The Mythic Teahouse

In tonight’s sleep story inspired by Chinese mythology, while on a hike in the mountains, you and your friend stumble upon an unexpected discovery: hidden among the trees is a lush garden and teahouse. You are welcomed by the host, who invites you to participate in the tea ceremony. The more time you spend in the beautiful teahouse, the more you learn about its host, its mythological origins, and the alluring tea you drink.

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw and Onsen Ritual by Joseph Beg, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Recharge in a tranquil tea house in tonight's relaxing bedtime story,

Inspired by Chinese mythology.

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

My name is Laurel,

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

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Listen to my voice for as long as you like,

And when you're ready,

Feel free to let go and relax into sleep.

This story features a built-in meditation for relaxation and inner peace.

In tonight's story,

While on a hike in the mountains,

You and your friend stumble upon an unexpected discovery.

Hidden among the trees is a lush garden and tea house.

You are welcomed by the host who invites you to participate in the tea ceremony.

The more time you spend in the beautiful tea house,

The more you learn about its host,

Its mythological origins,

And the alluring tea you drink.

Its pure nature cannot be sullied.

When drunk,

It cleanses dust and worries.

This plant has a truly divine taste,

And it originates in the mountains.

After I have taken care of my responsibilities,

I plant a tea bush in my incultivated garden.

It is happy to grow with the other vegetation,

And to speak with a person in solitude.

Joy ying wu,

Joy at seeing tea growing in the garden.

Clouds scud sweetly over the forested mountains,

Low and thick,

Settling in a mist just over your head.

The moisture in the air is cool,

Nourishing,

And tinged with the scent of florals and evergreens.

It's an exquisitely peaceful morning,

One serenaded by birdsong and the soft rushing of leaves in a quiet wind.

Though the air gets thinner as you climb the mountain trail,

Clutching walking sticks and carrying heavy packs,

The bright aroma of white pine seems to invite you to breathe deeper,

More fully.

Eleanor is marching a few paces ahead,

Often lifting her gaze to marvel at the height of these trees.

You find yourself doing the same,

Admiring the majesty of them.

But equally alluring are the abundant yellow azaleas that bloom along the path.

You feel as though you might be the only two people out here,

Traversing this forested mountain path,

Your only company the native flora and fauna.

And that thought is oddly beautiful,

Whether or not it be true.

For years,

You and your friend have dreamt of taking this trip,

Traveling across the globe together to explore some of the great natural wonders of the world.

And already you've witnessed marvels.

Deep caverns that ring with unexpected harmonies,

Run through with veins of crystal,

Vast cliffs over storm-swept seas.

But this excursion in particular feels like moving through a fairy tale.

It's musical and bursting with wildlife.

You have a full day hike planned on a trail that steepens gradually through the dense and magical forested mountain.

Birds hum in the trees,

Their restless wings causing a rustle here and there.

You can hear the whispers of streams running by as all the snow is melted from the higher elevations.

Now Elinor stops just before you,

Turning around and holding a finger to her lips.

There's a light in her eyes that excites you.

You quiet your footfalls and come to stand just behind her shoulder.

She gestures through the trees ahead.

At first you aren't sure what she points to,

Other than the lusciously blooming azaleas which have flanked so much of the path you travel.

But your eyes search the patch of trees and you stifle a small gasp when they settle upon the object of Elinor's interest.

Snuggled together on a thick pine branch,

Just visible through the spare brush of needles,

Are a pair of monkeys with thick,

Greyish-brown fur.

They look to be a mother and baby,

The smaller of the two burrowed deep into the chest of the larger,

And apparently asleep.

But the mother locks eyes with you,

Holding her baby close.

Her face is so serene,

And her eyes so expressive.

You are simply enwrapped at the tranquility of the scene.

The mother shows no fear at your presence,

And you maintain stillness as best you can to avoid giving her any cause for alarm.

The baby gives a soft cooing noise and wriggles against the mother's breast,

Then settles in again.

You watch the pair in silence for a good several minutes,

Moved by the peace they express,

How clearly you can see the affection between them.

At last,

Elinor reaches for your hand and gives it a little squeeze,

Indicating that she's ready to move on.

You squeeze back in affirmation,

And with slow movement and gentle footsteps,

You continue up the mountain trail.

You stop around midday for lunch,

As the sun slices through the lingering mist high overhead.

