The Prophet Of Bohemia

Look to the natural world for visions of the future in tonight’s bedtime story, a reworking of an old Czech legend.

In tonight’s story, you are the youngest and wisest child of a tribal chieftain, and you’ve been chosen to succeed him as your people’s ruler. You look to your family, your environment, and the stories of your ancestors to show you the ways of good leadership. Bringing the lessons of the land together, you receive a dazzling vision of the future and embrace your own unique gifts.

If you’re still awake as the story concludes, I’ll guide you through a relaxing visualization exercise to connect with nature.

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw, At the Break of Dawn by Jakob Ahlbom, The Sleep by Joseph Beg, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Look to the natural world for visions of the future in tonight's bedtime story,

A reworking of an old Czech legend.

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 it serves you,

And whenever you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and make your way into sleep.

If you're still awake as the story comes to a close,

I'll guide you through a relaxing visualization exercise.

Tonight's story,

You are the youngest and wisest child of a tribal chieftain,

And you've been chosen to succeed him as your people's ruler.

You look to your family,

Your environment,

And the stories of your ancestors to show you the ways of good leadership.

Bringing the lessons of the land together,

You receive a dazzling vision of the future and embrace your own unique gifts.

Listen to the fanfares of silence on carpets threadbare like ancient shrouds.

We are moving towards an invisible future,

And His Majesty Dust settles lightly on the abandoned throne,

Jaroslav Seyfert.

Through the dying embers of summer breathes the sweet fragrance of linden blossom.

This tree,

Tall and sturdy,

Was planted before you were born,

Before even your grandfather led your people to this fertile place.

Yet it seems more your sister than anyone with whom you share your father's house.

She's wise,

Observant,

Generous,

All things you aspire to be.

You come back to her,

Time and again,

For guidance and grace.

Her leaves flutter restlessly in the summer breeze,

In the tree's quietest murmurs you listen for the voices of the gods,

For a chorus of whispers.

Perhaps they can prepare you for what comes next.

Do gods migrate,

You wonder?

Having never seen one or spoken to one,

You suppose it's natural to question.

When your people,

Having suffered many battles and defeats in their beloved homeland,

At last picked up what few belongings they had and followed your grandfather over the mountains,

Did their gods make the journey alongside them,

Or did they firmly plant themselves like the roots of the great linden and refuse to leave their home?

Do gods cling to land or to people,

You like to think they came along.

Though you never saw that abandoned place of origin,

This land is to you a paradise,

A land where there are fish and fowl and beast enough to keep the tables always full,

Where war feels far away.

What better place for gods and spirits to look upon?

From your settlement on the plateau you can see the whole world,

It seems.

Forest and thicket,

Glen and meadow.

The hills crescendo a song of the earth,

And the river,

Shining like silver spilled through the wild green,

She is the most sublime of all.

On her endless course through the valley,

As sometimes happens when you're struck with the overwhelming beauty of your surroundings,

Or with the awareness of the plethora of living things that suffuse every corner of the earth,

A string of words escape involuntarily from your lips.

The women move together,

Like a river,

While the lone boar claims the future.

It sounds like nonsense again.

These little flashes of strange inspiration from the blue are common with you.

Sometimes you wonder if the gods are feeding you poetry,

But mostly you shake off the trance-like state into which you fall,

And move on with your life,

Letting go of your unwanted utterance.

You whisper a short prayer to the rustle of the lindens,

A word of thanks to the mother goddess,

And a plea for guidance as the future unfolds.

You can almost see the prayer bouncing across the leaves,

Then sweeping with the wind along the landscape,

Tumbling over the ripples and trips of the river.

When your father made the pronouncement,

The intention that you would inherit his role as leader of your tribe,

Your sisters raged.

After all,

You are the youngest,

The least experienced,

And in their eyes little more than a child.

You were just as surprised as they were.

It may be years yet before you step into his shoes,

But already you feel the eyes of all upon you,

The weight of expectation and fear of inadequacy.

