Speaker 1: Hello, dear friend, Welcome to this peaceful moment just for you.
Speaker 1: Find a position that feels completely comfortable, whether you're lying down,
Speaker 1: nestled under soft blankets, or gently reclined against pillows that
Speaker 1: cradle you perfectly. Let's begin by taking a deep, nourishing breath. Together.
Speaker 1: Breathe in slowly through your nose, filling your lungs completely,
Speaker 1: and then release that breath through your mouth with a
Speaker 1: gentle sigh. Feel the day beginning to leave your body
Speaker 1: with that axe piled again, Breathe in two three four
Speaker 1: and out two three, four, five six beautiful. Now, I
Speaker 1: want you to remain that with each breath you're drawing
Speaker 1: in peace, calm, tranquility, and with each exhale you're releasing tension, worry,
Speaker 1: and the weight of the day. Breathing in peace, breathing
Speaker 1: out tension. Let's bring awareness to your body. Starting at
Speaker 1: the very top of your head. Imagine a warm, golden,
Speaker 1: honey colored light touching the crown of your head. It's warm,
Speaker 1: but not hot, soothing, healing. This light begins to melt
Speaker 1: away any tightness, any holding. The warm light flows down
Speaker 1: across your forehead. Feel the muscles of your forehead softening,
Speaker 1: smoothing Any worry lines fade away. Your forehead becomes as
Speaker 1: smooth as still water. Down to your eyebrows. Releasing your eyes,
Speaker 1: let them grow heavy, so wonderfully heavy. Your eyelids are
Speaker 1: like soft velvet curtains, closing gently naturally. There's no effort needed,
Speaker 1: Just let them rest. The golden light continues down to
Speaker 1: your cheeks, your jaw. Unclench your teeth if they're pressed together.
Speaker 1: Let your jaw hang loose and comfortable. Your lips part slightly.
Speaker 1: Your tongue rests softly in your mouth. Your entire face
Speaker 1: is peaceful, serene at rest. Down your neck, now, releasing
Speaker 1: any tightness there. Your neck holds so much during the day,
Speaker 1: Let it soften. Now, let the golden light melk away
Speaker 1: any knots. Any tension across your shoulders. Oh, your shoulders,
Speaker 1: they carry so much. Let them drop down away from
Speaker 1: your ears, feel them becoming heavy, sinking down into whatever
Speaker 1: supports you release. Release Release down your arms, through your elbows,
Speaker 1: past your wrists, into your hands. Your fingers curl gently naturally.
Speaker 1: Your hands are completely relaxed, warm, at peace. The golden
Speaker 1: light spreads across your chest and your back, Your Breathing
Speaker 1: is easy, now, effortless, like gentle ocean waves in and out,
Speaker 1: in and out, requiring no thought at all. Down through
Speaker 1: your stomach, your abdomen, your lower back, everything softens, releases.
Speaker 1: Let's go down through your hips, releasing any tightness there.
Speaker 1: Down your thighs, past your knees, through your calves, down
Speaker 1: to your ankles, your feet, all the way to the
Speaker 1: tips of your toes. The golden light has traveled through
Speaker 1: your entire body, leaving peace and relaxation in its wake.
Speaker 1: Your whole body is now wrapped in warm and comfort,
Speaker 1: in perfect peace. You are safe, You are calm. You
Speaker 1: are ready to journey into Tonight's story. And as we
Speaker 1: enter the story, you you confort to talk to sleep
Speaker 1: at any more. There's no need to hear every word.
Speaker 1: Let the story carry you gently into dreams whenever you're ready.
Speaker 1: There is a library that exists between waking and dreaming.
Speaker 1: Not everyone can find it, and those who do often
Speaker 1: can't remember how they got there or exactly where it is.
Speaker 1: But once you've been, it calls to you, especially on
Speaker 1: nights when sleep feels just out of reach. Tonight, you
Speaker 1: find yourself on a quiet village street, just as the
Speaker 1: sun has set, the sky is that particular shape of
Speaker 1: deep blue that only exists for a few precious mits
Speaker 1: between day and night. One by one, stars are beginning
Speaker 1: to appear, like someone is lighting tiny lanterns in the heavens.
Speaker 1: You're walking down a cobblestone lane lined with old stone cottages.
