The Train To Wizard School

In tonight’s sleep story, you board the train to the school of sorcery. You make a new friend, with whom you practice spells, observe the dreamy landscape, and discuss what you know of the school. Finally, lulled by the movement and comfort of the train, you nod off to sleep. Paired with guided meditation + sleep countdown.

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw, Hard Charger by Christian Anderson, Clarity by Syntropy, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Practice spells on the train to the school of sorcery in tonight's magical bedtime story.

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.

If you are still awake as the story concludes,

I'll guide you through a gentle meditation and sleep countdown.

This is the finale of season 2 of Sleep and Sorcery,

And it's my 50th original sleep story.

I'm taking a short break to work on season 3,

But I can't wait to be back with more.

Thank you so much for being a part of the Sleep and Sorcery community.

In tonight's story,

You board the train to your first year at the school of sorcery.

You make your way through the various luxury cars,

Taking in all that the train has to offer for nourishment and entertainment for the long journey.

Then settle into an open compartment.

There you make a new friend with whom you practice spells,

Observe the dreamy landscape,

And discuss what you know of the school.

Finally,

Lulled by the movement and comfort of the train,

You nod off to sleep.

The world is full of magic things,

Patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.

W.

B.

Yeats There's nothing quite like the hustle and bustle of a major train station.

The echo of voices and footsteps that blend into a murky clamor.

The dance of scents as you pass by the stalls.

Of coffee and freshly baked pastries and pies.

The mix of emotions and paces.

Here a woman sits reading a tattered old book,

Lazily sipping her tea,

Having undoubtedly arrived hours before her departure.

There a family sprints across the marble floors to make their train.

You feel fortunate that you fall somewhere in the middle,

With plenty of time to make it to the platform,

But not enough downtime to succumb to boredom.

That's all very well,

You think,

Until you consider that these are rather unusual circumstances,

And that you're not really sure how to find the platform in question.

All you have to guide your way,

You and your admittedly overstuffed suitcase,

Is a scroll of parchment.

But,

The scroll of parchment,

Currently rolled up tightly and tucked in your coat pocket,

Is no ordinary piece of paper.

It arrived one day,

Nearly three months ago,

Tied to the leg of a raven of all things.

And on that day,

The parchment appeared to be an acceptance letter,

A notice informing you that you had been selected for admission at the most respected school of sorcery in the world.

At the time,

Though you thought it must be a prank,

You coveted the letter and kept it beneath your pillow,

Where you could pull it out each night and read it over and over by lamplight,

Silently.

You wished with all your heart for the message to be real.

You've always believed in magic.

Deep down,

It would be a dream come true.

The funny thing about the parchment,

Though,

Is that after some time,

Its contents began to change.

One morning,

After waking from an unusual dream,

You felt the sudden urge to check that it was still under your pillow.

And,

To your surprise,

You found a new message that replaced the invitation to the school.

Now,

The curly script letters comprised a list of textbooks and magical supplies you would need to obtain before starting school,

And directions to the recommended shops for purchasing.

This was when you began to suspect something truly magical was at work.

Had you not already been introduced to the hidden world of wizardry through your school supply shopping trip,

You doubt you would have had the courage to show up at the train station today.

But the enchanted scroll of parchment steered you true before.

So only days ago,

When its contents changed again,

This time including a departure time,

A platform number,

And a packing list,

Your heart began to flutter.

Soon,

You'll be on your way to study magic and sorcery.

Now that you've arrived at the station,

You refer to the parchment once more.

It's changed again.

And at this,

You breathe a sigh of relief.

Now,

Along with the departure time,

The elegant script displays step-by-step directions for accessing the platform first.

The parchment instructs you to locate the elevator bank on the station's south side.

Scanning the busy terminal,

Your eyes land on a pair of elevators with ornate art deco design.

Doors embellished with gold relief.

These must be the ones.

And indeed,

As you glance down at the parchment,

You observe a thin line of ink springing up from beneath its surface,

Scratching through the first step as if an invisible quill is marking it complete.

So you stride toward the elevators,

Moving right through the foot traffic with a studied nimbleness to avoid colliding with other travelers.

