The Unicorn's Blessing

In tonight’s bedtime story, as you seek out a fabled healing spring, you have a magical encounter with a unicorn who believes they’re the last of their kind. After they heal you of all your ailments, you offer to accompany them on a search for other unicorns. Together, you embark on an epic journey to rediscover a long-lost species.

Ingredients:
Celtic myth
Meditation for healin

Music: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw; Back to the Shires, Christian Andersen, EpidemicSound
Sounds by ZapSplat

Transcript

Befriend a unicorn and access healing magic in tonight's fantasy 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.

Concentrate on my voice only as long as it serves you.

Whenever you're ready,

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

Tonight's story features a built-in body scan and healing meditation.

In our bedtime story tonight,

As you seek out a fabled healing spring,

You have a magical encounter with a unicorn who believes they're the last of their kind.

Together they heal you of all your ailments.

You offer to accompany them on a search for other unicorns.

Together you embark on an epic journey to rediscover a long lost species.

Still I have read or heard it sung that unicorns when time was young could tell the difference twix to the two,

The false shining and the true,

The lips laugh and the hearts rue.

Peter S.

Beagle,

The Last Unicorn.

The air smells thick,

Saturated and earthy.

There's a mix of mineral-rich soil and the warm,

Complex scents of ferns,

Lichens and mosses.

And here and there the fresh herbal fragrance of scots pine,

Juniper and rowan.

The lingering moisture of recent rain is suspended still in the atmosphere.

The dampness makes your bones and muscles ache even more.

You seem to creak with every step like an old house or wagon.

Your body drags pulled onward by your commitment,

Your determination to reach the spring.

You've come too far to turn back,

But oh,

How your weary body would love to lie down and give in.

Until you push on,

Unwilling to admit defeat,

Miles of taiga already stretch behind you.

Though who knows how many miles are still ahead.

A map can only take you so far when seeking the landmarks of legend.

Once you entered the wood,

You relied not on the map,

But on your dousing twig.

You carved it yourself of a forked hazel branch and learned the ways of water-witching from a wise woman in your town.

Now you grip it in both hands,

Holding it steady above the ground waiting for its end to dip when it discovers a source of groundwater.

You must go slowly,

And for this your aching bones both thank you and curse you.

You have little strength to move with any swiftness,

But the slow,

Deliberate gait only accentuates the soreness of your muscles.

Onward.

The soil is springy beneath your feet,

Mossy and soft.

Of you through the trees you hear the clumsy whistling sound of a capercaillie's feathers in flight.

What light penetrates the depth of forest is diffuse and gray.

You're not sure if it's early morning or midday and cloudy.

You've lost track,

Steady you grip the hazel wood.

But as you concentrate on the tiny,

Subtle movement or illusion of movement in the dousing rod's end,

Your eyes are drawn upward by a hint of color ahead,

Not far off.

If the dowsing twig has indeed located groundwater,

You can't say,

For it could have been nothing more than the twitch of your own hands.

What you find,

You no longer need the water-witching tool.

As you move close to the strange,

Willowy pops of color in the wood,

You realize that they may mark the very spot you seek.

Sturlus strips of cloth and ribbons,

White and blue and bright red,

Yellow and lincoln green,

Tattered and torn,

Threadbare and knotted,

Hang from the branches of a hawthorn tree.

All tapestried about with rags and ribbons,

The tree's own greenery is all but obscured.

You remember hearing local folklore about such trees.

Clutie trees,

They're called.

Here someone seeking the healing powers of a nearby well or spring would leave a cloth or ribbon as a means of symbolically shedding an ailment or injury.

The goddess or nature spirit who stewards the spring might look upon the ribbon as an offering and grant their healing waters to the supplicant.

For a few moments you find yourself quietly observing the ribbon-wrapped tree,

Almost mesmerized by the gentle sway of the cloth rags in a breeze that rustles by.

The same breeze shakes the leaves at the tops of all the nearby trees,

Producing a brief swell of sound overhead.

