts,

And slacks for over-the-top outfits.

Plenty of goblins,

Ghouls,

And ghosts abound,

But the best costumes are those that utilize some bit of magic,

Like the head teacher's brocade roses.

One student,

Who you know to be gifted with conjuration,

Is dressed as a kind of nature spirit.

Birds and butterflies made of wispy smoke sit in her hair and on her shoulders to complete the effect.

Another classmate,

Who has a talent for pyromancy,

Wears a crown of green flames.

It's not long before bellies are full,

Plates are clean,

And the feasting hall reverberates with utterances of satisfaction.

The most excellent feast all seem to agree,

The best in anyone's memory.

Your cheeks flush with warmth and your head swims.

Content and drowsy,

You push away your clear dish.

This subdued conversation begins again.

Out of the corner of your eye,

You see the head teacher stand once more.

Her brocade blossoms quietly and she speaks with calm composure.

Now that you've consumed your weight in sugar,

She says,

A smile breaking across her lips.

Your teachers and I invite you to join us on the castle grounds for a most beloved tradition.

For some of you,

It's your very first Halloween or Samhain celebration at this school.

For others,

It may be the last before you leave our hallowed halls.

You feel a small lump in your throat when she says this.

I assure you,

Wherever you may fall on that scale,

This is a night you'll remember for years to come.

Now,

Despite it being the umpteenth time you've witnessed this exact spectacle,

You have to stifle a gasp when the empty dishes and serving ware vanishes without a trace at the wave of the head teacher's wand,

Cleverly disguised as a queen's scepter.

In place of the tableware at each place setting now sits a small,

Tightly wrapped bundle of herbs.

You hear exclamations of amusement and delight from around the hall.

Earthy floral and herbal perfumes now sparkle above the last traces of sweetness and fruit.

Bring your bundle with you as you make your way to the grounds,

The head teacher continues.

Keep it close.

You already know the meaning of the small gifts,

And a bittersweet emotion washes over you at the sight.

Your bundle,

At a glance,

Appears to contain sprigs of thyme,

Sage,

Dried chamomile flowers,

And artemisia.

You hold the bundle to your nose and inhale the blend of clean,

Silvery fragrances.

It's different from the herbs you received last year,

Lavender,

Rosemary,

And vervain.

You'll have to consult your herb lore texts to find out what these flowers mean.

The head teacher urges the occupants of the hall to form orderly queues and travel outside in an organized fashion.

She calls on student leaders to help shepherd the movement.

There's a titter of anticipation over the crowds,

A jumble of voices,

Many turned up as questions posed by the youngest student sorcerers who have no idea what to expect.

But for you and those who've been here for years,

The excitement is no less palpable.

You can hardly stop yourself from grinning as you,

Brahm,

And Violet join a queue toward the heavy,

Oaken doors at the end of the hall.

You clutch your bundle of herbs to your chest,

Careful not to break the brittle,

Dried leaves.

There's a gust of crisp,

Cool air as you pass through the doors and break from the crowd.

The fresh air fills your lungs and dances on your skin,

Invigorating after the warmth and drowsiness of the feast hall.

The sky is clear,

Black,

And speckled with stars lit brilliantly by a yellow,

Waxing moon.

The night smells of cinnamon and sweet smoke,

And over the rugged,

Sloping grounds your eyes locate the source of the smoke and crackle.

A large bonfire dances,

Throwing orange light onto dark grass and illuminating the nearby circle of stones,

The oldest known structure on this ancient,

Magical site.

Students and teachers spill onto the grounds,

And shouts of delight echo into the darkening night.

It's a beloved tradition indeed,

The Halloween festival,

An evening of gleeful activities,

Festive customs,

And impressive spectacles.

Teachers are scrambling to station themselves near various activities,

And shepherd the hollering crowds.

You stick close to your friends.

Brahm mutters so that only the two of you can hear him.

He's laying out a thoughtful strategy to hit all the most popular activities before the closing circle.

We'll hit pumpkin carving with Keradoc first,

Then flying for apples,

Then wind down at the campfire for marshmallows and spooky stories with Professor Lovage.

What about the costume contest,

Pipes up Violet,

Who's gone to great lengths to pull off her Snow Queen costume?

Real snowflakes and icicles,

Enchanted so they'll never melt,

Speckle her hair and hang from her shoulders.

Brahm,

Who dons the same half-hearted werewolf costume as every other year,

Doesn't seem too interested in the costume contest,

But you convince him to at least go with you to root for Violet.

All in all,

It sounds like an excellent strategy.

Brahm has clearly been thinking about this for some time.