You find a cluster of large rocks that make for perfect seats,

And pull prepared sandwiches from your packs.

There's still a ways to go before you reach the end point on your map of the mountain,

A plateau with dazzling vistas of the surrounding range and valleys.

Though it's been a mildly strenuous hike,

And you're ready for the moment's rest,

You find yourself more energized than fatigued now.

The freshness of the air and the invigorating aroma of the trees and flowers have created a spaciousness within you,

An openness to the experience,

And a loosening of the muscles in your body.

You feel capable,

Aware,

And endlessly peaceful.

Replenishing what energy you've expended with a light and nourishing picnic,

You and Elinor revisit the map to see what's in store.

The path appears to get slightly steeper as you go,

Following the curve of a wide spring,

But it shouldn't be long before you reach the scenic lookout point.

Your hunger satiated and body sufficiently rested,

You pack up your canteens and prepare to hit the trails once more.

There are more wildlife sightings along this leg of the trail.

Before you even reach the spring,

Whose melody laughs not far off,

You catch the flash of a fox's tail through the trees,

And many brilliantly colorful birds cross your eyeline,

Darting in and out of the branches.

You make mental notes of their coloring and demeanor,

Intending to consult a field guide the next time you stop.

The mist thickens even more as you ascend,

Catching soon the curve of the stream.

Its water bubbles and gurgles playfully alongside the path,

Such clear running water you can't remember seeing in your life,

Pure snowmelt mingled with the freshness of a mountain spring.

You and Elinor pause to dip your hands in,

Cupping them to capture a bit of the water to taste.

It is cool,

Crisp,

And deeply refreshing.

Until now you have followed the little green line on the map faithfully,

But as you sway with your pack in the sweet melody of the mountain stream,

Both you and Elinor find yourself less compelled to revisit the folded pages.

The trail diverges at intervals,

Leading off into other wooded directions,

But you keep to the trickling water,

Trusting it like a sage guide.

The time passes and your body and mind slip into a lulling rhythm,

As if you become one with the wind in the trees,

The trickle of the water,

And the songs of the birds.

The trees grow taller and more dense,

With the azalea brush thinning out the higher you climb.

For the first time you notice the thinness of the air,

And you adjust your pace to maintain your breath.

At a curve in the stream,

You and Elinor agree to take a short rest before continuing,

Just to catch your breath.

There's a great fallen pine tree on the side of the path,

Its uprooted base all green with moss and lichens.

You take seats along its trunk,

Pulling out your canteens to rehydrate.

You joke about how much the early stages of the hike had you lulled into the sense that you could take on anything,

Only to surprise you with the steepness and thinning air of this final leg.

But there's nothing but joy and optimism between you.

Though the journey gets tougher,

You're confident that you can make it to the lookout,

And the views will be all the sweeter for the difficulty of the climb.

You are just packing up again to continue when Elinor nudges you on the arm and points toward the top of the trees.

You hush your voice and look up,

Wondering if she has,

Again,

Spotted a rare example of the mountain's extraordinary native wildlife.

But it's not an animal or other organic form she points to.

It's a spiral of smoke just above the dizzy pines.

You wonder at the keenness of her sight,

For its billowing whiteness blends almost seamlessly with the clouds of mist.

But its movement and unseen origin confirm it.

It's coming from someplace,

Through the trees.

You're not alone on the forested mountain,

After all.

You consult the map again,

Scanning over it for tourist centers,

Residences,

Or even temples you might have missed in your first perusals.

Perhaps you've wandered onto a different trail,

You suggest,

Though the placement of the stream suggests you're still on track,

And no man-made landmarks are noted along the way.

You and Eleanor share a glance.

All these years of friendship have done nothing if not instilled in you a kind of secret language,

A shared vocabulary of word,

Gesture,

And expression.

You can see,

Instantly,

In her eyes,

The same insatiable curiosity as what's bubbling up inside you now.

This very trip was born from a desire to visit off-the-beaten-path places,

Discovering wonders most never dream of.

Whatever it is that's producing the white smoke,

Here in the middle of a gloriously peaceful preserve,

That is a mystery worth investigating together.

Without a word,

You fold up the map,

Store your canteens,

And set your gazes on the density of woods.

Together you step away from the trail,

And into the towering pines.

On the other side of the stream,

The light has a pinkish quality to it,

Perhaps the sun falling through the mists at a new angle and reflecting off the flowering shrubs.