Each rag or ribbon you think represents someone like you,

Someone who found their way to the heart of this wood,

Desperate to taste the waters of healing.

A cream-colored rag,

Seemingly ripped from the hem of a common shift,

Might have belonged to a young girl seeking to relearn how to walk.

A shiny blue ribbon,

Likely belonging to someone of noble birth,

Could have belonged to someone hoping to heal a broken heart.

Every one of them has a story,

You think.

You wonder if they all found peace and healing here.

When the rustling of the wind subsides,

It's not silence you're left with,

Or even merely the twittering of birds above.

It takes you a moment to realize it,

But the sweet sound finally reaches your ears and weary mind.

The sound of water trickling,

Tripping,

Lapping,

Small and clear.

You search the ground nearby,

And your heart flutters.

When your eyes find the source of the sound,

A small and steady stream runs through an opening in the trees,

Just steps from the cluddy tree.

Hardly a meter wide and shallower still,

The stream runs south,

Its crystal waters tripping over rocks and splashing against tree roots.

It's a lovely thing.

You feel a crashing of thirst,

Your lips and tongue parched and longing.

But there's something you must do before you can plunge your hands into the cool water,

Before you can raise that water to your mouth and drink.

You reach to the hem of your tunic and grip the fabric with both hands.

The joints in your fingers ache and twinge,

But you summon all the strength you can muster to tear a small strip from the end.

The threads split and fray at the edges,

And the strip of cloth falls limp against your hand.

Approaching the cluddy tree,

You locate a small branch that is as yet free of adornment.

You smile to see that it's the last branch where one of the Hawthorne's signature white flowers still blooms.

As you tie your cloth to the branch,

The frail little flower falls from it,

Floating to the forest floor where it joins piles of its decomposing brethren.

You hope the cloth from your tunic will be a well-received offering to the spirit of the wood.

Now body aching but heart light,

You kneel beside the laughing waters.

If you look closely,

You can see the place where the groundwater escapes,

Bubbling into the stream.

You take a deep breath and let out a sigh on which all your doubts escape.

You plunge both hands into the water,

Which is cold but comfortable.

Cupping your hands,

You lift them to your lips,

Drinking deeply.

The water tastes finer than anything you've ever drunk,

Cool and clear and just a bit sweet,

As though it's essenced with the wild flowers of the forest.

After you've drunk of it,

You splash some of the water on your face.

You sigh again,

Awaiting the sensation of relief,

Awaiting the feeling of all pain and discomfort leaving your body,

Awaiting the lifting of the fog in your mind,

Leaving only a pleasant clarity.

But you don't feel any different.

You wait by the stream.

You wait,

But your heart sinks,

Nearly breaks when you realize nothing has changed.

Perhaps the spirit of this wood,

The steward of the spring,

Has rejected your plea.

You wait still.

The light changes in the forest.

The sheer gray of before gives way to a warm,

Tender,

Golden glow that finds its way through the openings in the trees.

The clear water of the stream collects the golden sunlight,

Then dances on its merry way.

You remain.

It's hard to think you've come this far for nothing.

You're not sure you have the strength to stand,

Let alone to retrace your tiresome journey.

You sit.

Perhaps you will never leave this forest,

You think.

There are worse things.

Perhaps you'll sit here until you grow old,

In the shade of the hawthorn and the towering scots pines.

Perhaps you will become a tree yourself,

Rooted into the ground,

And others will tie their ribbons to your limbs when they travel to this place.

You'll become the spirit who grants,

Or withholds,

Healing.

Your mind wanders.

Once or twice you think you see movement between the trees.

You remember the legends of a great battle somewhere in this forest,

Where two great sorcerers bewitched the very trees to dig up their own roots and march into battle.

But it's probably just a roebuck,

Or a mountain hare.

The sunlight falls on your face and shoulders now.

The waters catch the golden light and sparkle in response.

Maybe you'll get up after all,

And start the journey home.

But something stops you.

Something fasts you to the spot.

The quality of light is changing again.