The crisp air of the night,

The sounds of childlike elation on the air,

And the growing feeling of nostalgia sends goosebumps down your arms.

The back of your neck prickles pleasantly.

There will never be another night like tonight,

You think,

And you intend to make the most of it.

While newer students and those lured by the nearest,

Flashiest activities break off to have their faces painted or collect candies and bonbons,

You and your friends tumble down the hillside toward the Gamekeeper Caradoc's cabin near the edge of the forest.

It's lit with floating torches,

And the adjacent pumpkin patch looks just as inviting as the feasting hall,

Albeit cozier and quieter.

Caradoc welcomes you with a jovial greeting.

A few other students are not far behind.

He encourages each of you to grab a pumpkin.

But beware,

Those big ones may look like a great blank canvas,

But bigger squash means more seeds to scoop.

Despite the warning,

You,

Brahm,

And Violet decide to carve one of the biggest pumpkins as a trio.

It's about the size of a small pony.

Violet directs you and Brahm to perform incision charms to remove the top of the pumpkin.

Part of you almost wants to scoop out the insides by hand.

It's tradition,

After all,

The sensory experience of pumpkin carving.

But Violet has a better idea.

Using the whiz that she is,

She magically transforms the pumpkin seeds into little floating orbs of light,

Like will-o'-the-wisps.

They float enchantingly inside the pumpkin's enormous cavity,

Faintly glowing behind its skin.

She's brilliant,

Really,

Admits Brahm to Violet's bashful grin.

You work together on the design,

Using your perfected incision charms to cut into the pumpkin.

As you chip away at the flesh,

More of the wispy glow flickers from inside.

When you're finished,

The three of you stand back to admire your work.

Even Keradoc,

Who's trying to instruct a pair of first-year students to manually scoop out their pumpkin as they haven't mastered many spells yet,

Hurries over to heap praise on you.

You've created a rather impressive design based on the three-hairs motif,

The one with three rabbits or hares chasing each other in a circle.

But instead of hares,

Each of you has carved the likeness of your individual animal familiar.

Violet's is a cat.

Brahm's is a falcon.

And yours?

Well,

You can remember like it was yesterday,

When you first sought to acquire a familiar.

You went to the Wild Hunt,

A shop that collects magically sensitive animals,

And the owner instructed you to follow your intuition.

You discovered you're familiar that day.

And the creature has been by your side ever since,

Like a protective spirit guiding you through your childhood.

While looking at the three familiar circle carved into your oversized pumpkin,

You put an arm around Violet and Brahm's shoulders.

I can't imagine the last few years without them by your side.

And you're confident that they'll still be with you on the next step in your lives.

It's a comforting thought that no matter where life takes you,

You'll always have your friends.

As you wish Keradoc a good evening and walk back up the hill toward the castle,

You turn back more than once to see how brightly your jack-o-lantern glows.

You can see it from all the way up the hill,

Steadfast like a beacon.

According to Brahm's well thought out plan for the evening,

You make your way to the open pitch for flying for apples.

In non-magical Halloween gatherings,

The traditional activity is bobbing for apples.

The fruits float in a barrel of water and participants attempt to catch an apple between their teeth.

But at the School of Sorcery there's a magical twist,

As with everything.

The apples instead float in the midnight air and participants must mount flying broomsticks to retrieve one,

Though they cleverly dart out of the way.

An avid flyer,

This is your favorite Halloween game.

You borrow a school broom and weave in between the other players,

Who are less adept at the art of flying.

The cool breeze through your hair and against your skin is refreshing and enlivening.

There's a piney,

Coniferous scent in the air from the acres of forest beyond the grounds,

Mixed with the rich scents of the bonfire and autumn spice.

It takes you less than a minute to snag one of the floating apples,

Despite its attempt to flick out of your reach.

Coming to a smooth landing,

You shine the ripe apple against your shirt and take a bite,

Laughing as you watch your friends struggle to catch their own.

Violet snowflakes catch a glimmer of moonlight as she glides by.

It really is a wonderful costume,

You think.

And next up,

Indeed,

Is the costume contest.

Though Violet's hair is lightly tousled from the flying,

She joins the line of contenders with a clear advantage.

There are a few who give her a run for her money,

The student wearing a crown of enchanted flames,

For example.

But Violet grins from ear to ear as she's pronounced the winner,

An achievement for which she's striven since your first year here and never quite clinched.

She takes her trophy with delight,

Presented by the divination teacher,

And she congratulates the runners up on their excellent efforts.

The stars blink brightly overhead as you endeavor toward your next spot at the mouth of the forest where the magical history teacher leads a quiet campfire.

You hear the end of a spooky story as you approach and take open seats on the trunk of a fallen tree.