And why didn't he choose one of your sisters?

Surely either would make a perfectly suitable chief,

Kazi,

The eldest,

You've looked up to for as long as you've lived.

She moves through this landscape with exquisite grace,

Flush with the knowledge of the plants that grow here.

She speaks to them in a language of dreams,

Cultivates aromatic herbs,

And uses them to make medicines that benefit the tribe.

You've sat by her side marveling at the tender touch of her hand,

The gentleness with which she administers her remedies,

And the devotion with which she utters the names of the gods,

Pleading their indulgence for the sick and wounded.

She's saved many a life here,

Brought succor to those in need,

And made the land to thrive with medicinal plants,

Such healing hands you think should be the hands of a queen.

Your people would flourish under her generous rule.

Your second sister,

Teta,

Is a priestess who converses with spirits.

She knows the cycles of the earth according to the movements and will of the gods.

She knows when to make offerings,

And shares her wisdoms with all.

Yes,

She is superstitious,

But her fine attunement to the earthly and divine makes her cautious and vigilant.

Wouldn't she lead the tribe with an eye to pacifism,

Right action,

And safety?

Wouldn't she keep your people in the good graces of the other world?

But your father chose you,

And there seems to be no changing his mind,

Despite the wrath of your sisters and the confusion of his counsel.

You're the one.

There is nothing for it but to find in yourself the will and the wisdom to lead.

The evening teases the distant horizon.

A serene cool is beginning to wash over the land.

The fragrance of aster rises up from the valley below,

Tempting you from your high place.

It would be good,

You think,

To clear your mind.

You step lightly from the linden grove to what you call your secret stair.

Hidden out of sight,

The natural,

Rocky slope cuts straight through a patch of ladybells.

It requires a dexterous step.

Down you go,

Like a linden leaf,

Fallen in autumn's flesh.

You have a certain fondness for the wild.

The plateau is well settled,

Though the trees remain in force to shade the homes and gathering places.

But down here,

In the glen,

You treasure the roughness of the land,

The protruding rocks that glitter with veins of unknown metals,

The mosses and lichens that cling to trees and stones,

The unlike trees that grow together,

Everything so imprecise and the more romantic for it.

Perhaps you like it because you,

Too,

Are wild at heart.

You're not like your sisters,

Who adhere to ancestral traditions and firmly set cycles.

You move in the between spaces,

In the unseen,

In the perpendicular.

When you close your eyes,

You don't see the world as it is in afterimage,

But as it might be one day.

You see growth,

Unyielding change,

And mystery winding like tributaries,

Or the forking branches of lightning that flash in a storm.

Is this why you were chosen?

This evening,

A blush of twilight edges in over the hills.

The world feels alive and awake to your presence.

It's as if every flower perks up its head and unfurls its petals as you pass,

As if the gods whisper from tree to tree as you move beneath.

Over the highest of the surrounding hills,

The scarlet sun glistens and descends,

Creating molten rivers on the cascades of grass,

Which trickle into the Mother River.

A boat could bear you thither if you wanted to climb the majestic hill and bathe in the lasting light,

But from here,

Maybe it's the angle of the sun and the mix of shadows.

You can almost see a bridge spanning the river's girth.

It's the momentary glimmer which fades,

But inks itself upon your mind.

You walk under the shade of the oaks and beech.

Birds are whistling in the trees,

Their voices harmonizing with the song of the river.

As you come closer to the banks,

Patches of mint grow near the water and sweeten the air with their calming scent.

There's another voice,

All tangled up with the birdsong,

A familiar voice.

You pause behind a great beech tree to listen.

She's singing softly with sacred words and hymns.

You remain for a while unseen,

Letting the breeze tickle your shoulders and the song comfort your agitated mind.

It is good to hear the softness in her voice again,

After she spoke so harshly the last time you met your sister,

Teta,

The priestess,

But soon the singing stops.

First it lulls to a gentle hum,

Then trails off,

Then ceases.