Not in color or warmth,

But intensity.

And not from above,

From the position of the sun,

But from within the forest itself,

To the north.

Perhaps from where the stream originates.

You shield your eyes and turn toward the light source.

A silver glow pulses through the trees.

Its rays streaming almost like liquid.

You blink and squint against the brilliance of it.

And from the shine emerges a silhouette that seems to ring like a bell.

Something large and gliding.

As the gleam subsides,

Dissolves even,

The silhouette comes into focus with sudden clarity.

All at once you feel your heart fill.

Your eyes water and your knees weaken.

You're overcome with awe and emotion and an urge to avert your eyes,

But you do not turn away.

Your senses drink of the spectacle for its wondrous to behold,

But also fragrant and musical and warm.

An entire sensory outpouring.

And there in the wake of it all is the most beautiful thing,

Truly the most wonderful thing you've ever beheld.

A pure white unicorn.

More alive and lovelier than in any rendering in books or paintings.

It stands exquisitely still,

Noble and towering over you in your prostrate form.

Yet the white wisps of its mane and tail flow freely as though disturbed by a constant breeze or as though underwater.

Its color,

The purest,

Simplest,

Cleanest white you've ever seen is like moon beams.

Or fresh winter snow or sea foam.

And its horn,

Spiraled and impossibly long,

Endless even,

Nearly the length of its body is like shining mother of pearl.

Your breath is caught in your chest.

And then when you think your heart and senses can hold no more wonder,

The unicorn begins to speak.

It's a voice neither masculine nor feminine and somehow both booming and incandescent,

Firm and gentle,

Reassuring and mysterious.

You are almost too overcome with awe to understand the words,

But you catch up.

Tell me,

The unicorn says,

In all your life and in every place upon this earth you've traveled,

Have you ever seen a creature such as me?

You want to grovel,

To insist and assure the unicorn that they are the noblest and most magnificent beast you've ever encountered.

But you cannot muster a sound.

All you can do is shake your head.

Yet you do not detect pride,

But a tinge of sorrow in the words that follow.

I've heard your plea for healing,

They say.

I've seen your offering upon the boughs of the tree.

I've felt the pain you carry in your hands,

Head and heart.

Your pulse quickens.

Your hands quiver.

The unicorn continues.

I've waited many long years beside this stream,

Waiting for someone with a pure and honest heart,

Someone who might give me a gift in return for the magic of the spring.

You feel your face fall into a quizzical glance.

What gift could this magical creature need?

And yet,

Somewhere in the depths of your soul you feel already a strong devotion.

You feel a wealth of magnanimity you hadn't known you possessed.

You have no great wealth or treasure to your name,

But if you did,

You know you'd lay it at the feet of the unicorn.

What can you offer,

Though,

Besides a strip of cloth from your tunic and the sincerity of your feeling?

I have nothing to give,

You say,

Holding your hands out,

Palms up in supplication.

I have come many miles to be healed by the spring.

All I can do,

All I can offer is devotion and gratitude.

The unicorn's dark eyes seem to sparkle,

And you wonder if they feel disappointment,

Sadness.

Just as you had hoped the spring would heal your ailments,

Did the unicorn hope you were some keeper of unimaginable riches?

Do they feel the same regret as you?

But when the unicorn speaks again,

It's not with sorrow.

It's with hope.

All I ask is companionship,

They say.

I have asked it of many a gentle soul who knelt beside the waters in exchange for the healing magic of the spring.

I have a great journey to embark on,

And I cannot bear to go alone.

I've been alone for so long.

And why,

You ask,

Have none granted you this simple gift?

Now the unicorn bows their head.

Many have made the promise in moments of weakness or pain.

But once granted renewed force and energy,

They've seized the newfound freedom.

I hold up my side of the bargain,

But they choose to break their side.

You can hear the heartache in the unicorn's voice,

And it sends a pang through your heart.

You can't imagine anyone refusing the unicorn anything they ask for.

If you had the strength you feel,

You'd go to the ends of the earth for them.