There's a smattering of applause and a collective shiver among the spectators.

You,

Violet,

And Brom pick up marshmallows and sticks with which to roast them as the teacher begins the next story.

Watching your marshmallows slowly brown in the flames,

You hardly take in the content of the story,

But you enjoy the cadence of the storyteller and the atmosphere it conjures.

There's something about Halloween,

And you've felt this way since your young childhood wherein the scary and the spooky become softened somehow.

As though in their moment of most attention,

They blur around the edges,

Becoming cozy,

Comforting and safe.

You're not sure how else to describe it,

But the teacher's story evokes this feeling of warmth and unexpected sense of comfort even as it drifts past your lazy attention.

The tempered heat from the fire begins to slow your mind down as you fix on the unpredictable movements of the flames and the depth of its color.

As the story comes to an end,

You and your friends join the applause,

And the teacher announces that it's time to make your way up to the closing circle.

Slowly you and the other students begin to hoist yourselves up from the seats,

Moving from the campfire at the mouth of the forest to the larger bonfire atop the hill.

The teacher's Victorian vampire costume looks most convincing as they magically extinguish the fire.

And as you proceed up the hill,

You can see that the other activities are winding down too,

As the teachers encourage their participants to move toward the bonfire.

It becomes a slow,

Spectral procession,

Lines of young people silhouetted against the brightness of the leaping flames.

You check your pocket for the bundle of herbs you received at the feast.

It's there,

Safe and intact.

The once-freaking student body assumes a quieter,

More solemn demeanor as you all approach the bonfire.

There's a quiver of something,

Energy or magic,

Between you,

As though you can feel the electric presence of everyone else gathering in the circle,

As though they are an extension of yourself.

The heat issuing forth from the bonfire is pleasant and prickly.

Slowly all assume a circle around the fire.

You stand a row back,

Allowing the younger,

Smaller students to move forward.

Once the circle is assembled,

The head teacher,

Still resplendent in her queenly regalia,

Magically amplifies her voice.

She sounds commanding and confident as she speaks over the crackling of the flames.

She casts the circle,

Invoking the ancestors of all those within it,

Inviting them to join this gathering in blessing.

On this night,

She says,

We celebrate the joyful and magical rites of Halloween,

A night of merriment and mischief beloved around the world.

You've enjoyed your sweets and fun,

I hope.

But tonight also marks the ancient festival of Samhain,

Dear to those who observe old ways,

And deeply significant to those of us who channel the energies of magic present in this place.

You've heard this speech before,

But it does not cease to impress you.

The grace and poetry with which the head teacher describes the wheel of the year.

She goes on.

At Samhain,

We recognize the changing season,

The end of the harvest and the dying of the earth.

In that death,

The darkening of the skies and the bearing of trees and growth,

We also look ahead to the promise of rebirth,

The return to the light,

And the blossoming anew.

On this night,

We remember our ancestors,

For the veil between worlds grows thin,

And we can feel their presence,

Their love,

And their blessing from beyond.

As you listen,

You picture in your mind the veil manifest,

Black and thin and a flutter in the breeze.

It feels true,

You think.

The crisp air and dark sky and leaping flames.

The gathering and the energy between all in attendance.

There's something here,

At this fire,

That was not here before.

Something that will dissipate at the moment you break the circle,

And will never come back again in this form.

Again,

You feel a sense of nostalgia and of out-of-body observation,

As though you look on this as a memory,

From a great distance.

You realize your eyes have swum out of focus,

So fixated and mesmerized are you by the dancing fire,

Bright and black all at once.

The head teacher continues.

Just as the days shorten and the leaves fall and the plants die in anticipation of that promised renewal,

I invite you to consider how you may follow self-same cycles,

How with each passing year you grow and change.

Think of where you were,

Who you were,

This time last year.

Do you notice anything different?

Have you let go of something?

Or gained something?

How well do you recognize yourself?

The question sits like a mist upon you.

Surely,

You've changed in recent months,

Not suddenly or abruptly,

But slowly and unnoticed.

Things that were once important to you now seem frivolous,

And things that once seemed like the stuff of a distant future are all at once upon you.

As you breathe in the scent of cinnamon and soft smoke,

You take stock of many of these changes and then as you exhale,

You feel yourself release them,

Accept them,

Bless them.

The head teacher goes on.

Is there something in the spirit of rebirth that you can let go of tonight?

Each of you at tonight's feast were given a bundle of herbs.

The exact bundle you received was conjured specifically for you,

By you.

According to this point in your journey,

I invite you,

And please know that this is only an invitation,

To think about what these herbs might represent for you.