It gives the forest an even more enchanting favor.

Your footsteps are more cautious as you navigate around exposed roots and uneven terrain.

Your walking sticks help keep you balanced.

And soon you come near the source of the mysterious white smoke.

You can see the tendrils wafting nearer the ground than before.

Do you see that?

You whisper to Eleanor,

Indicating a gap in the trees ahead.

She nods.

There is,

You can just make out,

A structure in the woods.

Deep crimson,

Gold,

White,

And black shine through the pine boughs.

You and Eleanor continue on cautiously,

And you feel a sense of awe creep over you.

Whatever this place is,

Uncharted by the map,

Hidden here in the depths of the forest,

You sense it is a place of powerful energy.

The closer you draw,

The more your senses waken.

A mystifying scent fills the air,

One achingly familiar but unexpected in the middle of nowhere.

Earthy,

Green,

Uplifting.

It tugs at your mind,

Tempting you to identify it.

Finally,

You come through the trees,

Together,

To stand beneath the full splendor of the hidden structure.

What rises before you is a modest-sized,

Yet ornate and decadent building,

Richly gabled in golds and greens,

With a scarlet gate and many balconies.

It is a dazzling sight,

At once surprising and also organic,

As if it has arisen naturally from the forest.

You look to the foundations of the structure,

Which blend and entangle with the roots and soil beneath.

Between the gate and the building itself is a formal garden.

From here,

You can see the glisten of a pond,

Surrounded by azaleas,

Yes,

But also orchids and peonies,

If you're not mistaken,

And precisely pruned cypresses and miniature pines.

The alluring white smoke rises from the roof,

An unseen chimney.

After sharing another subtext-filled look with Elinor,

You take a step,

In unison,

Toward and through the red gate.

As you pass under it,

A wave of calm comes over your whole body,

As if you've moved through an invisible veil,

Into an entirely different world,

One where the birdsong is still audible but somehow muffled.

The air is even cleaner and rosier than the surrounding woods,

And the mist is lifted,

Revealing highly saturated color.

The greens of the garden are greener,

The gilded gables a more intense glowing gold.

What is this place,

You wonder aloud.

Elinor is thinking the same thing.

Together you explore the garden,

Lit up with curiosity and wonderment.

Surely this hideaway is impeccably maintained,

But you haven't yet seen another soul.

And why hide such a wonderful place,

Even keeping it off the maps,

When it would certainly be a draw for weary hikers in the mountains?

You admire the lush greenery surrounding the pond,

Which is rimmed with rocks and dappled with pale pink lilies.

On the perimeter are peonies with blooms so rich and full,

Their heads bow low toward the water,

As if to take a drink,

Or to kiss the delicate petals of the lilies,

Their mirror image below.

The sunlight catches golden on the surface of the water,

And seems to break into rainbows at moments as you walk the edge.

Still that strangely familiar aroma tickles your senses,

Dancing above the candied floral scent.

And then,

Just as your eyes fall upon a row of evergreen shrubs,

Their waxy green leaves speckled here and there with yellowish-white flowers,

It comes to you.

Tea,

You say,

Just loud enough for Eleanor to hear you on the other side of the pond.

Do you smell that?

It's tea.

Eleanor lets out a small laugh.

You're right,

She says.

You both turn toward the main structure with its gabled roof and balconies.

It must be a tea house,

You conclude.

It's only now that you notice someone standing on the threshold in the entrance to the structure.

They are mostly in shadow,

So you cannot make out many features,

But somehow,

You can't quite explain it.

You sense only welcome from them.

You cross round the side of the pond to join Eleanor,

And gesture toward the figure in the entrance.

Further you approach.

Climbing the steps to the building's entrance,

You notice that the figure does not flinch or seem to move at all upon your approach.

And when the light falls upon them,

It's evident why.

Glinting in the shaft of sunlight that skims through the open doorway is a bronze statue,

Life-size and with serene expression.

It's the figure of a woman,

Or a goddess.

She is seated with one leg bent on which to rest an arm in the center of a lotus blossom.

Her hair cast in bronze is piled half atop her crowned head,

And in the center of her crown is the tiny relief of another human figure,

Seated with legs crossed.

Incense burns deeply fragrant below the statue.

But though the figure whose shadow you first perceived is only bronze,

There is someone here in the entryway whom you did not see before.

