Speaker 1: Hello, and welcome back to Sleepy Stories. I'm your host, Lucy,
and my friends and I will be reading you a
sleepy bedtime story every week to relax you and to
help you to drift off into a RESTful sleep. From
time to time, we will also read you a relaxing,
peaceful meditation that will take you somewhere beautiful and calming.
Once we have read the stories, we will then read
them a second time, but this time they will be
read read even slower. This will help you to relax
even more. Before we begin, I would like you to
close your eyes and breathe in and out nice and deeply.
Take a few seconds to inhale, and then hold your
breath for a few seconds more, and then release and
breathe out. Do this a few times if you need to.
While you listen to the music and you listen to
my voice, give yourself time to let your body relax
and your mind settle. It's important that we allow time
for us to feel safe, cozy, and completely at ease.
And now it's time for this week's story.
Speaker 2: The Elephant in the Dark. In a distant city, long
before the world had agreed upon its truths, there lived
a people who prided themselves on knowledge. They were scholars, merchants, craftsmen,
men who believed that what could be seen, measured, and
named was the foundation of understanding. They built their lives
on certainty. They trusted their senses. They argued passionately about
what was real and what was not. And yet, for
all their confidence, their remained things they had never encountered.
One such thing was an elephant. The animal had arrived
from a far away land, brought by a traveling merchant
who had crossed deserts and seas. He spoke of it
with a kind of reverence, as though it were not
merely a creature, but a presence, vast, powerful, unlike anything
the city had known. The people gathered to hear him
describe it, they demanded. The merchants smiled. It cannot be described,
he said. The crowd murmured, Everything can be described. One
man insisted. The merchant shook his head gently. You may
see it for yourselves, he said, but only at night.
This condition puzzled them. Why at night, they asked, because
the merchant replied, it is kept in a dark enclosure.
There are no lamps inside. The people exchanged glances. What
kind of foolishness? Is this? Someone scoffed, How can we
understand something we cannot see? The merchant's smile did not fade.
Perhaps he said, you will understand something else. Curiosity overcame skepticism.
That night, a group of men gathered at the enclosure,
a large wooden structure on the edge of the city.
The sky above was moonless, The air was thick with
the quiet hum of night. The door creaked open. Inside,
there was only darkness. They hesitated at the threshold. Are
we meant to stumble about like blind men? One of
them said, do you wish to see the elephant or not?
The merchant replied reluctantly. They entered. The door closed behind them.
At first they could see nothing. The darkness was complete,
not the gentle dimness of twilight, but a dense, impenetrable black.
It pressed against their eyes, swallowed their outlines, erased the
boundaries between things. They stood still, listening. There was a sound,
a slow, rhythmic breathing. Something large shifted in the darkness.
It is here, someone whispered. One by one, they began
to move cautiously. With hands outstretched, they stepped forward into
the unseen. The first man reached out and touched something
broad and solid. It was warm, unmoving, vast. He ran
his hands along its surface, feeling its roughness, its sheer size. This,
he declared, confidently, is a wall. The second man moved
in another direction. His hands encountered something long and flexible.
It moved slightly beneath his touch, coiling and uncoiling with
a strange, deliberate grace. He grasped it, startled by its strength. No,
he said, it is not a wall. It is a snake.
The third man stumbled forward and found something thick and cylindrical.
It stood firm beneath his hands, unyielding, like a pillar
rooted in the earth. You are both wrong, he said.
It is a tree. The fourth man reached higher. His
hands brushed against something thin and wide, like a large,
soft surface that flapped gently in the air. A fan,
he said, It is clearly a fan. The fifth man
found the tail. It was coarse, with a tuft at
the end, moving lazily from side to side. A rope,
he said, with certainty, nothing more. Each man stood in
the darkness, holding his piece of the unknown. Each was convinced,
and then they began to argue. It is a wall.
The first man insisted, I have felt its breadth, its
solidity cannot be mistaken. You have felt only a part.
The second replied, it is a snake, alive, moving unmistakable.
A snake does not stand like this. The third interjected,
it is a tree. I have felt its strength. A
tree does not move like a fan, said the fourth.
You are all mistake tacon a fan. The fifth scoffed,
it is a rope. You are all imagining things. Their
voices grew louder. The darkness amplified their certainty. Without sight
to guide them, they clung more tightly to what they
had felt. Each man believed not only that he was right,
but that the others must be wrong. You are fools,
one said, you are blind, said another, you refuse to
see the truth. The elephants stood among them, silent. It breathed,
it shifted slightly, its immense presence unnoticed in its entirety.