And your sister's voice,

Solemn and clear,

Rings through the trees.

You can come out,

She says.

I know you're there.

Timidly,

You step from behind the tree.

She must have heard your footsteps,

Though you thought you walked softly.

Teta sits on a sturdy rock and twists round to watch you emerge.

She looks stately and poised,

You think,

Already a leader in her own right,

As she presides over the religious rights of your community.

She gestures to a place next to her,

Inviting you to sit.

You open your mouth to offer apologies and beg forgiveness,

But it is Teta who speaks first.

I'm not angry with you,

She says,

And I'm sorry for how I responded before.

I never even wanted to be queen,

But when father named you,

I still felt like something had been taken from me.

Tetka,

You sigh,

Your voice quivering.

I never asked for it either,

But it had to be one of us,

She says.

Anyway,

I'm not the one you should worry about.

Your eldest sister,

On the other hand,

She trails off with nervous laughter.

You join with a chuckle,

Then she offers her hand.

You take it,

Your fingers entwining with her firm grasp.

I will be on your side,

She says,

Always.

It's like a great weight is lifted.

You exhale,

Releasing your fears on a wave,

And your sister continues,

If I can help you,

I will.

Look,

She motions toward a swath of evergreen trees.

All you see at first is green and placid stillness,

But then through the trees,

Movement.

What is it,

You ask,

But Tetka whispers for you to remain silent and still.

You squint and watch,

Deepening and quieting your breath.

What moves between the trees,

At a safe distance,

Is a wild boar,

The first live one you've ever seen.

You observe in total silence for the space of several minutes,

Though it is a large and hulking creature,

Rather precarious looking as it carries such a dense mass upon its thin legs.

It has a kind of grace,

You reflect.

It sniffs the ground for roots and rhizomes,

Perfectly at ease in the twilight hour.

And then in time,

The boar moves on,

Sliding through the spruces into the darkening woods.

It's a little while before either of you speaks again.

The boar is matriarchal,

Tetka says.

Only the males move alone like that.

The sows walk together,

A whole community of mothers with their young,

And barren sows too.

They follow one matriarch,

The oldest and wisest of their sounder.

You can learn a lot from watching the animals.

You contemplate this.

Tetka has more to say,

But the boar is also sacred to the god of the sun and of war.

You would do well to watch the woods in times of strife,

For the coming of the boar can signal a looming conflict.

You strain your eyes to peer through the spaces between the evergreens,

Wherein the boar's wake,

A trail of shadow,

Rises.

It's a murky,

Amorphous something,

And it nearly crystallizes into a clear vision,

But it dissipates as soon as Tetka releases your hand.

You'd almost glimpsed something,

Perhaps a message from the unseen world,

But it's gone now.

The sun is well behind the hills,

But light lingers with a violet pall.

Tetka rises,

And invites you back to your father's house,

Where supper will surely be on the table,

But you're not quite ready to leave the valley,

To ascend the steps.

Don't stay out too late,

She says,

A hint of imperiousness in her voice.

It'll be dark soon.

I won't,

You promise,

Knowing that even if you do linger past nightfall,

The moon and stars will light your way.

Tetka departs.

You consider her advice,

And muse on the mysteries of the animal kingdom.

They have their own hierarchies and communal structures,

Each one unique,

Each one with a lesson to impart,

At length,

Not wanting to waste the last of the light.

You rise from the rock,

To continue your contemplative stroll to the riverside.

Burns and starflower curl over the path you tread.

A slow-moving heron wades in the shallows,

Languid and composed.

Slowly,

The land turns from the active,

Dynamic rush of day to the tranquil,

Softly sung exhale of night.

Insects trill between the trees,

And the river,

Black,

Blue,

And white under the moon,

Gently gurgles.

You walk along her bends and curves for a short way,

Occasionally stopping to observe wildlife in the quiet.

A swan rests,

Neck curled,

Head tucked beneath a wing,

On the rolling surface.