Your unwieldy suitcase wobbles behind you,

And you steady it as you approach the lifts.

What's next,

You wonder.

According to your instructions,

You are to press the up and down buttons at the same time,

Calling both elevators.

This you do.

And the parchment scratches out step two on your list.

There's an old-fashioned dial atop each elevator to indicate its present floor,

Complete with brass numbers and arrows.

You watch as the dials slowly move,

Almost but not quite in unison,

Toward the ground floor you occupy.

But as you wait,

Another traveler joins you.

Another traveler joins you,

Clad in a three-piece suit and carrying only a compact briefcase.

They check their watch and nervously tap a foot against the marble floor.

You reference the parchment for what to do next.

Before your eyes,

Steps two and three begin to move apart from one another,

Separating to accommodate the squeezing in of step two and a half.

If non-magical travelers are present,

Wait for an empty lift before boarding.

That's certainly helpful,

You think.

As you look up,

The lift on the right sounds a pleasant chime,

And the doors open to allow a half dozen or so people out.

The impatient traveler boards the elevator.

As soon as there's an opening going up,

They call to you.

I'll get the next one,

You say.

Suit yourself,

Says the traveler,

With a look of mild puzzlement as the doors close.

Only a moment later,

There comes an identical chime.

From the elevator on the left,

Its doors separate to reveal an empty lift into which you slide without delay.

As the doors close behind you,

The invisible quill strikes through step three.

Board the elevator.

Inside the elevator car,

There is a resounding quiet,

Especially compared with the cacophony of the station.

You're grateful for the moment of peace and space to perform step four,

Which involves your wand.

At present,

Your brand new wand is tucked away inside your coat,

And save for the practice wave you gave it in the wand shop,

You've not yet had occasion to try it out,

At least here,

In the privacy of the empty lift.

You won't look foolish using it for the first time.

You pull the wand from its hidden pocket and grasp it firmly in your dominant hand.

Though you're still getting used to the curve of the instrument in your hand,

You find that it has an innate warmth,

A tenderness,

As if it knows you to be its companion.

This gives you comfort as you read step four carefully.

In accordance with the instruction,

You point your wand squarely at the empty space between two buttons and slowly turn your wrist,

Muttering a strange incantation.

As you perform the gesture,

A funny sort of tingling feeling moves down your arm,

As though something is activating,

Channeling into the wand as an extension of you.

The effect is near instantaneous.

The light shifts within the elevator from a fluorescent white to a soft golden glow.

And inches from the tip of your wand,

There in the empty space of the elevator wall,

An extra floor emerges.

Unlike the other buttons,

Simple and round,

With standard numbers,

This one appears framed by decorative flourishes and is marked with a Roman numeral on the parchment.

Step four crosses itself out.

Step five,

Naturally,

Is to push the button.

As soon as you do,

You feel the familiar sensation of momentary weightlessness associated with the start of the elevator moving along its direction.

As the elevator moves slowly,

You find it increasingly difficult to sense in which direction it's traveling,

Whether up or down,

Or even on some lateral or transverse plane.

Vaguely,

Though you're enclosed in a windowless space,

You understand that you are leaving the confines of the ordinary train station,

Moving into some other world,

Or passing through a kind of enchanted curtain.

At last,

The elevator comes to stillness.

In the instant before the doors open,

You feel the swell of butterflies in your belly,

As magical as everything that's led you here has been.

This is the moment.

What lies beyond these doors?

A hidden world,

An answer to all your impossible dreams,

A call to a marvelous adventure?

Or will you simply step back into the mundane frenzy of the station?

The ordinary life you've led till now,

Teased with the promise of a world of enchantment and tossed back.

You take a deep breath to slow your heartbeat and calm your racing mind.

Whatever these doors reveal,

You are ready.

After what seems like a lifetime,

The doors at last part,

Sliding open to reveal steam and stone.

You step out of the lift onto the solid floor of the train platform in the shadow of a great engine,

Gleaming gold and black and scarlet,

And issuing steam in voluminous clouds.

Where are you in space?

You wonder.

The platform feels vaguely subterranean,

Yet somehow not entirely of this earth at all.