Seated with his back toward you,

Feet from the base of the statue,

Is a man,

Dressed in white linens,

With feet bare.

You hesitate not wanting to disturb or startle him,

But within moments he comes to stand and turns round to face you.

His lined face is just as calm as the statue behind him,

With a radiant warmth shining through his dark eyes.

He inclines his head to greet you.

Eleanor begins to speak.

She's mastered a bit more of the province's language than you.

She apologizes for the disturbance and praises the garden,

But the man responds in kind,

In your native tongue.

You're more than welcome,

He explains.

This tea house is open to all travelers.

You follow your gracious host into an adjoining chamber,

Which is set,

He explains,

For the traditional tea ceremony.

Your eyes linger a moment longer on the bronze statue as you go.

If you care to join during this break from your travels up the mountain,

The host continues,

He would be happy to serve you as honored guests.

His name,

You learn,

Is Wei,

And he is the sole person who maintains this tea house.

The tea room to which he leads you is open and bright,

With natural light streaming in through the tall slatted windows.

It is sparsely furnished,

But the walls are painted with breathtaking landscape scenes,

Snow-covered mountains,

Swirling clouds and mist,

Trees pink with blooms,

And vast waterscapes.

Wei gestures for you to sit at a table in the center of the room.

It is already set with the most exquisite teaware,

Austere in design,

Yet clearly made with deft hands.

There are two place settings on your side of the table,

And you have the funny feeling that they were placed there in anticipation of your coming.

As if somehow,

Wei was expecting you from the moment you set foot on the mountain trail.

This whole place has the feeling of a dream,

The sense that it appeared,

Magically,

Theologically,

And drew you toward it,

Toward a sense of absolute calm.

As you and Eleanor take your places opposite Wei at the tea table,

You note her tranquil expression and conclude that she must feel the same as you.

Surveying the multitude of vessels and tools laid out with precision on the table,

Your eye falls on a small ceramic figurine.

It's a miniature clay interpretation of the same woman represented by the bronze statue in the doorway.

You wonder who she is,

Whether she is a patron of this place,

And what Wei's relationship to her is.

Wei begins to prepare the tea.

You have certainly heard of the skill and precision it requires to carry out a traditional tea preparation,

But you've never been present for one.

With the very first pour of the hot water into the teaware,

The first step without the tea leaves,

Only intended to warm the ceramic,

You become aware that you are witnessing something that you might call sacred.

No,

Sacred isn't quite the word,

But it's as close as you can get.

The world outside the walls,

The gated garden,

Seem leagues away,

And it's like your mind blurs at the edges,

Blossoming into the fullness of the present moment.

With practiced hands,

Wei pours the water from the teaware into a glass pitcher,

Straining it through a filter.

This water is then poured into the small teacups placed before you and Eleanor.

You smile,

Curious,

As Wei dashes the excess water over the small clay figurine of the woman.

The clay absorbs some of that water and shines.

Now Wei lifts a small plate on which sit the curled and oxidized leaves of tea.

He presents this to you first,

And then to your friend.

As the plate passes under your nose,

You catch the balanced,

Earthy aroma of the tea leaves.

Using a small bamboo rod,

Wei adds the tea leaves to the pot before him.

He then pours hot water over the leaves.

You expect him to steep the tea for some length of time,

But instead,

He immediately pours the contents over the filter into the glass pitcher.

It's the first rinse,

Eleanor whispers to you.

Removing any impurities from the tea leaves,

It opens them up.

A small smile warms Wei's face in response.

Every gesture of his is smooth,

Mindful,

And almost hypnotic.

He discards the rinse water into the cups,

Then lifts them,

Using a pair of small tongs,

And pours them again over the statuary,

Who shines more brightly with each splash of water.

The tea pet,

Wei explains,

The water we pour over her brings good luck.

As Wei continues the preparations,

You summon the courage to ask him about the figure.

Who does this represent,

You say,

Respectfully.

The corners of Wei's eyes crinkle with a smile.

He now pours another round of hot water over the tea leaves,

This time leaving it for a little while.

As the leaves bloom and release their pleasant fragrance on the steam,

This,

He gestures to the clay statue,

Is Guan Yin.

She is the bringer of mercy and compassion.

I will tell you her story.

The tea steeps for what must only be 60 seconds or so,

Before Wei pours the fragrant water once more over the filter,

Into the pitcher.

It is taken on a pale green color.