The argument intensified. They raise their voices, their hands, their convictions.
Each clung to his fragment of experience as though it
were the hole outside. The merchant waited he could hear them,
He did not intervene. Time passed. The men grew frustrated,
then angry, then exhausted. At last, one of them said, enough,
we will bring light. They stumbled toward the door, pushing
it open, letting in a faint trace of the night air.
Moments later they returned with a lamp. The flame flickered
as they entered. Light spread slowly through the enclosure, pushing
back the darkness. Shadows retreated, forms began to emerge, and there,
at last they saw it. The elephants stood before them, immense, toll, undeniable.
They stared in silence. The wall was its side, The
snake was its trunk, The tree was its leg, the
fan was its ear, the rope was its tail. Each
had been right, and each had been wrong. The realization
settled over them, not as a sudden shock, but as
a quiet unraveling of certainty. Their arguments dissolved, their voices
fell away. The first man spoke, I thought, I understood,
he said softly. So did I said another. The merchant
stepped inside. Now you see, he said. They turned to him.
Why did you not give us light from the beginning,
one asked. The merchant looked at them carefully. Would you
have believed what you saw? He said, If you had
not first believed something else. They did not answer. The
merchant continued, in the dark, each of you held a
piece of the truth, but you mistook the part for
the whole. He gestured toward the elephant. The truth was
always here, but it could not be grasped by touch alone.
One of the men frowned. Then what are we to trust,
he asked, If our senses deceive us, what remains? The
merchant smiled. Your senses do not deceive you, he said,
they are simply incomplete. The men stood in silence. The
elephant shifted slightly, its great body moving with a calm
that required no explanation. Understanding, the merchant said, is not
the same as certainty. They left the enclosure one by one.
The night air felt different, now cooler, wider, less defined.
As they walked back toward the city. They did not argue.
They did not declare what the elephant was. They did
not insist on being right. Each carried something with him,
not knowledge, not certainty, but something quieter, a question, and
somewhere deep beneath the need to define and divide, a
recognition that what they had touched in the dark was
never separate, only unseen, and perhaps still is the eleph
in the dark. In a distant city, long before the
world had agreed upon its truths, there lived a people
who prided themselves on knowledge. They were scholars, merchants, craftsmen,
men who believed that what could be seen, measured, and
named was the foundation of understanding. They built their lives
on certainty. They trusted their senses. They argued passionately about
what was real and what was not. And yet for
all their confidence, their remained things they had never encountered.
One such thing was an elephant. The animal had arrived
from a far away land, brought by a traveling merchant
who had crossed deserts and seas. He spoke of it
with a kind of reverence, as though it were not
merely a creature, but a presence, vast, powerful, unlike anything
the city had known. The people gathered to hear him
describe it, they demanded. The merchant smiled. It cannot be described,
he said. The crowd murmured, Everything can be described, one
man insisted. The merchant shook his head gently. You may
see it for yourselves, he said, but only at night.
This condition puzzled them. Why at night, they asked, because
the merchant replied, it is kept in a dark enclosure.
There are no lamps inside. The people exchanged glances. What
kind of foolishness is this? Someone scoffed, How can we
understand something we cannot see. The merchant's smile did not fade.
Perhaps he said, you will understand something else. Curiosity overcame skepticism.
That night, a group of men gathered at the enclosure,
a large wooden structure on the edge of the city.
The sky above was moonless, The air was thick with
the quiet hum of night. The door creaked open. Inside
there was only darkness. They hesitated at the threshold. Are
we meant to stumble about like blind men? One of
them said, do you wish to see the elephant or not?
The merchant replied reluctantly. They entered. The door closed behind them.
At first they could see nothing. The darkness was complete,
not the gentle dimness of twilight, but a dense, impenetrable black.
It pressed against their eyes, swallowed their outlines, erased the
boundaries between things. They stood still, listening. There was a sound,
a slow, rhythmic breathing. Something large shifted in the darkness.
It is here, someone whispered. One by one, they began
to move cautiously. With hands outstretched, they stepped forward into
the unseen. The first man reached out and touched something
broad and solid. It was warm, unmoving, vast. He ran
his hands along its surface, feeling its roughness, its sheer size. This,
he declared, confidently, is a wall. The second man moved
in another direction. His hands encountered something long and flexible.
It moved slightly beneath his touch, coiling and uncoiling with
a strange, deliberate grace. He grasped it, startled by its strength. No,
he said, it is not a wall. It is a snake.