Why you might have pulled these into your hand through your connection to this magic.

And consider whether you'd like to take that with you into the rebirth of the new year,

Or whether you'd prefer to let it go.

And if you choose the latter,

I invite you to step forward and cast your bundle into the fire as an offering.

Remember,

There is no right or wrong choice.

Only truthful choices.

Make your choice in your time.

A quiet rustle of whispers snakes through the circle.

The head teacher steps back,

Smiling quietly.

For a while,

No one moves forward.

You retrieve your herbs from your pocket.

You're not sure what you'll do.

You hold the bundle to your nose and inhale once more.

In the chill of the night,

It seems different than before.

The woodsy thyme and sage climb the ladder of the smoke.

Then there's the subtle sweetness of chamomile,

The bitter musk of the Artemisia.

You wonder again what these herbs symbolize.

Closing your eyes,

You see vague forms.

Even like but somehow spectral,

Gliding like wisps or floating perhaps.

Running now through moonlit forests with wild abandon.

Running alongside the deer,

Flitting between the trees like birds.

You can feel a smile dance across your lips.

When you open your eyes,

You know what to do.

You are the first in the circle to stride forward.

With a deep breath and confident gesture,

You cast your bundle of herbs into the flame.

As the bundle disappears and dwindles in the fire,

You feel strangely light.

Around you,

Hesitations seem to fall away and more students come forward,

Casting their bundles on the fire.

Some stay back,

Clutching theirs tightly.

Brom still holds his.

Violet,

However,

Her stride loose and gallant comes forward with a look of pride.

She squeezes your hand when she returns to your side.

You continue gazing at the flame which swallows bundle after bundle.

Pleasant,

Flowery,

And woodsy fragrances burst into the night briefly,

Then dissipate.

When stillness falls again over the circle,

The head teacher speaks.

She releases the circle,

The ancestors,

And the winds.

As she magically dims the bonfire to a low flame,

The darkness sets in slowly and the moonlight takes on a silver-white glimmer.

A procession of floating candles and cups appear.

The cups slide into every open hand.

You take hold of one and feel its warmth against your hand,

Replacing the heat of the bonfire.

You take a sip of the hot,

Spiced cider and feel it warm your insides pleasantly.

The circle breaks and chatter fills in the quiet left by the dying fire.

With teachers leading the way,

The students make their way across moonlit grass toward the entrance to the castle and ultimately to bed.

But before you make it even halfway,

You think about the burnt bundle of herbs,

The act of letting go.

You feel a surge of freedom and abandon,

Of blissful and impermanent youth.

You whisper for Brahm and Violet to hang back a bit.

The three of you casually slip back from the crowd under the guise of enjoying the moonlight.

You've got an idea.

Just as the head teacher said,

It's a night for merriment and mischief.

And you're only young once.

There are only so many chances.

This chance,

Fine and fleeting,

Will be gone before midnight.

Your friends don't need much convincing.

Quietly and quickly,

You steal away toward the pitch where an hour or so earlier you snatched floating apples out of the night sky.

The pale moon gleams overhead.

The heavy doors of the castle slowly close.

You huddle,

The three of you,

Behind a tree as Karadoc lumbers down the hillside toward his cabin.

Not that he would chastise you if he found you,

But it's all the more enjoyable for the secrecy,

The mischief.

Reaching the pitch,

You find school broomsticks lined against the stands.

Each of you takes one,

Stifling giggles,

Mount it,

And kick off into the air.

Soaring out over the glistening lake between the dark green highland hills,

Your hair whips in the wind and face splits into a grin.

You skim the surface of the lake beneath which lie any number of magical creatures.

Mermaids,

Perhaps.

Neptune's horses,

Giant squids.

The unknown.

There's a rush of unbridled joy swelling in your chest,

Growing sweeter and more uncontained for the thinness of the veil,

This shining moment in the wheel of the year.

As you circle higher above the grounds,

You and Violet and Brahm let loose wild whoops and laughter.

You feel young and effortless and unbounded.

The embers of your childhood burn low on the side of a mountain,

Offered to the flames as a gift,

Never again attainable,

Yet never lost.

In this clean and crisp night air,

You and your friends are golden and great and endless.

Children,

Forever.

Whatever lies ahead,

Your heart will cherish these fleeting fancies.

Feeling your heart open in a way it never has before,

You surrender to the future,

To the promise of rebirth and renewal,

And to the unseen ways you'll change with each passing season.

You let go and in so doing,

You fly higher and lighter than you ever have.

Soon,

You'll touch down again.

Your feet will thud upon solid ground and green grass.