He continues to speak as he mindfully pours the tea into the tall,

Narrow cups at your place setting,

Rather than the small drinking cups.

You look to Eleanor,

Who lifts her cup to her nose and inhales.

You do the same.

Long ago,

There was a poor farmer who lived near the temple of Guan Yin,

Wei says.

He was disappointed when he saw that her temple had fallen to neglect and disrepair.

So day by day,

As the farmer would pass the temple,

He would stop to sweep its floors,

Pull down the cobwebs,

Plant flowers in the gardens,

And light incense before the statue of Guan Yin.

Now Wei places the small tea cups on top of the tall aroma cups so their openings nest against each other.

Then,

One by one,

With tenderness and care,

He flips the cups over so that the tea falls into the small tea cups.

He indicates that the tea is now ready to be enjoyed.

You follow Eleanor's lead in lifting the cup to your mouth and taking a small,

First sip.

The flavor is delicate,

Yet distinct and unimaginably soothing.

It seems to soak into your tired muscles,

Aching from the climb,

And massage them into softness and relaxation.

Your eyes wander to the painted landscapes on the walls as Wei goes on.

Now after some time,

The farmer restored the temple of Guan Yin to the elegance it deserved and one night,

He had a dream.

You scan the paintings and for the first time you recognize among the mountainous illustration the shape of the gables and eaves of this very tea house.

Your mind is so serene,

So open,

That you can almost see the painted mist rolling gently across the mountains.

In that dream,

Guan Yin appeared to the farmer in gratitude for his work and dedication to her temple.

She wished to reward the farmer and his community,

And she told him of a cave near the temple where he would find a priceless treasure.

Your eyes track further across the paintings and there,

Behind the image of the tea house,

As if it sprung forth from the story Wei tells,

You can see the mouth of a cave.

When the farmer awoke,

He was eager to seek the treasure,

Wei continues.

He discovered the cave Guan Yin spoke of and went inside.

There in the dark,

He stumbled across a seedling from a plant he had never seen before,

But it gave off the most wonderful fragrance and he knew this plant,

However small,

Was the treasure Guan Yin spoke of.

So he took the seedling to his farm and nurtured it with the same dedication he brought to the temple.

The plant grew and spread across the farmland.

From its leaves,

The farmer and his community learned to brew the finest tea they had ever tasted.

He gave cuttings to farmers across the region so they could share in the bounty,

And this tea plant brought prosperity to the people,

All the gift of Guan Yin.

He gestures again to the clay figurine,

The lady with so tranquil and kind an expression.

You sip your tea mindfully,

Savoring the complexity of the flavor and the calming effects on your body and mind.

Wei's story settles over you like fine mist on the mountains,

And the sunlight streaming in through the window stretches long over the room.

In the stillness,

It's hard to imagine anything exists outside this peaceful sanctuary.

Taking another sip of tea,

You feel the muscles of your jaw unclench and relax.

It's amazing how this one adjustment of releasing in the jaw and the muscles of the mouth seems to loosen the muscles throughout your face and body.

As your temples,

Scalp,

And cheeks relax,

You are reminded of the interconnectedness of all things within your body and throughout the natural world.

You lower your tongue from the roof of your mouth and breathe deeply,

Softening your gaze to the room around you.

You are aware of certain noises from outside the tea house.

Birdsong,

Wind,

Water,

And other sounds much further away.

Even the faint hum of civilization,

Roadways,

And cars.

But these fade pleasantly into an indistinct hum until you can no longer identify the individual sounds,

Or you no longer care to.

You drop your shoulders softly away from your ears,

Feeling your shoulder blades fall down the back.

This has the effect of opening your chest and heart,

Making you feel open,

Receptive to whatever messages may come your way.

Will Guanyin speak to you as she spoke to the poor farmer in his dreams?

Can you listen closely for her wisdom?

Your arms loosen and relax at your sides.

Your spine is straight,

But there is no sense of rigidness or tightness.

You let go of anything you are holding onto on the axis of your spine,

Letting your awareness travel slowly down the vertebrae,

Sending breath and relaxation throughout your trunk.

Down,

Down the breath travels to the base of your spine,

What you might know as the root chakra,

A center of balance and stability.

You find softness and relaxation in this foundation,

In the pelvic floor,

While remaining firm and grounded through it.

You soften in the muscles of the legs,

The joints of the knees,

And down through the feet.