Speaker 1: Warm light glows from their windows, and you can smell
Speaker 1: wood smoke from chimneys mixed with the scent of evening flowers,
Speaker 1: night blooming jasmine and honeysuckle. Climbing over garden gates at
Speaker 1: the end of the lane, you see a building you
Speaker 1: don't remember noticing before. It's built of honeycolored stone, two
Speaker 1: stories tall, with ivy growing up its The ivy is
Speaker 1: dotted with small white flowers. It seemed to glow faintly
Speaker 1: in the twilight. Above the arched wooden door, a sign
Speaker 1: reads simply the Starlight Library. Something about it feels familiar, welcoming,
Speaker 1: like coming home to a place you've always known but
Speaker 1: somehow forgot. You approach the door. It's heavy, oak, dark
Speaker 1: with age, with an iron handle worn smooth by countless hands.
Speaker 1: You don't knock. Somehow you know you don't need to.
Speaker 1: You simply turn the handle and the door opens silently inward. Inside,
Speaker 1: the air is warmed and smells of old books, bees, wax, candles,
Speaker 1: and something else, something like cinnamon and vanilla and rain,
Speaker 1: all mixed together. It's the smell of stories, of dreams,
Speaker 1: of peaceful endings and new beginnings. The entrance hall is
Speaker 1: small and cozy. The floor is made of wide wooden planks,
Speaker 1: smooth and warm beneath your feet. To your left, a
Speaker 1: wooden staircase curves up to the second floor. To your right,
Speaker 1: an arched doorway leads into the main library. You step
Speaker 1: through the archway and pause, taking it all in. The
Speaker 1: room is beautiful. The ceiling is high, with dark wooden
Speaker 1: beams crossing it. Between the beams, you can see the
Speaker 1: night sky, real stars twinkling through panels of glass. It's
Speaker 1: as if the roof is partly open to the heavens,
Speaker 1: but somehow you know that rain never falls inside, and
Speaker 1: the air stays perfectly warm. Bookshelves line every walk, reaching
Speaker 1: from floor to ceiling. They're made of dark wood, polished
Speaker 1: until they gleam softly in the candle light. And there
Speaker 1: are so many books, thousands of them. Their spines are
Speaker 1: every color, imaginable, leather and cloth, old and worn with reading,
Speaker 1: or pristine and waiting to be opened for the first time.
Speaker 1: But these aren't ordinary books. As you look closer, you
Speaker 1: notice that the titles are unusual. One spine reads the
Speaker 1: Dream of the Sleeping Forest, Another says Lullaby for the
Speaker 1: Wandering Moon, yet another the Tale of the cloud Keeper.
Speaker 1: These are dream stories, sleep stories, tales meant to be
Speaker 1: experienced in that drowsy space between waking and sleeping. In
Speaker 1: the center of the room, there's a large stone fireplace.
Speaker 1: The fire burns there, but it's like no fire you've
Speaker 1: seen before. The flames are silver and blue and palest gold,
Speaker 1: and they make almost no sound at all, just a whisper,
Speaker 1: like silk sliding over silk. The fire gives off warmth
Speaker 1: and the most beautiful soft lane, but it doesn't crackle
Speaker 1: or pop. It simply glows, peaceful and eternal. In front
Speaker 1: of the fireplace, there are several deep, comfortable chairs. They're
Speaker 1: upholstered in soft fabrics deep burgundy and forest green and
Speaker 1: midnight blue. Each chair has a small table beside it
Speaker 1: with a candle in a soft blanket draped.
Speaker 2: Over the arm.
Speaker 1: You choose a chair, the one closest to the fire, beautiful,
Speaker 1: deep blue that reminds you of the evening sky. As
Speaker 1: you settle into it, the chair seems to embrace you,
Speaker 1: adjusting perfectly to your body. It's the most comfortable seat
Speaker 1: you've ever experienced. You notice a blanket on the arm
Speaker 1: of your chair. It's made of the softest material imaginable,
Speaker 1: like clouds or mist given form. You pull it over
Speaker 1: yourself and it's perfectly warm, weightless but warming, settling over
Speaker 1: you like a blessing. As you sit there, you become
Speaker 1: aware that you're not alone. At a large wooden desk
Speaker 1: near one of the bookshelves sits the librarian. She's an
Speaker 1: older woman with silver hair pulled back in a soft goat.
