Welcome to Soothe Quietly.
I'm so glad you are here tonight.
Find a comfortable position.
And Let your body settle into the surface beneath you.
Relax your shoulders.
Release any tension in your jaw.
And Soften the muscles around your eyes,
Brows and face.
Take a slow breath in through your nose.
And breathe out through your mouth.
With each steady breath.
The sounds of your day.
Begins to fade.
Into the background.
Now let yourself drift into tonight's story.
Tonight,
We step softly into the textile storeroom.
Of the aristocratic family compound in Chang'an.
Just east of the imperial city.
And only a short distance from the East market.
It is midday.
Ali Spring.
The household has withdrawn for its midday rest.
And the inner wing is quiet.
The storeroom still holds a trace of winter coolness.
In its shaded corners.
Though the east-facing window admits a single midday beam of sun.
That crosses the folding table.
Eeny,
Peeny,
Miny,
Moe.
The A.
Carries the scent of cedar in.
Clean seal.
A woman stands alone at the folding table.
She is the senior textile keeper of the Pei household.
Six years in this room.
Six years of knowing where every textile lives.
What condition they are in.
What season?
Each piece belonged to.
Today,
She is doing the spring rotation.
The winter heavy silk to be stowed away.
That summer fabrics brought forward to their seasonal places.
Midday.
The household resting.
The storeroom to herself is the best time for this walk.
The cedar chest at the storeroom north end is large and steady.
Built of cedar wood with copper-bound corners.
Its faint racing scent helps keep insects away and settle gently into any textile stored inside for months at a time.
She opened it.
Inside heavy silk robes in crimson and deep indigo.
Padded inner layers in.
White cotton.
The bed covers for the inner quarters,
Cold season use.
All have been carefully folded.
Into their story shapes.
With thin camphor wood chips placed between the layers.
To help keep insects away.
She lived the first piece.
A crimson winter robe.
Belonging to the lady of the household.
Its edges decorated with gall and widery.
And hold it at arm's length.
No visible damage.
The cedar scent has settled into the silk over the months.
She will air it over the courtyard railing.
Before returning it to the permanent store.
But not today.
Today is folding end.
Inventory.
Heavy silk folds differently from light summer silk or cotton linings.
She opens the robe across the table and follows their familiar sequence.
Sent a seam.
Sleep.
Than the final folds that generations of textile keepers have used to store heavy silk without creasing.
She learned this from the previous senior textile keeper in her second year.
Nor through instruction.
But through watching.
The older woman folded beside her day after day.
Allowing her to follow.
The folding live in her hands now.
Just as it once lived in the hands of the previous textile keeper.
This is the kind of knowledge that carries through their fingers.
And the eye.
Guided more by practice.
Than by thought.
The crimson rope lies across the table.
She's smoother flat.
Finds the center seam with her fingertips and begins.
The silk is.
Heavy and substantial.
Its embroidered edges giving it a gentle wave Her hands move with quiet patience.
There is no need to hurry.
Heavy silk in motion has its own sound.
Heavy silk in motion.
Has its own sound.
Nor the light rustle of.
.
.
Samasu.
Something deeper in.
Softer.
A quiet whisper made as one layer slide against another.
Their crimson robe,
Outer silk,
Catches the light from their storeroom's window.
The inner lining is smoother and lighter.
Than the outer layer.
As she folds the robe.
The two fabrics meet and move against one another.
Each producing a slightly different sound.
She has listened to those subtle differences over years without ever speaking of them.
They belong to the straw room.
Jess.
As much as the seated chest.
And the show.
Each folded piece returns to its proper place.
Winter garments.
Goal into the seated chest.
While the lighter summer pieces are arranged on the wall shelf.
Between the layers,
She placed fresh camphor wood chips to help protect their fabrics during storage.
She prepared the new chips at the start of the week.
The older chips from the winter storage has lost most of their scent now.
She removes them and set them aside for the compost pile.
Replacing them with the fresh pieces.
One,
The storeroom has been closed for hours.
The scent of cedar and camphor lingers in the still air.
She stopped noticing it long ago.
