Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime Stories for grown ups in which nothing
Speaker 1: much happens, You feel good, and then you fall asleep.
Speaker 1: I'm Catherine Nikolay. I read and write all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. You can follow us on Instagram and Facebook
Speaker 1: and Twitter. For some extra coziness, A beautiful book of
Speaker 1: our bedtime stories is coming out all over the world
Speaker 1: in a few months. It will have many of your
Speaker 1: favorite stories, along with sixteen new stories that will only
Speaker 1: ever appear in the book. It also has really beautiful illustrations, recipes, meditations,
Speaker 1: and lots more. To learn more or to pre order
Speaker 1: your copy, go to Nothing Much Happens dot com. Now
Speaker 1: let's get ready to sleep. I'll read you a story.
Speaker 1: It's a place to rest your mind, Like an upturned
Speaker 1: leaf resting on the surface of a river. Your mind
Speaker 1: will follow along with the moving current of my voice
Speaker 1: and our story, and before you know it, it will
Speaker 1: ease you into a deep sleep. I'll read the story twice,
Speaker 1: and I'll go a little slower on the second read.
Speaker 1: If you waken the night, take yourself back back into
Speaker 1: the story, thinking back through any bit you can remember.
Speaker 1: This interrupts your brain's tendency to cycle through thought and
Speaker 1: will put you right back into sleep mode. It is
Speaker 1: brain training and it might take a bit of practice,
Speaker 1: so be patient if you are new to this. Now
Speaker 1: it's time to switch off the light, set down anything
Speaker 1: you've been looking at. You've looked at a screen for
Speaker 1: the last time today, Adjust your pillows and comforter until
Speaker 1: you feel completely at ease. If you sometimes clench your
Speaker 1: jaw as you sleep, try resting the tip of your
Speaker 1: tongue at the place where your upper teeth meet the
Speaker 1: gum on the inside. That will help to keep your
Speaker 1: jaw relaxed. Now, take a deep breath in through your
Speaker 1: nose and sigh out of your mouth again. Breathe in
Speaker 1: and out with sound. Good. Our story tonight is called
Speaker 1: The Labyrinth, and it's a story about a slow walk
Speaker 1: on a gravel path in midsummer. It's also about hidden places,
Speaker 1: unseen acts of kindness, the way cats sit in their windows,
Speaker 1: and always always looking for magic. The Labyrinth in the
Speaker 1: gardens of the Big House, on the far side of
Speaker 1: an open meadow where deer have worn narrow trails through
Speaker 1: the grass, there is a stone wall that was built
Speaker 1: when our great grandparents were children. And often when I
Speaker 1: am out there my shoes damp with dew. On a
Speaker 1: summer morning, I feel like it's possible to slip through time.
Speaker 1: I look across the meadow and watch purple cone flowers
Speaker 1: bobbing in the wind, and listen to whipper wells and
Speaker 1: morning doves layering their calls one over the other, and
Speaker 1: think that this hour could belong to a day from
Speaker 1: a hundred years before, and that maybe through some trick
Speaker 1: of the unseen world, by stepping into a footprint lay
Speaker 1: deep in the ground, or passing under a particular branch
Speaker 1: at the right moment, when the moon is at a
Speaker 1: certain place in the sky with Venus rising over her shoulder,
Speaker 1: I might have fallen out of the fabric of time
Speaker 1: and into another moment. This little bit of fanciful imagination
Speaker 1: is a leftover from childhood. I'm still looking for the
Speaker 1: door into the other world. I might run my hands
Speaker 1: over the stone wall, feeling the smooth rock face and
Speaker 1: the rough gravelly mortar, and find a tiny hole that
Speaker 1: could be a key hole, and then check my pockets,
Speaker 1: just in case a wrought iron skeleton key had somehow
Speaker 1: been magic there for me to find. I doubt I'll
Speaker 1: ever lose this little habit of looking for magic. On
Speaker 1: this morning, the mist made from warm air floating over
Speaker 1: the lake was still lingering around the edge of the
Speaker 1: water and between tree trunks like cotton batting that had
Speaker 1: been stuffed into place by invisible hands. I went around
Speaker 1: the edge of the stone wall, a wide brimmed straw
Speaker 1: hat in my hand, in preparation for when the sun
Speaker 1: made its way over the tree tops. The air smelled sweet,
Speaker 1: like grass and like water, and had that cool, clean
Speaker 1: feeling that rejuvenates you when you breathe it in. How
Speaker 1: lovely to be reminded that every morning can be a
Speaker 1: fresh start, that you can begin again just by deciding to.