She reflects the moonlight,

Opalescent on the water,

And soon as you move along the banks,

You come to another creature who seems to glow beneath the moon,

A woman.

She is crouched before a thick shrub,

Holding her skirt up to create a makeshift basket,

And harvesting the bell-shaped flowers into the recess.

You almost turn back,

Unsure whether she wants to see you,

But a twig snaps under your feet,

And she looks up immediately.

The hem of her skirt falls from her hand,

Letting all the purple flowers tumble onto the grass.

You watch her chest swell and fall sharply,

As with a heavy sigh,

But then her knitted brows relax,

And her face falls into a forgiving expression.

Come on,

She calls to you,

Help me with this mess.

You move to your eldest sister,

Kazi's,

Side,

Kneel,

And begin to gather the delicate flowers.

They smell bittersweet and grassy.

You know the scent,

If not the flower itself.

Kazi uses it often,

When making poultices and salves.

What's this called again,

You ask,

Attempting a light-hearted conversation.

Come free,

She responds.

Her voice is not as cold as you'd expect it,

But there's some distance in it.

Good for mending bones,

And other things.

Once all the spilled blooms are recovered,

You watch how Kazi,

With care and consideration,

Harvests more from the plant at the water's edge.

Trying not to be too clumsy about it,

You begin to mimic her motions,

Adding leaves to the bowl of her skirt.

Hand over hand,

You and your sister work,

Quietly.

The water moves on,

Milky splashes of moon rolling by.

That's enough for now,

She says,

After some time.

And it's getting late.

Father will worry.

Kazi,

You say,

Before she can turn and go,

Wait a moment.

Can't we talk?

She breathes in,

Casting her gaze across the water.

If I'm going to do this,

You continue,

I need my sisters.

Eventually,

It's like a frost around her thaws,

And melts.

She softens like the earth,

Softening after a winter.

She looks upon you with the same expression she once reserved for the mischief you got into when you were very young,

An exasperated yet indulgent look.

She motions for you to sit with her upon a large oak root jutting near the bank.

She arranges the comfrey leaves and flowers in a heap on her lap,

And begins picking them up,

One by one,

Seeming to inspect them.

I knew it would be you,

She says.

Somehow I always knew.

Not because you're father's favorite.

I'm still the favorite,

She laughs.

But because you're right for it.

It's wisdom father is looking for in a successor.

And there's no one wiser than you,

You choke back a scoff.

Wise,

You say.

But I'm hardly even of age,

What would I know of wisdom?

You and Teta,

The way you work with the plants and the spirit and the gods,

That's wisdom.

No,

She stops you.

It's not.

Well,

It is,

But I mean something different.

Something deeper.

Wisdom isn't always about age,

Or experience,

Or knowing one thing better than anyone.

Sometimes wisdom is quieter,

Broader,

More humble.

You watch as she presses a leaf between her fingers,

And gently rubs it to stimulate the oils.

An even stronger fragrance is released on the night air,

But you still don't understand quite what she means.

Even when you were little,

I saw it,

She goes on.

You used to follow me around while I was out picking wildflowers and herbs,

And you would just stop,

Whatever you were doing,

And stare off into the distance,

And then poetry.

You would speak like some sort of sage,

Like you had the whole history of the world in that head of yours,

Or as if you were connected to some oracular wisdom.

You would say such beautiful things,

And sometimes only I would hear them,

And the next day they'd come to pass,

Not exactly as you'd said them,

Or not exactly how I'd heard them,

But everything you'd say in those moments would become true,

In one way or another.

You breathe in the ever-saturating scent of comfrey oil,

Which relaxes your mind into openness and memory.

Kazi speaks as if your occasional spells are some sort of extraordinary ability,

But you've never seen it that way.

It's just inspiration,

You think.

Certainly there's no connection between your now and then emissions of nonsense and actual things coming to pass,

But the more you think on it,

The more you begin to wonder,

What was it you said this evening when you were enwrapped by the beauty of the sunset on the valley and the river?