Speaker 1: She wears a cardigan the color of heather and reading
Speaker 1: glasses on a chain around her. She looks up from
Speaker 1: the book she's reading and smiles at you, a warm,
Speaker 1: knowing smile that makes you feel completely welcome. Good evening,
Speaker 1: she says, and her voice is soft and musical. I'm
Speaker 1: so glad you found your way here tonight. Please stay
Speaker 1: as long as you like. This is a place for rest,
Speaker 1: for peace, for letting go. Of the day. You smile
Speaker 1: back and settle deeper into your chair. The fire continues
Speaker 1: its gentle shimmer through the glass panels in the ceiling.
Speaker 1: More stars have appeared. They're so bright here, so clear,
Speaker 1: as if you're seeing them for the first time. You
Speaker 1: notice something magical happening. Very slowly, very gently, books her
Speaker 1: beginning to float down from the shelves. They drift through
Speaker 1: the air like autumn leaves, but with purpose, with grace.
Speaker 1: They circle around the room in a slow, dreamy dance.
Speaker 1: One book floats closer to you. Its covers deep purple,
Speaker 1: like the sky just after sunset, and it's embossed with
Speaker 1: silver stars. The title reads, the Song of the Sleeping Garden.
Speaker 1: The book hovers near you for a moment. Its page
Speaker 1: is ruffling slightly, as if in a breeze, though the
Speaker 1: air in the library is perfectly still. Then it joins
Speaker 1: the others in their gentle circling. Another book drifts by,
Speaker 1: this one bound in soft green leather with gold lettering.
Speaker 1: The Journey of the Moonlit River, it says, Then another
Speaker 1: the Dream of the Mountain Peak. And another whispers from
Speaker 1: the meadow of stars. All around you. Stories are floating, dancing, waiting,
Speaker 1: But there's no pressure to read them, no urgency. Just
Speaker 1: watching them move through the air is soothing, hypnotic. They
Speaker 1: move in patterns, spirals and figure eights, slow and graceful.
Speaker 1: The librarian rises from her desk and moves to an
Speaker 1: old gramophone in the corner. It's made of polished brass
Speaker 1: and dark wood, beautiful and antique. She whinds it gently
Speaker 1: and music begins to play. But it's not quite music.
Speaker 1: It's more like the memory of music, or the sound
Speaker 1: of music heard from very far away, a piano playing
Speaker 1: a melody that seems familiar but that you can't quite place.
Speaker 1: It's beautiful and sad and peaceful all at once. The
Speaker 1: books are choosing their readers tonight, the librarian says softly.
Speaker 1: Or perhaps the readers are choosing their books here. It's
Speaker 1: difficult to say which comes first. You watch the dancing
Speaker 1: books and realize you don't need to choose one, You
Speaker 1: don't need to read tonight. Just being here, in this warm,
Speaker 1: peaceful place is enough. The fire glows, the stars shine
Speaker 1: through the glass ceiling. The books dance their slow dance.
Speaker 1: The music plays on. The librarian brings you a cup
Speaker 1: of tea appearing beside your chair so quietly you didn't
Speaker 1: hear her approach. The cup is delicate china, painted with
Speaker 1: tiny flower The tea smells of cammeal and lavender and
Speaker 1: something sweet you can't quite name. You take a sip.
Speaker 1: It's perfectly warm, not too hot, and it tastes like
Speaker 1: peaceful endings and sweet dreams. Thank you, you whisper, and
Speaker 1: she nods, smiling, and returns to her desk. You cradle
Speaker 1: the warm cup in your hands and watch the fire
Speaker 1: in the flames. If you look closely, you can see
Speaker 1: pictures for me. A garden at dawn, a lake reflecting moonlight,
Speaker 1: a forest path covered in soft moss, a cottage window
Speaker 1: with candle light glowing. The images form and dissolve and
Speaker 1: form again, each one more peaceful than the last. One
Speaker 1: of the floating books settles onto the small table beside you.
Speaker 1: You glance at it. The covers soft gray like morning
Speaker 1: must and the title is written in silver, The Sleeper's
Speaker 1: Journey Home. You don't open it, you just rest your
Speaker 1: hand on its cover, and somehow you can feel the
Speaker 1: story inside, warm and comforting, like a promise that everything
Speaker 1: will be all right. Time moves differently here in the
Speaker 1: starlight library. Minutes might be hours, or hours might be minutes.