But then come the sound of people's voices,

Doting and laughing,

The sounds of heartfelt goodbyes and sincere well-wishes,

And all your pondering melts into your mind.

What does it matter,

Really?

You're here,

Among others,

Standing before the train to your new life.

You weave your way,

Suitcase trailing behind you,

Through the leagues of families and travelers on the platform.

Also on the air are the sounds of owls hooting,

Ravens croaking,

Cats chirping,

And other assorted animal noises.

Some students,

It seems,

Already have their very own familiars to accompany them to school.

You pass the time before boarding,

Just observing the whimsies and eccentricities of your fellow travelers.

Many of them don cloaks or floor-length robes.

Only you wear what you'd consider relatively ordinary street clothes,

And you see the most magnificent hat and you see the most magnificent hats,

Too,

Some of which come to a point,

And some of which are elaborately decorated with florals,

Crystals,

And the like.

Perhaps you think you should have dressed differently to blend in better here,

But you do have your school uniform robes in the overstuffed suitcase.

Soon you'll fit right in with these folks.

You feel a rush again of butterflies as the conductor makes the boarding call.

Every moment,

Every move is a step closer to your new or magical life.

You make for the nearest door,

Weaving through dozens of other young witches and wizards in training and their mountainous luggage.

When you make the steps up,

You find yourself in the kind of well-appointed luxury train car you thought hadn't been the norm since the 1920s or so.

It exudes golden age glamour from the mahogany siding and ceiling panels to the art deco window frames to the crimson velvet chairs and sofas strewn with throw pillows.

At first,

You think there are elegant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling,

But on closer inspection,

You find that the soft,

Hazy light of the train car is coming from a series of floating orbs arranged in orbital patterns and gently bobbing in the still atmosphere.

You can't stop for long to admire the furnishings,

However,

Because a steady stream of passengers are clamoring to board behind you.

So on you move through the train,

Passing through to the next car.

Under normal circumstances,

You might have taken the first open seat and certainly those velvet couches looked cozy as anything,

But curiosity and amazement compel you forward.

Passing through the doors,

You find that the next car is furnished entirely differently.

It's altogether darker for one,

But it's lush and opulent.

The seating banks are upholstered with black and gold damask abutting the sills of pointed lancet windows.

The walls are painted a deep,

Engrossing plum and in the spaces between windows,

Gold candelabras hold violet candles that flicker and glow.

Strange,

However,

That no wax drips from beneath the wicks of the tapers.

They burn seemingly without melting,

Like an eternal flame.

The whole car radiates gothic romance and grandeur.

On you go through another set of doors into what turns out to be a dining car.

There are small tables lining the car covered with pressed white linens and each with its own charming place settings.

Silver gleams under natural light and a little bud vase rests on each table containing a single spray or garden rose.

In the center of the car is a rosewood bar curved and polished to shine and behind the bar are shelves and shelves of the most curious looking bottles containing liquids of every color.

A sign on the bar reads Today's Special Potions Laughing Juice Lavender Nap Water Ginger Draft for Motion Sickness Then there are plastic cups for motion sickness.

Then there are platters and dishes of pastries and sweets stacked on the buffet.

Fresh finger sandwiches,

Candied apples and puddings glore.

My,

You think,

What a wonderful assortment of snacks to be sampled.

You make a mental note of the location of the dining car to return when you get hungry.

You move through one more set of doors into the next car,

Which has a narrow passage on one side and is lined on the other with private travel compartments.

Feeling like now is a good moment to claim a seat.

You duck into one of the open compartments as the door falls closed behind you.

A sense of calm and quiet falls.

The very pleasant and specific feeling of having completed the most cumbersome steps of travel and of having the freedom to spread out,

Relax,

And be borne away toward a new place.

Hoisting your suitcase up onto a luggage rack,

You settle into the comfy,

Cushioned seat on the forward-facing side of the compartment.

In the passageway beyond the door,

A line of other passengers glide by.

You hear the sounds of muffled laughter and conversation.

The compartment has its share of wondrous features you discover.

There's a bank of buttons next to your seat,

Marked with indications like recline,

Keep cool,

And sleep.

You press this last button just to see what happens.