But perhaps you wonder,

If you really did have the strength,

Would you too make the choice to part ways?

If you felt young and healthy and free,

Would you still bind yourself to the beast?

Yes,

Yes,

You think.

I would.

I will go with you,

You say,

Confident and bright.

Your voice is as strong as you've ever heard it.

I too need a friend.

The unicorn lifts their head a fraction.

It's such a subtle,

Almost unconscious motion,

As though they refuse to show you any inclination of hope.

You can empathize with the feeling.

You too have felt lonely.

You too have longed for companionship and adventure,

Despite all that holds you back.

There's a long pause.

The songs of crossbills overhead.

The rustle of squirrels in the branches.

The trickle of spring water.

And then,

Though it's unspoken,

You feel the making of a troth,

As though some invisible force binds you to the unicorn.

A thousand tiny strings,

Like strips of cloth,

Tying together your hearts and fates.

The air becomes active,

As though all the tiny particles that make it up are standing on end and spinning through time.

The unicorn,

Graceful and slow,

Lowers their head with elegant intention and dips the tip of their spiraled horn in the cool and flowing stream.

Where the horn touches,

You think you can see a glint of light and liquid silver.

The water continues to flow,

But its surface almost imperceptibly changes,

A slight disturbance from the horn that ripples outward and resets.

The unicorn lifts their head and looks at you.

Drink,

They say,

Be healed and let your promise be fulfilled.

Hardly bearing to take your eyes off the creature,

You once more dip your hands into the cold,

Running water.

You withdraw your hands,

Cupped,

Holding a small pool of water within them.

You can see your own faint reflection in the surface of the pool.

Your eyes are honest.

You wonder how this water will change you.

Will it change your intentions?

You lift your hands to your lips and drink.

The water is cool and clear,

Gently floral and sweet.

You feel your throat opening.

Take in a deep breath.

At once,

You can take in more oxygen than ever before.

The breath,

Whole and capacious,

Flows into all corners of your body,

Lighting up muscles and joints.

Feel the scalp and temples open.

Release all tension,

Pain and discomfort,

Leaving the space of your head.

Unfurrow your brow and awaken the third eye.

Feel yourself opening up,

Unfolding.

On the tip of your tongue,

Savor the taste of the healing water and become aware of how the mouth feels,

The inside of the mouth,

The tongue,

The root of the tongue,

The teeth and gums.

Clench your jaw if you're clenching.

Replace tightness everywhere with softness,

Consciously releasing.

Feel how releasing the muscles of your jaw and temples releases other parts of the body,

How all is connected,

One system all together.

You might find an intention or a mantra now,

A few words to hold to as a deep resolve.

Say it to yourself,

Out loud or in your mind,

In the present tense as if it's already true.

If nothing comes to mind,

You can use this.

Everything I need to heal is already within me.

Say your mantra to yourself three times,

In your mind or out loud,

Then let it go.

Feel the healing water pass down your throat and into your body.

The muscles of the neck and shoulders release and soften,

Letting go of tension,

Discomfort,

Pain,

Anything that hurts or strains.

Let go.

Release and soften your shoulders and the muscles connecting your shoulders to your neck,

Your arms and your back.

Bring your awareness to your chest,

To the space across your heart and rib cage.

Let your breathing be natural but full.

Let the breath fill the lungs and belly.

Surrender to the natural waves of your breath.

Each inhale sends healing energy to all corners of the body.

And each exhale carries away the stored tension,

Hurt and worry.

Let your heart feel light.

Let healing energy radiate from within your heart and move in and out with the breath.

If your heart is hurting right now,

Be gentle with it,

Breathe and trust your heart,

How it sustains you and carries all your potential through love and deep,

Deep feeling.

Cherish it.

Now feel the muscles of your arms soften and feel the joints of your shoulders,

Elbows,

Wrists and fingers become loose and fluid and smooth.

Send your healing breath to the individual joints,

Carrying any pain or stress out on your exhales as though you're clearing away cobwebs and sweeping them outside.