You feel where your body connects with the floor,

And the solidity of the foundation beneath you,

The earth itself further below.

You feel safe,

Able to relax,

And embrace such openness.

There is a beautiful harmony within your body,

A feeling of being grounded and stable through your roots,

And a wonderfully lifted quality as if your chest and head reach skyward to the mist.

You are at once both rooted and rising.

You breathe deeply,

Rising and falling with your breath,

Completely at peace.

You have no concept of how much time passes there in the tea room.

It might only be minutes,

Or untold ages might pass outside the gated garden,

But slowly you come back to yourself,

To awareness,

To the remembrance of your journey's object.

Beside you,

Eleanor seems to have the same feeling.

You look to each other,

Then toward your kind host,

But Wei is no longer seated at the table with you.

You rise together and look through some of the open adjoining chambers,

Hoping to thank Wei before you depart,

But you do not find him on the first floor,

And you soon abandon the search,

Not wishing to disturb further quarters of the tea house.

You go to leave the way you came,

But first you take a moment before the life-sized statue of Guanyin,

Admiring the beauty of the sculpture and the serenity in her face.

A single stick of incense burns down to the end as you offer silent gratitude and deference to the figure.

Then back you go through the garden,

Fragrant with flowers,

Tea shrubs,

And ornamental trees.

Before passing through the gate,

You turn back for a last look at the tea house.

You can see the statue's silhouette just as before,

Lifelike and alluring in the entryway.

Then you go.

Traveling back through the dense woods,

You rejoin the path beside the mountain stream.

The sun is still fairly high.

It's only a few hours past midday.

There's plenty of time to reach the plateau and make it safely back down the mountain before dark.

As you climb,

You and Eleanor debrief the eerily wonderful encounter and the discovery of the tea house in the middle of the forest.

You hesitate to voice the thought that rises to the top of mind.

But then Eleanor says it first.

Did you get the feeling,

She asks,

That we were in the very temple of his tale?

That perhaps he was descended from the farmer who found that treasure in the cave?

You chime in in agreement,

Holding back on the notion that grips your mind.

Yet by the glimmer in her eye,

Through your own unspoken language,

You sense that Eleanor's imagination is similarly sparked.

That he was the farmer of the tale.

The one who restored the temple and discovered the tea plant in the cave.

That for all these many centuries,

By some magic,

Or because he functions somehow outside the continuum of time,

He continues to maintain the temple and tea house of Guanyin,

Every now and then initiating a traveler into the wonders of his story.

At last you reach your destined plateau and stare out over the breathtaking vistas of the valley.

You can see far below the little town you'll be lodging in tonight.

Mist covers thick over evergreen forest.

A whole ecosystem thrives in the understory,

Carrying out the old stories,

Following the ancient cycles.

You can feel the rhythm of the place in your body.

Tired from the climb,

Yes,

But somehow rejuvenated.

And soon,

You begin your slow descent,

Walking sticks in hand,

Following the journey of the sinking sun.

You retread the path,

With new wisdom,

New peace as your guides,

Together with your friend.

Years from now,

You'll whisper memories of this day,

The shared experience of the subtly sublime,

The afternoon you spent in the tea house of Guanyin.

Good night,

Dear traveler.

Reviews

Perfect in every way. Thank you.

You never disappoint. You are amazing. Thank you for helping me achieve magical sleeps. ❤️

This is a fabulous story and another of my favorites of Laurel's stories. I've listened numerous times and tonight I finally heard the end. So beautiful and serene.

The delicate beauty of this tale is only matched by the essence of Kuan Yin, who has had a place in my heart since my mother gave me a small statue of her years ago… she is what we need more of in the world today, thank you So much for this sweet sharing 🙏🏽🙏🏽💐💐

As always- amazing! It usually takes me about 7 times before I can get through a story without falling asleep first 😄 My boyfriend can't even get through the first 5 minutes usually

Thank you, Laurel🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻That is an exquisite story, way too beautiful not to be heard consciously.I am glad I listened to it in the not so early morning hours🙏🏻🌟💫🌟✨🌟🙏🏻

This was so so wonderful. I didn’t hear the end of the story though 😴 but I am definitely bookmarking it to return to again. My sweet sister’s name is Eleanor and we live in different countries now 😔 but it was sooo amazing to go on this adventure with her in my dreams. 🥲☺️ Thank you 🙏🏼🥹💜