Slowly,

The cushioned bench shifts beneath you,

Expanding and unfolding into a plush bed.

Fluffy pillows appear out of thin air,

Along with a thick comforter.

Though it's early in the day still,

The comfort of the sleeper set very nearly tempts you into a luxurious nap.

But there's a part of you that can hardly bear to miss an instant of the journey.

So you press the reset button.

To return your seat to its original state.

As you're pondering which of the many buttons to try next,

The door to your compartment swings open.

Framed in the doorway is a witch about your age,

With thick-rimmed glasses and dark green robes.

Sorry,

She says.

It's filling up quite fast.

Do you mind if I take that seat,

Or are you saving it for later?

Not at all,

You say.

Gesturing to the open bench across from you.

You're welcome to it.

Thanks,

She says,

Flashing you a luminous gap-toothed grin.

Despite her rather apologetic request,

She exudes confidence.

Her presence instantly makes you feel very at peace.

As if you've known her for many years,

She lifts her trunk into the luggage compartment.

She lifts her trunk into the luggage hold,

And flops down on the seat across from you.

I'm Charlotte,

She says.

Is this your first year as well?

You nod vigorously and volunteer your name.

Good,

She says with a sigh of relief.

I was so worried I'd end up seated next to a fourth or fifth year,

And they'd laugh at me bungling all my spells practice.

You can do spells,

You ask.

A flame of curiosity rising in you.

Oh,

Not very well,

She says with a flippant wave of her hand.

But I grew up watching my parents do them all the time,

And I've only just got my first wand.

I can't wait to give some of them a crack.

Charlotte goes on to list a dizzying number of spells she hopes to test out,

So she'll be able to impress the teachers when she arrives at school.

Spells for household chores.

Spells for summoning items across a room.

Spells for conjuring fire and water,

And dozens more.

Meanwhile,

With a hiss of pistons,

A high-pitched whistle,

And a slow acceleration,

The train begins to pull away from the station.

Billowing clouds of steam obscure the onlookers,

Onlookers and well-wishers who stand on the platform,

Waving goodbye to their loved ones.

You ask Charlotte what it was like growing up in a family that practiced magic.

You yourself never knew such a world existed,

Until recently,

For her.

It all seems very matter-of-fact.

Magic,

Spells,

Potions,

And the like were a part of her everyday existence,

Just like brushing your teeth or combing your hair.

You suppose it would be easy to take it for granted that way.

Privately,

You make yourself a little promise to never stop appreciating the wonder of magic and the good fortune you've had to be invited into it.

The train passes briefly through a dark tunnel as it leaves the platform for good,

Then emerges into cloudy daylight.

The city is nowhere to be seen,

Surely miles behind you already,

And out the wide window there is only green and gold,

Magnificent fields of wheat.

You and Charlotte talk about the school that awaits you at the end of the journey.

Her parents went there and apparently told her many stories about their time in its hallowed halls.

All the great witches,

Wizards,

Warlocks,

And sorcerers of the last millennium were trained there,

She says.

The school is housed in a castle from the early middle ages.

A castle.

To think you'll be spending the next several months of your life living in a medieval castle,

Anne.

Now Charlotte digs through her book bag to produce a thick volume,

Clearly new,

But already marked with a dozen dog-eared pages.

It was founded by the legendary wizard and counselor to King Arthur himself,

Merlin.

You recognize the book,

An exhaustive history of the school of sorcery,

From your own packing list.

Your unopened copy is stuffed somewhere in the pockets of your suitcase,

Along with your potions book,

Spell books,

And grimoires.

I wonder what sort of classes we'll take in the first year,

You say.

Oh,

Just the fundamentals in the first term,

Charlotte responds.

Potions,

Herbalism,

Magical theory,

And so on.

But my mother said,

When we're back from holiday,

We can choose a special subject.

At least that's how they did it when she was at school.

Things like divination,

And alchemy,

And creative magic.

Creative magic.

Another surge of interest and curiosity bubbles up within you.

Sure,

Says Charlotte.

Channeling magic to make art,

Or music,

Or whatever you like.

My mother says it sounds easy,

But it's really challenging.

I'd like to have a go at it either way.

Me too,

You say,

Your head spinning at the amount of new information.