Let them go.

Now send the healing breath deep into the belly,

Releasing any pain or discomfort or worry.

If anything is tying your stomach into knots,

Let the breath gently loosen that knot,

Unfurling it like a lotus and sweeping away the cause,

Letting it ride out on the breath,

The wave of your exhale.

Let the healing breath flow into your back,

Untangling the points of tension,

Relieving the pressure and exhaling any negative emotions that may cause you to strain.

Send the breath and healing energy into your pelvis and legs.

Soften the lower abdomen.

Acknowledge any pain you may feel in the pelvis and breathe into it.

Breathe into the hip points,

Into any tension,

Tightness or strain in the hips.

As you send the breath to soften that space,

Recognize and release any emotions or vulnerabilities stored in the hips or hip flexors.

Carry those emotions out on the wave of your breath.

Open and release the thighs and breathe healing into the joints of the knees.

Recognize just how much your knees bear.

Think them and let them soften,

Embrace relief and rest and smoothness.

Breathe,

Exhale negativity,

Pain,

Discomfort.

Breathe into the lower legs and the ankles,

Rolling the ankles if you like or simply relaxing them.

Sending any strain out,

Like clearing out cobwebs,

Making way for constructive connections and rejuvenation.

Breathe into the soles of the feet and feel any soreness or exhaustion melt.

Send healing breath into the joints of the toes.

Waves of healing in,

Waves of tension out.

Feel the coolness and light of the healing water flush through your body like an exhale or wave from the top of your head to the tip of your toes and radiating outward from your sweet heart.

Renewing the connections,

Lightening your head and softening your heart.

Feel mind,

Body and spirit moving in concert with the waves of breath.

Feel rejuvenated.

Return to your mantra if you have one.

Send it to yourself,

In your mind or out loud and let it go.

You find you've risen to your feet,

Standing taller and prouder than you ever have.

You feel many years younger and a surge of energy and vitality runs through you like a current.

The gratitude is enough to bring you to tears.

You feel ready to run through the forests,

Proclaiming your victory.

You could lift the trees up from their roots.

You could run all the way to your hometown,

Leagues and leagues from here in the space of an afternoon.

You picture yourself at home and the image fills your heart.

Within your eyes meet the unicorns.

Already the creature looks sad,

Ready to accept another loss.

The image of home dissolves in your mind and is replaced by hazy silver glow.

You walk toward the unicorn.

Oh how swift and smooth is your gait.

And cautiously you place a hand upon their neck.

Their eyes lighten.

You intend to keep your promise,

They ask.

You nod.

A long journey would do me good,

You say.

And I owe you infinite gratitude.

You ask about the nature of the journey,

Where you'll go,

And the object of the quest.

To this the unicorn does not have a clear answer,

Rather further questions.

For all these years I've been bound to the healing spring of these woods,

The unicorn explains.

I cannot say how many years,

But I have not strayed beyond the borders of the forest.

Once the wood was abundant with others of my kind,

And now I fear I am the only one.

Your heart aches for the creature.

And they continue.

I wonder in my heart if others like me still run in corners of the world,

Though my hope of finding them diminishes with each petitioner's testimony.

But until now my charge has forbidden me to go looking for them.

You mean you've been trapped here,

You ask,

Waiting for someone to set me free with the gift of honest devotion.

A surge of warmth and compassion fills you up from head to toe.

You want to throw your arms around the unicorn's neck.

You almost do.

Your fates are one now.

The love you feel for the unicorn's gift of healing is matched,

You imagine,

By the unicorn's gratitude for their freedom.

You promise to search the corners of the earth for the other unicorns.

But as you prepare to depart the wood,

A question occurs to you.

What about the spring,

You ask?

Without you as guardian,

What will happen to others who come seeking relief from their ailments?

You cannot bear to imagine others suffering,

Unable to find succor.

The unicorn explains that now their connection to the spring is broken and it will flow with healing powers uninterrupted.

Now,

All who seek it shall find their suffering relieved,

Regardless of their offerings or position.