Didn't you say something about the wild boar,

And what a coincidence that one should appear as you conversed with Teta under the oaks.

Is this what your father has seen in you then?

Is this why you were chosen to lead,

When you see,

Even for a moment,

A bridge hovering over the quiet river,

Or the shadows of army camps between the trees?

Is it not the result of an active imagination?

Is it something more?

You look across the water,

Toward the great hill behind which the sun has vanished.

Sometimes you can hear that hill,

Like you can hear the voice of the Linden if you listen hard enough.

It whispers of sacred things,

Of the spaces between,

And of great glory.

Is there a god or a goddess who lives on that hill,

You wonder.

What I want you to know,

Kazi says,

Is that I will be here,

Because a leader needs many kinds of wisdom.

The vigilance to keep a people safe,

Of course.

The tenderness and skill to heal wounds.

And that other kind of wisdom,

Too.

To look beyond appearances,

And see what others cannot,

Silently,

Watching how Kazi does it,

You pick up one of the comfrey leaves,

And crush it between your fingers.

This is how it's always been between you.

Your sister doesn't teach intentionally,

Doesn't readily offer instruction,

But in the subtle,

Unconscious way in which she demonstrates her work,

Angles her body,

Slows and deliberates her movement,

She shares her knowledge with you.

You learn from her by watching,

Doing,

Following,

You've always followed her.

The crushed leaves release a faint,

Oily residue on your hand,

Coaxing the medicinal properties from the plant,

Makes you feel,

Not powerful per se,

Meaningful,

Rather,

Like you're part of your environment,

Not something separate from it.

You've never known another homeland,

We really ought to get back,

Kazi says after a while.

Come on,

Carrying a handful of the crushed leaves,

Which trace a thick scent trail on the night breeze,

You follow your eldest sister along the bank,

Retracing your steps.

She seems inclined to take the long way back to the settlement.

She doesn't know about your secret stare.

After tonight though,

When you've spoken as equals for the first time you can remember,

You take your sister's hand and steer her toward the hidden path,

Together,

Laughing,

You climb the rocky steps,

Trying not to spill your leaves and flowers again.