You're not sure what you expected to find at the school of sorcery.

But with every new thing Charlotte brings up,

You feel more and more exhilarated.

And as if you've only scratched the surface of what magic has to offer.

Say,

Charlotte interjects,

As the countryside whizzes by outside.

Are you hungry or anything?

Fancy a dip into the dining car?

You respond that you'd be thrilled to join her.

Together,

You exit the compartment and pass through to the dining car.

You feel a little bit of a lift to know that already,

You've made something of a friend.

Minutes later,

You return to your compartment carrying armfuls of chocolates,

Sandwiches,

And other assorted treats,

Which you dump across a pull-out table between you.

You've each gotten yourselves a potion too from the bar.

Charlotte chose the special formula for sharpening one's mind,

Flavored with pomegranate.

You went for the relaxation blend.

It's delicately fragrant and herbal.

You take your first sip as you sit down once more.

At once,

You feel a delightful fuzziness fill your head.

Muscles you didn't know you were tensing swiftly release.

Your shoulders drop from your ears.

Your jaw unclenches.

And your brow uncreases.

You pour over the bounty you've pillaged from the dining car.

Most of it is recognizable fare,

But some of the sweets are unfamiliar to you.

You're most intrigued by a package of funny-looking licorice twists.

Oh,

I've heard of these,

Says Charlotte.

You can only get them on board this train.

They're a specialty.

Look,

She clears a space on the table and unwraps the package.

She arranges the licorice twists meticulously,

Joining up the edges,

Until it's clear to you that the twists are molded in the shape of train tracks,

Which fit together like pieces of a puzzle into a connected oval.

Charlotte removes the final piece of licorice from the package.

This one is in the shape of a little steam engine,

Very like the train in which you now so comfortably ride.

She sets the tiny train on the tiny track,

And instantly it begins to chug along.

You can't help but giggle.

The thing is so charming and whimsical.

Now,

As the licorice train makes its jaunty way around the track,

Making its own imitation of a steam whistle,

Little wisps escape its smokestack,

Each cartoonish wisp a different color.

Floating up to your eye level,

You reach out to pluck one of the puffs from the air,

Discovering that it's made of candy floss.

They're all different flavors,

Charlotte remarks,

Letting one of the puffs dissolve on her tongue.

Yum,

Lemon.

Outside the train window,

The landscape unfolds into a crescendo of undulating hills.

The sun falls through breaks in the clouds into patches of gold on the grass.

The train moves smoothly along the track,

The sound of the engine,

A steady hum all around.

In time,

The midday sun diminishes as grayish clouds gather in force.

It doesn't look like rain exactly,

But there's a simmering charge about it,

A sense of nature bracing,

Preparing for change.

In turn,

The landscape takes on a kind of pearly,

Atmospheric luminosity that turns the mind toward magic and mystery.

Charlotte pulls out her wand,

An eager grin on her face.

Now that you've enjoyed refreshments and are well settled in,

She's anxious to start practicing some spells.

You'd be welcome to join.

You retrieve your wand as well.

Charlotte expresses some admiration for yours,

Which makes you feel rather pleased.

Not that you had much of a hand in choosing it.

You tried several out,

And this was the first wand you came across in the shop.

It felt natural in your hand.

The wandmaker insisted it was a perfect match.

Charlotte pulls another book from her bag,

This one titled,

Simple Starter Spells for the Student of Sorcery.

You try to read the title out loud,

But it collapses into an ambiguous sussuration before you remark that it's quite the tongue twister.

Charlotte laughs,

Flashing her charming grin again.

The book falls open between you to an early page,

Its spine crackling pleasantly in the way that only happens with new books.

The smell of freshly printed ink permeates the air in the train car.

On the pages in question,

The left-hand side includes a detailed description of what's called the color-changing charm.

On the opposite page is an illustration of a young wizard,

Holding his wand aloft.

But as you look longer at the picture,

You're surprised to see it shift slightly under your gaze.

Yes,

It's true,

You think.

The picture is moving of its own volition.

Every few moments,

A spark of light shoots from the wizard's wand,

Which is pointed at a vase upon a pedestal.