Speaker 1: I kept walking, with a stone wall receding behind me
Speaker 1: and the grass becoming thinner at my feet. I was
Speaker 1: almost there now. The labyrinth was in front of me,
Speaker 1: and this morning I looked to be the only one
Speaker 1: here to walk it. Though even on days when there
Speaker 1: were many people out to stroll its paths, it was
Speaker 1: always a quiet place. People didn't come here to chat
Speaker 1: or socialize. They might give you a small way or
Speaker 1: a kind acknowledging nod, but they'd leave you to your walk,
Speaker 1: and you'd leave them to theirs. Labyrinths come in all
Speaker 1: sorts of shapes and styles, and I've walked them in
Speaker 1: many places around the world. I've found them in city
Speaker 1: squares in front of old cathedrals, made of polished marble
Speaker 1: and granite, laid out in an intricate pattern in the street.
Speaker 1: I've found them in the woods, made from fallen branches,
Speaker 1: in city parks, drawn with bright lines of spray paint.
Speaker 1: And of course, here beside the gardens of the Big House,
Speaker 1: where its paths and hedges are just visible from the
Speaker 1: map room, this labyrinth has paths bordered by low shrubs
Speaker 1: that are trimmed neatly so there even tops are only
Speaker 1: a foot above the ground. You can see where the
Speaker 1: path takes you. There's no secret about it. That's the
Speaker 1: difference between a maze and a labyrinth. A maze asks
Speaker 1: you to solve a puzzle. It might trick you into
Speaker 1: a dead end and send you back to try another route.
Speaker 1: But a labyrinth, it's just giving you somewhere to place
Speaker 1: your feet and a way to practice journey with calm attention.
Speaker 1: It might take you down a winding trail that turns
Speaker 1: back and forth again and again before you arrive at
Speaker 1: its center. But it's nothing to unravel or conquer. It's
Speaker 1: just a process of movement. The paths themselves were laid
Speaker 1: with tiny white stones, which were regularly and carefully raked
Speaker 1: by a volunteer from the house at the end of
Speaker 1: the day. I was the first to step onto them
Speaker 1: this morning, and I took a moment just to be
Speaker 1: grateful that people were kind enough to care about such things.
Speaker 1: So many kind people work behind the scenes of everyday life.
Speaker 1: We often don't see the bite sized gestures that are
Speaker 1: made a million times a day to make the world
Speaker 1: a little softer and more welcoming to others. But they
Speaker 1: are still happening. I reminded myself to do my own
Speaker 1: part and that work today. Maybe I'd pick up a
Speaker 1: bit of garbage along the road, or leave the best
Speaker 1: parking spot for someone else, or just not take more
Speaker 1: than I needed. It all added up. At the edge
Speaker 1: of the labyrinth path, I stopped and slid my feet
Speaker 1: together underneath me. I thought of the way that cats
Speaker 1: often sit with their front paws together their toes in
Speaker 1: a row when they are watching birds. Outside their windows.
Speaker 1: It seemed like a sign of deliberation and watchfulness, so
Speaker 1: I had adopted it as a habit. Before I took
Speaker 1: my first step, I caught my hands together behind my back.