Mother and Teta will reproach you sternly when you arrive,

Deep into the night and covered with dirt and grass stains from the climb,

But it's worth it to feel this connection,

To feel her respect and admiration for you,

It was always there,

You just never knew it,

Reaching the height of the plateau,

Where sways your lovely Linden,

You turn back to look upon the valley at night,

So different than by day,

It sparkles beneath the stars,

The hills are darkly silhouetted against the sky,

More of an absence than a presence,

The trees groan and subtly bend to the wind,

Brushing shyly against each other,

How many living things breathe and sleep and move under cover of those trees,

And the river,

Most exalted jewel of all,

Rolls on into eternity,

Still in the darkness,

In the sheath of deepest blues and overtones of pearlescent moonlight,

You can see the faintest glimmer of gold,

Like threads woven into a tapestry atop the evening's luminous beauty,

The sun painting over the moon's domain,

A bridge over the river,

Glittering pathways that climb the steepest slopes,

It's hazy and trembling,

But oh,

It seems as if stone by stone,

A castle erupts into being,

And tower after tower,

A thousand spires unfold in your periphery,

Golden and impossible,

As they climb the night to kiss the starry sky,

Night and day meet upon a regal path,

It is enough to bring tears to your eyes,

For on this golden vision come waves of splendid joy,

Deep pools of sorrow,

And every emotion in between,

This singular vision rings with conflict and triumph,

With truth spoken and unspoken,

With oaths and apotheosis,

It undergoes a process of becoming,

Which mirrors your own,

Is it all in your mind,

You wonder,

Everything you see and feel,

As it often happens at such moments,

A string of words fall from your lips,

No words can bring forth all that arises on this dazzling vision,

So you simply describe what you see,

What no one else can see but you,

In the spaces in between,

On the threshold,

I see a great city,

Whose glory will touch the stars,

You're not even sure if your sister hears you,

If she's still behind you,

Or if she slipped away to your father's house,

But you feel as though many,

Many people are listening,

Here on the plateau,

And deep into the past,

And far away into the future,

They are listening to you,

The legend you'll leave behind,

The details will fade,

Much will remain unspoken,

But you'll sing forward,

In a forgotten language,

In the tongue of the river and the valley,

Take a deep breath in through your nose,

Filling your lungs with fresh air,

And exhale slowly through your mouth,

Letting everything go,

Let your breath settle into a natural rhythm,

Rising and falling,

Like the swell of a river,

As you breathe,

Visualize yourself standing in a serene forest clearing,

Surrounded by towering trees,

The air is cool and refreshing,

Carrying the scent of earth and evergreen,

As you take a step,

The ground softens beneath your feet,

Bending to welcome you,

Walk slowly through the forest,

Noticing the mosses that cling to the rocks,

Birds in the trees,

Squirrels or other fauna scurrying through,

Wildflowers,

And as you walk,

Notice that you are not alone,

Another is walking with you,

As if your steps are perfectly aligned,

Turn to look at your companion,

It's a forest animal,

One that you feel connected to,

It might be a fox,

Or a rabbit,

Or a deer,

Whatever comes to mind,

Know that this creature means you no harm,

It is a guide for you into the realm of sleep,

Consider what message this animal might have for you,

What it wants you to let go of for now,

And what it wants you to take into your time of sleep,

As you continue your journey with your animal companion by your side,

Come to the banks of a great river,

Notice the direction in which it flows,

Look to either end,

Can you see how far it goes,

Or does it disappear around a bend,

Does it flow smoothly and gently,

Or does it tumble over rapids with white foam,

Let the sound of water sink in and soothe you,

If you like,

Sit down by the water's edge and dip your fingers into the cool river,

Your companion might like to have a drink from that river,

Spend a few breaths here,

Observing the flow of the water and finding an inner calm,

An inner release to the flow of the natural world,

To the wildness and interconnectedness of it,

As the sun sets,

The sky above you transforms,

Into a canvas of dazzling stars,

Lie down on the grass and gaze up the vast expanse,

Feel the earth supporting you,

Just as it supports all living beings,

Breathe deeply,

And notice how the landscape changes as night approaches,

New sounds,

How nocturnal creatures emerge,

As the diurnal creatures retreat to their burrows and nests and homes,

And curl up for sleep,

Feel at peace with these cycles,

The turning of the world,

The tender moments between night and day,

Where the two touch,

Notice the patterns of the stars,

Do you recognize any of the constellations,

As you inhale,

Imagine yourself filling deeply with the resonant energies of the earth,

And as you breathe out,

Imagine your exhale can touch the stars,

Keep breathing here,

In with the energy of the earth,

And out toward the cosmos,

Feeling entirely connected to the natural world,

Seen and unseen,

Feeling supported by the web of life around you,

And comfortable,

And safe,

And protected,

As you allow yourself to surrender to the natural cycles of sleep,

Soften,

And breathe,

Good night

Reviews

Wonderful! 🙏

Another wonderful story and good sleep. :)

Excellent work by you.
Thank you for sharing this story.
Namaste 🙏 ❤️

Lovely story!!

I feel like I have heard a telling of my own experiences from the past.

This was like listening to an ancient history of a native tribe.
Lovely, but I only fell asleep in the final moments of the meditation at the end.
That being said, it was an unusual treasure to hear one of your stories completely til the end for a change.

Simply, stunningly gorgeous…anything that aids us as humans to recognize our oneness with Mother is magic, and this is that. Another favorite 🙏🏽🌍💨🔥🌊

Truly fantastical! This is now one of my favorites. Thank you. 🙏

This is a very beautiful story, thank you.
I am wondering what your connections are with Czechia, as you’ve also created some beautiful stories about Prague…🙏🏻🌟🙏🏻

Thank you! I wish I could have heard the ending! 💖

Thank you for sharing your delicately layered writing of another beautifully told story.