You'll shush each other as you sneak back up to your dormitories and slide into beds beside your already sleeping classmates.

But not yet.

For now,

You'll soar over mountain and vale and castle and lake.

Beneath,

Glowing ever on,

A jack-o'-lantern lit with will of the wisps,

Enchanted by the bonds of friendship and love and innocence.

Breathe.

Feel the breath moving in and out.

Now the air moves in through your nose and down your throat,

Filling up the belly.

And out,

Carrying everything out with it.

Feel yourself swell with the inhale and release with the exhale.

Deep breathing.

Imagine that with each inhale,

You expand a little,

Taking up space.

And with each exhale,

Your body sinks just a little bit into your bed or wherever it is you're resting.

Inhale,

Expand.

Exhale,

Deflate.

Inhale,

Rise.

Exhale,

Sink.

Inhale,

Fill yourself up with cool,

Refreshing calm.

Exhale,

Carry out tension.

Release and relax.

Let go.

Imagine that with your natural breath flowing in and out on your natural rhythm,

You are letting go of whatever you're holding onto,

Whatever you don't need right now,

Whatever you'd rather not take with you into the realm of sleep.

And imagine you are replacing that tension,

Concern or strain with lightness,

Softness and peace.

Feel the breath send that peace to the top of your head,

Clearing out the strain,

Releasing your temples and face and jaw.

Releasing the muscles of your neck and shoulders,

Letting the breath carry lightness and softness there,

Relaxing the arms,

Wrists and hands,

Replacing tension with peace and surrender.

Replacing the muscles of the chest and upper back,

Waist and lower back,

Replacing the strain with sweet release and relaxation carried on the breath.

Relax the hips and upper legs and the knees,

Softly surrendering to the surface of your bed,

Replacing the tension with tenderness.

Release the lower legs and ankles and feet,

Feeling your whole body surrender,

Sinking into the soft surface,

Letting the breath be your guide,

Exchanging tension for tenderness.

Relax in and out,

Carrying in lightness,

Releasing the strain.

Take with you only that which serves you in the world of dreams.

Travel light.

We cling to attachments for a reason and there's nothing wrong with holding on to that which you love or that which matters to you.

But there's peace and fulfillment to be found in the tender,

Courageous act of letting go.

You may find yourself all the richer for it.

Find the softness and courage to travel light tonight.

Let go.

Good night.

Reviews

I’m so interested in these beautiful stories but I’ve never heard an end to one of them because I’m
always fast asleep :)

I love this meditation, I always fall asleep right before the closing fire, so I don't know what happens! 😂

Love this meditation

Excellent! Love this series. The night imagery is relaxing 🎃🎃🎃

I do apologise for repeatedly calling you Lauren.
Thankyou Laurel 😘, ( I do hope I spelt it correctly) for yet another blissful story telling. Very enjoyable while on my walk. ☺💕🐱😺🙏🌷🐨

I love these stories so much! Even adults love to fall asleep to s good bedtime story.

I’m really glad you posted this story because it’s probably your best one yet. I particularly enjoyed how you used the same two friends as the ones in ‘Christmas In Surray Alley’. Could you do a story about a kingdom of phoenixes, who’s king and queen possess magical feathers which, if touched, grant you wishes? Thanks for sharing this story!

My son loves going to sleep with this - really love it!

Could almost taste and smell the feast set before us. Such a delightful story to listen too. Sadly I didn’t fall asleep this time. Feeling poorly with a head cold. Thank you for the distraction 🙏😀

Another dreamy, comforting, delightful story that somehow feels like home! Thank you, Laurel. Felt like a treat to listen to this Halloween night. I almost wish I didn't fall asleep so soon and want to enjoy more. There's always tomorrow night 🥰

Love the story!

Awesome!!

🙏🏻😴🙏🏻🌟🙏🏻😴🙏🏻A bit before 5 am, I listened again, and now I heard most of the story, though I missed out on the broomstick ride. That was absolutely AMAZING. Thank you so much. Your creative imagination is beyond this world, though I have not heard the full scope of most of your stories, as I fall asleep quickly, or wave in and out. Thank you, thank you, thank you🙏🏻😴🙏🏻🌟🦋🌟🙏🏻😴🙏🏻

That was amazing! Welcome back 💜 I have missed you like crazy 😆

👍👌

I feel asleep 😂

So glad to have you back xox

Yi by

Magical...✨️ You captured the spirit of Halloween/Samhain so well. With fun and joy🎃 but also with incredible Wisdom...🦉Thank you so much for reminding us what this important Sabbath is about.
Happy Halloween, Blessed Samhain;
Morgaine🐈‍⬛

How lovely to have you back! 💖💖💖