Speaker 1: I felt my breath moving over my lip. Sometimes I
Speaker 1: brought a specific thought to chew on while I walked,
Speaker 1: and when I did, I often found that the steady
Speaker 1: rhythm of my gait evened my mind out. I might
Speaker 1: not know the answer to a question I'd carried in
Speaker 1: at the start, but by the end I felt more
Speaker 1: relaxed with not knowing safe to just keep asking. Today,
Speaker 1: after a good night's sleep, my mind was already a
Speaker 1: bit like the lake on the other side of the garden,
Speaker 1: a few ripples on the surface, but mostly placid and
Speaker 1: still so, just walking, feeling the weight shift from heel
Speaker 1: to toe was the main event, and enough to keep
Speaker 1: my attention. I followed the turns in the path, let
Speaker 1: them take me nearly all the way around the labyrinth,
Speaker 1: and then a step closer to its center, and nearly
Speaker 1: all the way around the other way. At its heart
Speaker 1: was a large flat piece of slate with hedges around it,
Speaker 1: trimmed to point to the four cardinal directions. As I
Speaker 1: stood there, the wind pick'd up around me and rushed
Speaker 1: through the tree tops. I closed my eyes and thought,
Speaker 1: that may be in these small moments, when we feel
Speaker 1: quite tied into the world, when we remember we can
Speaker 1: begin again and that our only real work is kindness.
Speaker 1: Maybe that is when the door opens. Maybe that is
Speaker 1: magic the labyrinth. In the gardens of the Big House,
Speaker 1: on the far side of an open meadow where deer
Speaker 1: have worn narrow trails through the grass, there is a
Speaker 1: stone wall that was built when our great grandparents were children.
Speaker 1: And often when I am out there, my shoes damp
Speaker 1: with dew on a summer morning, I feel like it's
Speaker 1: possible to slip through time. I look across the meadow
Speaker 1: and watch purple cone flowers bobbing in the wind, and
Speaker 1: listen to whipperwills and mourning doves layering their calls one
Speaker 1: over the other, and I think that this hour could
Speaker 1: belong to a day from a hundred years before, and
Speaker 1: that may be through some trick of the unseen world.
Speaker 1: By stepping into a footprint lay deep in the ground,
Speaker 1: or passing under a particular branch at the right moment,
Speaker 1: when the moon is in a certain place in the
Speaker 1: sky with Venus rising over her shoulder, I might have
Speaker 1: fallen out of the fabric of time and into another moment.
Speaker 1: This little bit a fanciful imagination. It's a leftover from childhood.
Speaker 1: I'm still looking for the door into the other world.
Speaker 1: I might run my hands over the stone wall, feeling
Speaker 1: the smooth rock face and the rough gravelly mortar, and
Speaker 1: find a tiny hole. There could be a key hole.
Speaker 1: I check my pockets, just in case a wrought iron
Speaker 1: skeleton key had somehow been magiced there for me to find.
Speaker 1: I doubt I'll ever stop this little habit of looking
Speaker 1: for magic. On this morning, the mist made from warm
Speaker 1: air floating over the lake was still lingering around the
Speaker 1: edge of the water and between tree trunks, like cotton
Speaker 1: batting that had been stuffed into place by invisible hands.
Speaker 1: I went around the edge of the stone wall a
Speaker 1: wide brimmed straw hat in my hand in preparation for
Speaker 1: when the sun made its way over the tree tops.
Speaker 1: The air smelled sweet like grass and lake water, and
Speaker 1: had the cool, clean feeling that rejuvenates you when you
Speaker 1: breathe it in. How lovely to be reminded that every
Speaker 1: morning can be a fresh start that you can begin
Speaker 1: again just by deciding to. I kept walking, with the
Speaker 1: stone wall receding behind me and the grass becoming thinner
Speaker 1: at my feet. I was almost there now. The labyrinth
Speaker 1: was in front of me, and this morning I looked
Speaker 1: to be the only one out here to walk it.
Speaker 1: Though even on days when there are many people out
Speaker 1: to stroll its paths, it was always a quiet place.