To home.
It is simply you.
The smell of the storeroom.
As she moved through the winter pieces.
Each lifted.
Folded and placed.
She keeps a running mental inventory.
Any damage to repair.
Any comment?
Nearing the end of its useful life to mention to the senior household attendant.
The colors inside the winter chest.
Are the deep rich colors of cold seasons.
Crimson and indigo outer robes.
Deep green inner layers.
Of white and warm yellow.
In their padded winter outer garments.
Each piece passes through her hands with its own way and its own way of catching the light.
Deep indigo.
She has always found the most satisfying to fall.
The color is deep enough that the full shadows blend into the fabric darkness.
The whole piece a profound blue black with occasional glimmers of reflected light.
She lingers a moment longer than needed with the indigo rose.
Not because it needs more attention.
But because the color and the weight together give it a quiet presence unlike any other piece in the chest.
Winter garments return to their seeded chests.
In their place,
Calm the lighter fabric of the warmer summer months ahead.
The summer pieces.
Wait on the upper shelf.
Peel silk on soft green and blue.
Like cotton garments.
And the ghost curtains that will soon hang around the bed frames as the weather grows warmer.
She lived there,
First summer road.
A pure green silk.
Enough to raise with one hand.
It feels very different from the winter garments.
The fabric is thinner,
Softer.
And more delicate beneath half fingers.
She folded carefully and placed it on the new shelf.
Ready for the weeks ahead as the spring continues to warm.
At midday,
A single beam of sunlight enters through the storeroom's east-facing window.
It is the one time each day that direct sunlight reaches the room.
It moves slowly across the folding table and the front edges of the shelf as the afternoon begins.
The beam of sunlight passes across the silk pieces on the shelf as she continues.
Briefly illuminating each fabric in turn.
The heavy crimson silk catches with particular warmth.
Is embroidery gold thread.
Bright at the moment the sunlight reaches it.
She has spent many afternoons in this room.
And has never arranged the show.
To create this effect.
It happens naturally.
Simply because of where the window and shelf stand.
It is one of the quiet places of this storeroom.
Winter robes and pieces are stowed away.
The summer pieces are ready on their shelf.
One tox remains.
Placing fresh kampa chimps in the cedar chest and closing it for the season.
She scatters chips across the bottom of the chest.
They are smell,
Sharp and clean.
Then.
.
.
Layers the winter garments inside.
Placing fresh chips between layers until the chest is full.
The lid settles into place with a soft wooden sound.
A familiar sound.
The sound she has heard every spring for years.
The latch.
The key.
The click of the lock.
She always pauses to listen to those sounds.
She gathers the old chips from the folding table.
Set them aside for the compost pile and She stands at the doorway of the storeroom and looks at the shelf.
Winter pieces in the chest.
Summer Pieces on the Shelf.
Shelves are aligned.
Table clear.
The storeroom smells of cedar,
Camphor,
And the clean particular smell of silk.
That has been properly folded.
It is a scent she finds genuinely pleasant.
One of the few things about her duties she would have chosen.
Rather than simply become accustomed to.
The household is beginning to stir from resting.
She can hear the distant sounds of the inner hall.
Preparing for the afternoon.
Soon,
She will return the textile room key and the chess key to the accounts box.
Report the rotation complaint to the senior household attendant.
And note the three pieces she has set aside for repair.
And so the senior textile keeper of the Pei aristocratic household takes one last look at the storeroom before leaving and locking it.
The silk folded and in their proper places.
The seated chest,
Legs and stool.
The spring rotation complete.
The storeroom will remain quiet for the months ahead.
Scented with cedar and silk.
The world we visited tonight grows quiet now.
N.
You can simply rest here.
Comfortable and at ease.
Your mind can relax.
Your body can.
Soften.
If you are already drifting into sleep.
Allow yourself.
To sink a little deeper.
And if you are still awake.
Just listen.
To the quiet.
There is nothing more to do.
Nowhere else to be.
I'll be here whenever you need another peaceful moment like this.
Bot.
For now.
Sleep well.
Good night.