The third man stumbled forward and found something thick and cylindrical.
It stood firm beneath his hands, unyielding, like a pillar
rooted in the earth. You are both wrong, he said.
It is a tree. The fourth man reached higher. His
hands brushed against something thin and wide, like a large,
soft surface that flapped gently in the air. A fan,
he said, It is clearly a fan. The fifth man
found the tail. It was coarse, with a tuft at
the end, moving lazily from side to side. A rope,
he said, with certainty. Nothing more. Each man stood in
the darkness, Holding his piece of the unknown, Each was convinced,
and then they began to argue. It is a wall.
The first man insisted, I have felt its breath. Its
solidity cannot be mistaken. You have felt only a part.
The second replied, it is a snake, alive, moving, unmistakable.
A snake does not stand like this. The third interjected,
it is a tree. I have felt its strength. A
tree does not move like a fan, said the fourth.
You are all mistaken a fan. The fifth scoffed, it
is a rope. You are all imagining things. Their voices
grew louder. The darkness amplified their certainty. Without sight to
guide them, they clung more tightly to what they had felt.
Each man believed not only that he was right, but
that the others must be wrong. You are fools, one said,
you are blind, said another, you refuse to see the truth.
The elephants stood among them, silent. It breathed, it shifted slightly,
its immense presence unnoticed in its entirety. The argument intensified.
They raised their voices, their hands, their convictions. Each clung
to his fragment of experience as though it were a
whole outside. The merchant waited he could hear them, He
did not intervene. Time passed, the men grew frustrated, then angry,
then exhausted. At last, one of them said, enough, we
will bring light. They stumbled toward the door, pushing it open,
letting in a faint trace of the night air. Moments
later they returned with a lamp. The flame flickered as
they entered. Light spread slowly through the enclosure, pushing back
the darkness. Shadows retreated, forms began to emerge, and there
at last they saw it. The elephants stood before them, immense, toll, undeniable.
They stared in silence. The wall was its side, the
snake its trunk, The tree was its leg, The fan
was its ear, the rope was its tail. Each had
been right, and each had been wrong. The realization settled
over them, not as a sudden shock, but as a
quiet unraveling of certainty. Their arguments dissolved, their voices fell away.
The first man spoke, I thought, I understood, he said, softly.
So did I said another. The merchant stepped inside. Now
you see, he said, They turned to him. Why did
you not give us light? From the beginning? One asked.
The merchant looked at them carefully. Would you have believed
what you saw? He said, if you had not first
believed something else. They did not answer. The merchant continued,
in the dark, each of you held a piece of
the truth, but you mistook the part for the whole.
He gestured toward the elephant. The truth was always here,
but it could not be grasped by touch alone. One
of the men frowned. Then what are we to trust,
he asked, If our senses deceive us, what remains? The
merchant smiled. Your senses do not deceive you, he said,
they are simply incomplete. The men stood in silence. The
elephant shifted slightly, its great body moving with a calm
that required no explanation. Understanding, the merchant said, is not
the same as certainty. They left the enclosure one by one.
The night air felt different, now cooler, wider, less defined.
As they walked back toward the city. They did not argue.
They did not declare what the elephant was. They did
not insist on being right. Each carried something with him,
not knowledge, not certainty, but something quieter, a question, and
somewhere deep beneath the need to defer fine and divide,
a recognition that what they had touched in the dark
was never separate, only unseen, and perhaps still is the
elephant in the dark. In a distant city, long before
the world had agreed upon its truths, there lived a
people who prided themselves on knowledge. They were scholars, merchants, craftsmen,
men who believed that what could be seen, measured, and
named was the foundation of understanding. They built their lives
on certainty. They trusted their senses. They argued passionately about
what was real and what was not. And yet for
all their confidence, their remained things they had never encountered.
One such thing was an elephant. The animal had arrived
from a far away land, brought by a traveling merchant
who had crossed deserts and seas. He spoke of it
with a kind of reverence, as though it were not
merely a creature, but a presence, vast, powerful, unlike anything
the city had known. The people gathered to hear him
describe it, they demanded. The merchant smiled. It cannot be described,
he said. The crowd murmured, Everything can be described. One
man insisted. The merchant shook his head gently. You may
see it for yourselves, he said, but only at night.
This condition puzzled them. Why at night, they asked, because,
the merchant replied, it is kept in a dark enclosure.
There are no lamps inside. The people exchanged glances. What
kind of foolishness is this? Someone scoffed, How can we
understand something we cannot see. The merchant's smile did not fade. Perhaps,
he said, you will understand something else. Curiosity overcame skepticism.