Speaker 1: It doesn't matter. There are no clocks here, no schedules,
Speaker 1: no obligations. There is only this moment, stretching out peacefully
Speaker 1: in all directions. You hear soft sounds around you, the
Speaker 1: whisper of pages turning though no one's reading, the gentle
Speaker 1: sigh of the wind outside no inside, all is still
Speaker 1: and warm. The quiet crackling of a silver fire, like
Speaker 1: distant wind chimes, but barely there. Music from the gramophone,
Speaker 1: now playing something that sounds like a lullaby from childhood,
Speaker 1: though you can't remember which one. Through the tall windows,
Speaker 1: you can see the village street outside. A cat walks
Speaker 1: by silver and starlight. A leaf drifts down from a tree,
Speaker 1: spinning slowly. Everything outside is peaceful, sleeping at rest. The
Speaker 1: librarian has dimmed most of the candles, only a few
Speaker 1: remain lit, and the main light now comes from the
Speaker 1: fire and from the stars above. The room has taken
Speaker 1: on a dreamy quality, as if you're seeing it through
Speaker 1: water or mist. The edges of things have softened, the
Speaker 1: colors have deepened. The floating books are settling, now drifting
Speaker 1: back to their shelves one by one, Like birds returning
Speaker 1: to their nests at nightfall, they slide into place with
Speaker 1: the softest whisper of leather and paper. Soon only a
Speaker 1: few remain in the air, circling slowly, peacefully. You finish
Speaker 1: your teeth and set the cup gently on the table.
Speaker 1: The blanket is warm around you. The chair continues to
Speaker 1: hold you perfectly, supporting every part of your body. You
Speaker 1: feel yourself sinking deeper into comfort, deeper into peace. The
Speaker 1: librarian comes over one more time. She adjusts your blankets slightly,
Speaker 1: tucking it around you with a grandmother's care. She picks
Speaker 1: up the book from your table, the gray one about
Speaker 1: the Sleeper's Journey, and places it in your lap. You
Speaker 1: don't need to read it, whispers, just hold. The story
Speaker 1: will find its way to you in your dreams. And
Speaker 1: she's right. With the book resting on your lap, you
Speaker 1: can feel its story seeping into you, not through words,
Speaker 1: but through feeling. It's a story about finding your way home,
Speaker 1: about peace, about rest, about knowing that you are safe,
Speaker 1: that you are loved, that you can let go. Now,
Speaker 1: the last of the floating books has settled on its shelf.
Speaker 1: The music from the gramophone has faded to almost nothing,
Speaker 1: just the ghost of a melody. The fire burns lower.
Speaker 1: It's light softer, more like moonlight now than firelight above
Speaker 1: through the glass ceiling, the stars or my magnificent There
Speaker 1: are so many of them, more than you've ever seen.
Speaker 1: They form patterns, constellations you recognize, and some you don't.
Speaker 1: And they're not quite still. They pulse very gently, very slowly,
Speaker 1: like a heartbeat, like breathing, like the rhythm of the
Speaker 1: universe itself. When the eyelids are growing heavy, the weight
Speaker 1: of the book on your lap is comfortable. The warmth
Speaker 1: of the blanket is perfect. The chair holds you like
Speaker 1: loving arms. The room around you is safe and peaceful
Speaker 1: and timeless. The librarian has returned to her desk. She's
Speaker 1: writing something in a large leather bound book by candlelight.
Speaker 1: She looks up and sees that your eyes are closing.
Speaker 1: She smiles such a warm, loving smile and mouths two words,
Speaker 1: sweet dreams. When you feel yourself beginning to drift, not falling,
Speaker 1: but floating, like the books were floating earlier, you're weightless, peaceful,
Speaker 1: cradle by comfort and warmth. The starlight library surrounds you
Speaker 1: protects you, holds you safe. The story in the book
Speaker 1: on your Lap unfolds in your mind without words. You
Speaker 1: see yourself walking down a peaceful path. There are trees
Speaker 1: on either side, their branches forming a canopy of stars overhead.
Speaker 1: The path is soft beneath your feet. You're walking home,
Speaker 1: though you don't know where home is, but you're not worried.
Speaker 1: You know you'll recognize it when you are. The path
Speaker 1: winds gently through a meadow of silver grass. The grass
Speaker 1: whispers as you pass, telling you secrets of peace and rest.