With each wave of the wand,

The vase changes color,

From pale blue to brick red,

And from brick red to chartreuse.

It says to choose an object within range and to concentrate deeply on the color you'd like to change it to.

Charlotte reads.

She reaches for one of the unopened candies near the edge of the table,

Wrapped in bright red paper.

Right,

She says,

I'm concentrating on violet.

She closes her eyes tightly,

Scrunching up her nose along with it.

Then,

A wave of calm seems to flush over her,

From head to toe.

You watch with amusement as her forehead,

Eyes,

And face relax,

Taking on a serene expression.

She opens her eyes,

Which are now in a soft focus,

And with a subtle gesture of her wand hand,

Utters the incantation,

Mutatio Viola.

A wisp of pale purple smoke escapes the tip of Charlotte's wand,

And you flick your gaze down to the candy wrapper.

As if dipped in unseen dye,

The brilliant red of the paper bleeds and fades to a soft brownish purple,

Almost a muddled mauve.

Charlotte picks up the candy and holds it into the light.

It's almost violet,

You say,

In a half-hearted attempt at validation.

Not bad for a first try,

I suppose,

Charlotte says,

Summoning a note of cheerfulness.

Do you want to give it a go?

You jump at the chance,

Choosing a new subject.

A spare button that's lingered at the bottom of your coat pocket for a year or more.

You spin the book round to look closely at the instructions.

There's the general incantation,

Mutatio,

And an index of different target colors and the magical utterance associated.

You turn the button over in your hands,

Feeling the smooth surface,

The ridges,

And the little pinholes,

And imagining the shiny black button turning to its opposite,

A pure white.

You close your eyes,

Picturing the shining white button in your mind's eye.

Your mind invites the image of a white swan gliding across the waters of a lake in the mist.

Now the image of a shimmering pearl in the chamber of an oyster.

And now,

The undisturbed surface of a snowbank,

Bright under winter sunlight.

Finally,

All these images dissolve into a swirling brilliance behind your eyelids and melt into a sensation of glowing warmth that travels throughout your body like a current.

You take a deep breath,

Easing into the sensation,

It feels in the moment like you are entirely possessed by the embodiment of magic.

If you could only harness it,

Channel it,

You feel like you could do incredible things,

But it's almost overpowering the magic.

The light longs to spill out from your fingertips into the world.

At last,

When you feel so charged,

So electrified,

That you can wait no longer,

You open your eyes,

Point your wand at the shiny black button,

And say the incantation,

Mutatio Albus.

A shimmer of white light escapes your wand,

And the button beneath ripples as if it's momentarily changed substance to a kind of liquid.

In the ripple,

A wave of white pigment rises,

Then solidifies under the surface of the button,

Swirled in a kind of marble effect within the remainder of the black coloration.

Then stillness,

A multi-hued button rests before you,

Part white,

Part black,

Combined into an abstract sort of yin and yang.

For a few moments,

You sit in silence,

A bit dumbfounded by what you've just experienced.

You've cast your first spell,

And it worked,

Kind of.

But more than that,

You've felt magic,

In your physical presence,

In your body,

As part of you.

It arose within you,

Instinctive and wildly familiar,

The provocation of something you've always held,

Always guarded,

Deep within.

For the first time,

You understand why you received the letter,

And why you've been invited to study at the school of sorcery.

Because magic doesn't come from a wand,

Or a cauldron,

Or a book.

It comes from you.

The wand is just a tool,

A focus.

You are magic.

The sensation of warmth and light is dissipating within you,

Softening and dissolving like melting snow,

But you can feel that it isn't leaving you,

It's only taking a new shape,

Resting deep beneath the surface,

Until you're ready to awaken it once more,

To kindle its bright fire.

Wow,

Says Charlotte,

Picking up the button and inspecting it.

That's really rather good,

You know.

Are you sure you've never done magic before?

And now you're not so sure.

Perhaps you've never performed a formal spell,

Or brewed a potion,

But this magic has always been a part of you.

And perhaps it's made its mark on your world in unseen ways,

Without you ever knowing,

Showing you the better of two paths to take.