That night, a group of men gathered at the enclosure,
a large wooden structure on the edge of the city.
The sky above was moonless, the air was thick with
the quiet hum of night. The door creaked open. Inside
there was only darkness. They hesitated at the threshold. Are
we meant to stumble about like blind men? One of
them said, Do you wish to see the elephant or not?
The merchant replied reluctantly. They entered. The door closed behind them.
At first, they could see nothing. The darkness was complete,
not the gentle dimness of twilight, but a dense, impenetrable black.
It pressed against their eyes, swallowed their outlines, erased the
boundaries between things. They stood still, listening. There was a sound,
a slow, rhythmic breathing. Something large shifted in the darkness.
It is here, someone whispered. One by one, they began
to move cautiously. With hands outstretched, they stepped forward into
the unseen. The first man reached out and touched something
broad and solid. It was warm, unmoving, vast. He ran
his hands along its surface, feeling its roughness, its sheer size. This,
he declared, confidently, is a wall. The second man moved
in another direction. His hands encountered something long and flexible.
It moved slightly beneath his touch, coiling and uncoiling with
a strange, deliberate grace. He grasped it, startled by its strength. No,
he said, it is not a wall. It is a snake.
The third man stumbled forward and found something thick and cylindrical.
It stood firm beneath his hands, unyielding, like a pillar
rooted in the earth. You are both wrong, he said.
It is a tree. The fourth man reached higher. His
hands brushed against something thin and wide, like a large,
soft surface that flapped gently in the air. A fan,
He said, It is clearly a fan. The fifth man
found the tail. It was coarse, with a tuft at
the end, moving lazily from side to side. A rope,
he said, with certainty, nothing more. Each man stood in
the darkness, holding his piece of the unknown. Each was convinced,
and then they began to argue. It is a wall.
The first man insisted, I have felt its breath, Its
solidity cannot be mistaken. You have felt only a part.
The second replied, it is a snake, alive, moving unmistakable.
A snake does not stand like this. The third interjected,
It is a tree. I have felt its strength. A
tree does not move like a fan, said the fourth.
You are all mistaken, and a fan. The fifth scoffed,
it is a rope. You are all imagining things. Their
voices grew louder. The darkness amplified their certainty. Without sight
to guide them, they clung more tightly to what they
had felt. Each man believed not only that he was right,
but that the others must be wrong. You are fools,
one said, you are blind, said another, you refuse to
see the truth. The elephants stood among them silent. It breathed,
it shifted slightly, its immense presence unnoticed in its entirety.
The argument intensified They raised their voices, their hands, their convictions.
Each clung to his fragment of experience as though it
were a hole outside. The merchant waited he could hear them,
He did not intervene. Time passed, the men grew frustrated,
then angry, then exhausted. At last, one of them said enough,
we will bring light. They stumbled toward the door, pushing
it open, letting in a faint trace of the night air.
Moments later they returned with a lamp. The flame flickered
as they entered. Light spread slowly through the enclosure, pushing
back the darkness. Shadow retreated, forms began to emerge, and there,
at last they saw it. The elephants stood before them, immense, toll, undeniable.
They stared in silence. The wall was its side, The
snake was its trunk, the tree was its leg, The
fan was its ear, the rope was its tail. Each
had been right, and each had been wrong. The realization
settled over them, not as a sudden shock, but as
a quiet unraveling of certainty. Their arguments dissolved, their voices
fell away. The first man spoke, I thought I understood,
he said, softly. So did I said another. The merchant
stepped inside. Now you see, he said. They turned to him.
Why did you not give us light from the beginning,
one asked. The merchant looked at them carefully. Would you
have believed what you saw? He said, if you had
not first believed something else. They did not answer. The
merchant continued, in the dark, each of you held a
piece of the truth, but you mistook the part for
the whole. He gestured toward the elephant. The truth was
always here, but it could not be grasped by touch alone.
One of the men frowned. Then what are we to trust,
he asked, If our senses deceive us, what remains? The
merchant smiled. Your senses do not deceive you, he said,
they are simply incomplete. The men stood in silence. The
elephant shifted slightly, its great body moving with a calm
that required no explanation. Understanding, the merchant said, is not
the same as certainty. They left the enclosure one by one.
The night air felt different, now cooler, wider, less defined.
As they walked back toward the city. They did not argue.
They did not declare what the elephant was. They did
not insist on being right. Each carried something with him,
not knowledge, not certainty, but something quieter, a question, and
somewhere deep beneath