Speaker 1: The sky above is filled with stars and a moon
Speaker 1: so large and bright it seems close enough to touch.
Speaker 1: In the distance, you see a light, a warm golden
Speaker 1: light like a candle, in the window. You walk toward it, unhurried,
Speaker 1: knowing it will wait for you. As you get closer,
Speaker 1: you see it's a cottage, small and perfect, with smoke
Speaker 1: rising from its chimney and flowers growing around its door.
Speaker 1: This is home, This is where you've been heading all along.
Speaker 1: The door is open, waiting inside. You can see a
Speaker 1: fire burning in the hearth. You can see comfortable chairs
Speaker 1: and soft blankets and everything we need for perfect rest.
Speaker 1: You step through the door and close it gently behind it. Home.
Speaker 1: You're safe. You're at peace, and in the Starlight Library,
Speaker 1: in the blue chair, by the silver fire, under the
Speaker 1: canopy of stars, you sleep. The libraryan watches over you
Speaker 1: grandly and love. The books on their shelves hold their
Speaker 1: stories quietly, ready for another night. The fire burns on,
Speaker 1: eternal and peaceful. Outside, the village sleeps, the stars shine.
Speaker 1: The night wraps the world in soft darkness and gentle dreams,
Speaker 1: And you rest deeply and completely, knowing that the Starlight
Speaker 1: Library will be here whenever you need it, waiting for
Speaker 1: its books and its fire and its infinite beautiful piece.
Speaker 1: The story you carry with you now, and the gray
Speaker 1: book continues to unfold in your dreams. It tells you
Speaker 1: that you are loved, that you are safe, that you
Speaker 1: can rest now completely without worry or fear. It tells
Speaker 1: you that tomorrow will take care of itself. Tonight is
Speaker 1: for sleeping, for dreaming, for healing. The librarian blows out
Speaker 1: the last candle. The only light now is from the
Speaker 1: silver fire and the stars above. It's enough. It's perfect.
Speaker 1: Rest now, dear friend. The library keeps watch while you dream.
Speaker 1: The books are quiet, the fire glows softly. The stars
Speaker 1: wheel slowly overhead, marking time in their ancient, peaceful way,
Speaker 1: and you you sleep the sleep of the blessed, the protected,
Speaker 1: the deeply loved. The Starlight Library cradles youth the night,
Speaker 1: and its gift to you is this perfect, restoring, healing rest.
Speaker 1: When morning comes soft and gentle, you will wake slowly, peacefully,
Speaker 1: carrying the peace of the Library's magic with you. But
Speaker 1: you won't quite remember how you got there or how
Speaker 1: to find it again. You'll just know that somewhere between
Speaker 1: waking and dreaming, there's a place where you are always welcome,
Speaker 1: always safe, always at peace, And on nights when sleep
Speaker 1: is hard to find, the Library will call to you again,
Speaker 1: and you will find your way back to the blue
Speaker 1: chair by the silver fire, under the ceiling of stars,
Speaker 1: where stories float through the air like dreams, and where
Speaker 1: rest comes easily, naturally beautifully. Sleep well, dear friend. The
Speaker 1: Starlight Library watches over you, sweet dreams. Good night, La.
Speaker 3: Na day in.
Speaker 2: A la.
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Speaker 2: And pep.
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Speaker 2: Come when.
Speaker 1: M a.
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Speaker 2: Number up.
Speaker 3: The mone nan and.
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Speaker 3: N n.
Speaker 1: N n.
Speaker 3: Day day.
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Speaker 3: And the last then happen, and when will.
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Speaker 3: Mona and.
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Speaker 3: N the.
Speaker 1: N n.
Speaker 3: N n l m n at a.
Speaker 2: King and.
Speaker 3: The lama lay at the.
Speaker 2: Moon.
Speaker 3: They lay, and the moon.
Speaker 1: And the.
Speaker 3: Man then an n n name na the man say
Speaker 3: it man.
Speaker 2: Na na.
Speaker 3: Na never.
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Speaker 2: Never the m.
Speaker 1: D l.
Speaker 2: L name.
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Speaker 1: La n and n n.
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Speaker 3: La monna ni ne s.
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Speaker 3: Make man.
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Speaker 2: N and land
Speaker 1: It