Guiding your hand in any creative endeavor,

Outside the train window the sky deepens to a dramatic azure,

The landscape grows rougher,

More textured,

And more immense as you go.

Easy hills give way to towering cliffs and craggy emerald mountains.

The train trundles now over a parapeted viaduct,

All concrete and momentous arches.

And off in the distance,

Past a smattering of trees with bright pink blossoms,

Is the dark,

Turgid surface of a vast lake.

A vast lake,

Maybe it's all in your mind,

Drawn out by the experience you've just had,

But it's like you can feel your surroundings tingling,

Opening,

Unveiling to mystery.

This is just the kind of place where you'd expect to see legends walking the earth,

And great magic revealed.

With a sense of newfound confidence and self-awareness,

You turn back to the book of spells and flip to the next page.

Can we try this one?

You ask,

Pointing to a charm for levitating small objects.

Charlotte grins,

Eager to practice more.

So,

On you go,

Moving through the beginner spells and charms,

Casting meager beams of light from your wands,

Invoking minor illusions,

Freezing and unfreezing the last drops of your potions in their cups.

At times,

The results are so inadequate or humorous that you and Charlotte double over laughing.

Other times,

On the second or third try,

One of you produces a near-perfect result.

Charlotte manages to conjure a small mist that thoroughly fogs up the train window and the lenses of her glasses.

You successfully clear it away with a well-placed wand wave and chant.

With every spell,

You feel your connection to the wand deepening,

Your hand closing more comfortably around it,

And a quiet warmth seeming to emanate from it.

It's like the wand has a mind and a will of its own,

Yet it bends with grace to your intentions.

You nurse the last sips of your relaxation potion.

Even in all the animated efforts of practicing spells with Charlotte,

It softens your heart,

Mind,

And body.

It eases you forward and onward,

As though bearing you through an invisible portal toward a new,

More present,

More magical you.

And as the day wanes,

And the sky darkens beyond the windows,

The glittering highlands catching the sunlight and casting long shadows over the earth,

It also soothes your spirit,

Slows you down,

Aligns your breath and body to the gentle rocking and rumbling of the movement of the train on the track.

Without ever calling your practice to a formal close,

And indeed without really noticing it yourself,

You gradually drop your wands,

Adopting a slower pace and a softer tone.

You exchange theories about what you'll learn on the first day of class,

What the teachers will be like,

And which dormitory you'll be placed in.

Mostly,

Though,

You listen to Charlotte's second-hand stories of the school,

Gleaned from her parents' wistful waxings.

You slip sweetly into a serene,

Almost trance-like state.

Your head falls gently against the window of the train,

And you let go a carefree sigh.

You wonder aloud how much further to the school you've been traveling for many hours,

Surely,

But the time has flown by in friendly company.

Stifling a yawn,

Charlotte remarks that the school is way up north,

But that's all she knows.

The location is a bit of a secret,

Naturally,

But it can't be much longer.

There's always a fabulous welcome feast,

And it must be nearing suppertime.

She reclines back in her seat,

Lazily flipping through the pages of the history book,

Eyes swimming sleepily behind her glasses.

A spark of thrill and curiosity burns bright within you,

But it's pacified by waves of stirring comfort,

The sway of the carriage,

The sound of steam-powered locomotion.

You so want to be awake when you reach the school,

To see the castle looming on the horizon,

Illuminated by magic and moonlight,

But it couldn't hurt to rest your eyes,

Just for a moment,

Just before you let your heavy eyelids fall.

You cast first a glance at Charlotte,

Peacefully reading,

And also seeming to fight off waves of drowsiness,

And then out the window once more.

The sun dips behind the rugged peaks,

Sending splendid scarlet rays across the undersides of the moody clouds.

You cling to the color,

The sensation,

And the intuition of the moment.

The warmth of the wand still loosely gripped in your hand,

The reassuring feeling of sharing space with a new friend,

A companion with whom to navigate a new phase of your life,

The quivering impermanence of the light and landscape outside,

The lingering prickle of the warm,

White magic within you,

Waiting to be called up once more to serve an intention.

All this,

A swirling eddy of fleeting experience,

The alchemy of a single perfect moment,

Then at last,

Rocked tenderly like a cradled child,

You succumb to the irresistible tug of sleep.