Now you and your new friend set off under cover of ancient pines,

Hawthorns,

And alder trees.

And you,

The healing spring trickles and bubbles,

The rags and ribbons of the cluddy tree sway gently in the breeze.

The unicorn lets you ride on their back,

And you savor the swiftness of the beast through the winding trails of the forest,

Over hill and vale.

You've never traveled with such speed.

Your hair whips in the rippling wind.

There you travel the green glens of the highlands under skies filled with heavy black clouds.

You trudge through grass and mud in a summer rain.

You take shelter in the ruins of a forgotten castle,

Somehow finding the deepest sleep of your life under a broken stone archway.

Across land bridges you travel to unknown countries,

To kingdoms of legend and great citadels.

You witness a great many wonderful things,

Miracles performed by passing magicians,

Flutterings of fairy lights in distant trees.

But you do not see another unicorn.

Your friend's gate slows over hill,

Over vale,

Over land,

Over sea,

And again.

You pour over maps of old and new worlds.

You consult with traders of rare animals.

You parlay with pirates.

None have seen the like of your friend.

One winter night the unicorn says they will return to the wood and become guardian of the spring once more.

You've done all you can and the quest is ended.

I believe,

Says the unicorn,

Foolishly perhaps,

That if I could just look,

Even if I couldn't find them,

It would give me peace.

But alas,

You try to protest,

Assuring your friend that their freedom is worth as much as a hundred unicorns.

But their mind is made up.

At dawn they'll return to the spring.

You can come with for the return journey if you like.

But the choice is yours.

That night you dream of the ocean,

Of a castle on a cliffside that overlooks the sea.

On each crashing wave in the space between the sea foam and sea sand,

You see a herd of running unicorns cresting and falling against the shore.

At first light you prepare to accompany the unicorn back to the wood where you met.

You're not sure where you'll go next.

Home perhaps?

You know you'll stay by their side as long as they need.

The journey seems longer now.

The way back always stretches beyond the initial quest,

You think,

Because the object of the quest is behind.

Over hill,

Over vale,

Over snow-covered glens,

Over fairy circles.

Under broken archways,

Under clouds heavy with snow.

And finally,

Under Scott's Pines,

Familiar and fresh and evergreen.

The forest feels like home.

This place where you once thought you'd grow roots and become a tree,

Forsaken by the spirit of the spring.

This place where you bound yourself to the unicorn.

How far you've come.

How strong you've been.

How much you've loved in the days since you left this place.

The soil springs back with more pep now,

Under thin layers of frost.

Your joints bounce with more resilience.

You're lighter on your feet.

You try to think back to the person you were when you first came seeking the spring.

That person seems like a stranger.

You make space in your heart for them.

Hazy golden light falls through the trees.

The kind of wintry morning light that melts through the chill and warms the heart.

A rustle in the trees.

A roe deer,

Probably.

Maybe.

But a whisper of fragrance rides on the cold breeze.

And a note of inaudible music.

Something comes alive in the air.

It feels charged.

And through the willow and alder trees,

The ones that might once have pulled up their roots to fight legendary battles.

Something is coming toward you and your friend.

Something graceful and delicate.

And silvery hooves and the fragrance of lilacs and the softness of seafoam and the crackle of tiger frost.

Oh,

Is it time for me to go.

.

You you you

Reviews

I rarely make it through the stories, but in the rare instance I do, the relaxation techniques at the end are brilliant and helpful.

Beautifully narrated, wonderful imagery. This teacher really has a gift.

🌲🍄🌌🦄... 🙏🏻

I STILL don't know how the story ends! I have always fallen asleep first.

Thank you Laurel for another great time.

This was truly magical and healing for me. Inspiring and just what I needed. 🌎🌬️🔥🏞️✨

Once again the only one I found who allows me to relax and fall asleep really easily.

Just splendid. My happy place. Thank you, Laurel <3

Beautifully told. Gentle voice

I love it! I love the visuals and the description the words make it very easy for me to completely immerse myself.