The train carries on,

Over earth and water,

Toward a glimmer,

A portal,

A world of secret magic,

Revealed.

Let your body and your mind soften,

Cultivating an open,

Receptive awareness,

Noticing sensations in your body,

Acknowledging that which you can hear in the room,

In the building,

And outside the building,

That which you can feel,

Blankets or clothing against your skin,

Cool or warm air on your face,

The softness or firmness of the surface on which you are resting,

That which you can smell in your surroundings,

And that which you can see if your eyes are still open,

And if they are closed,

See your surroundings in your mind's eye,

Not bothering too much about the details,

Just taking an inventory of the walls,

The ceiling,

The floor,

Locating yourself in this space,

Appreciating this space.

Find the same receptive ease in your mind as well,

Allowing your thoughts to flow naturally,

But not dwelling on them,

Just letting them float on down the river,

Releasing any judgments or inner commentary.

Now,

Truly release it all,

Letting go of focus and fixation on any one sensation or awareness,

Letting the nature of your body,

Mind,

And environment blur,

As when your eyes slip out of focus,

Blending into one experience,

With soft edges,

And a sense of deep connectedness,

Nothing ends or begins,

All is one.

Breathe.

As you slide into ease,

Tranquility,

And openness,

Find yourself in this soft focus world,

Melt into it,

Releasing the rigid boundaries of expectation,

Softening the heart,

The mind,

The body,

The spirit,

And accepting the invitation to rest and recharge.

In the halls of sleep,

In the unconscious world where our waking selves fall away,

Revealing our innermost myths,

That which is most deeply true.

Whatever journey you are on,

Whether you're at the beginning of something new,

In the midst of an ongoing project,

Or coming to the close of a season,

Trust,

For this moment,

That you're where you need to be,

Right now,

That you have everything you need already within you,

That all points in the journey are connected,

A continuum of experience,

A wheel,

Slowly turning,

Revealing itself and its secrets in the turning,

Rest,

Sleep,

Renewal.

These are also spokes on that wheel,

Essential for its continuation,

So I invite you to rest now,

And gather up the energies,

The strength,

The magic you need for the next turning of the wheel.

Breathe.

Relax in the body and in the mind,

Counting backward from 10.

As you slowly slide into soft focus,

Into sleep,

10,

9,

8,

7,

6,

5,

4,

3,

2,

1.

Reviews

Thank you. Your stories are always so captivating!! ❣️🙏

I do love your style of reading and the story's are superb

I love the creativity of the magically changing paper. The description of the character I am supposed to be in this and the other stories always helps me feel like I am really there.

Amazing put me right to sleep

Love the Wizard stories. They are so magical. Also love the train stories. Thanks for your wonderful imagination.

Love ❤️ this series! Having a familiar universe for the stories helps my brain relax and sleep 😴

Wonderful reading of this great story. Thank you 🙏. Blessings

As always, Laurel's stories are so creative and enjoyable- while also putting me to sleep without fail! Thank you!

🍄i loved it! fell asleep only a third in, im such a witch and farie. 🍄

Thank you good luck with season three. So enjoy your stories

Loved this!!! I am a Witch and this journey was such fun and soothing!!! Thank you!!

I am absolutely in love with every single one of your stories ✨
Thank you so much for not only helping me sleep at night, but helping me calm down and get through any time of day honestly 🤲🏼

Congratulations on your 50th 🌼can’t wait for you to be back!!!

Another wonderful, relaxing story. Enjoy your break, looking forward to seeing what series 3 brings. Thanks for all your hard work.

Thank you! I’m looking forward to the next series of tales! ❤️🙏❤️

Laurel, I really enjoy your stories and wanted to say congratulations on 50! Here’s to 50 more!

This was the perfect end to season two! I have enjoyed your sleep stories so much. They are magical and your tone and storytelling is incredibly relaxing and soothing. Your channel is my go to every night. I hope you enjoy your well deserved break, and I look forward to season three!

Loved this! I can’t wait for season 3. Thank you so much! 🤗

Only just got on the train when I fell asleep! Will keep savoring until, gasp, you are back again! Thank you so much❤️❤️