Speaker 1: People didn't come here to chat or socialize. They might
Speaker 1: give you a small wave or kind acknowledging nod, but
Speaker 1: they'd leave you to your walk, and you'd leave them
Speaker 1: to theirs. Labyrinths come in all sorts of shapes and styles,
Speaker 1: and I've walked them in many places around the world.
Speaker 1: I've found them in city squares in front of old cathedrals,
Speaker 1: made of polished marble and granite, laid out in intricate
Speaker 1: patterns in the street. I have found them in the woods,
Speaker 1: made from fallen branches, in city parks, drawn with bright
Speaker 1: lines of spray paint. And of course, here beside the
Speaker 1: gardens of the Big House, where its paths and hedges
Speaker 1: are just visible from the map room, this slabyrinth has
Speaker 1: paths bordered by low shrubs that are trimmed neatly so
Speaker 1: their even tops are only a foot above the ground.
Speaker 1: You can see where the path takes you. There's no
Speaker 1: secret about it. That's the difference between a maze and
Speaker 1: a labyrinth. A maze asks you to solve a puzzle.
Speaker 1: It might trick you into a dead end and send
Speaker 1: you back to try another route. But a labyrinth is
Speaker 1: just giving you somewhere to place your feet and a
Speaker 1: way to practice journeying with calm attention. It might take
Speaker 1: you down a winding trail that turns back and forth
Speaker 1: again and again before you arrive at its center, but
Speaker 1: it's nothing to unravel or conquer. It's just a process
Speaker 1: of movement. The paths themselves were laid with tiny white stones,
Speaker 1: which were regularly and carefully raked by a volunteer from
Speaker 1: the house at the end of the day. I was
Speaker 1: the first to step onto them this morning, and I
Speaker 1: took a moment just to be grateful that people were
Speaker 1: kind enough to care about such things. So many kind
Speaker 1: people work behind the scenes of every day life. We
Speaker 1: often don't see the bite sized gestures that are made
Speaker 1: a million times a day to make the world a
Speaker 1: little softer and more welcoming to others, but they are
Speaker 1: still happening. I reminded myself to do my own part
Speaker 1: in that work to day. Maybe I'd pick up a
Speaker 1: bit of garbage along the road, or leave the best
Speaker 1: parking spot for some one else, or just not take
Speaker 1: more than I need it at all. It up. At
Speaker 1: the edge of the labyrinth path, I stopped, slid my
Speaker 1: feet together underneath me. I thought of the way that
Speaker 1: cats often sit with their front paws together their toes
Speaker 1: in a row when they are watching birds outside their windows.
Speaker 1: It seemed like a sign of deliberation and watchfulness, so
Speaker 1: I'd adopted it as a habit. Before I took my
Speaker 1: first step, I caught my hands together behind my back
Speaker 1: and felt my breath moving over my lip. Sometimes I
Speaker 1: brought a specific thought to chew on while I walked,
Speaker 1: and when I did, I often found that the steady
Speaker 1: rhythm of my gait evened my mind doubt. I might
Speaker 1: not know the answer to a question I'd carried in
Speaker 1: at the start, but by the end I felt more
Speaker 1: relaxed with not knowing safe to just keep asking. Today,
Speaker 1: after a good night's sleep, my mind was already a
Speaker 1: bit like the lake on the other side of the garden,
Speaker 1: a few ripples on the surface, but mostly placid and
Speaker 1: still so just walking, feeling the weight shift from heel
Speaker 1: to toe was the main event, and enough to keep
Speaker 1: my attention. I followed the turns in the path, let
Speaker 1: them take me nearly all the way around the labyrinth,
Speaker 1: and then a step closer to its center, and nearly
Speaker 1: all the way around the other way. At its heart
Speaker 1: was a large flat piece of slate with hedges around it,
Speaker 1: trimmed to point to the four cardinal directions. As I
Speaker 1: stood there, the wind picked up around me and rushed
Speaker 1: through the tree tops. I closed my eyes and thought
Speaker 1: that maybe in these small moments, when we feel quite
Speaker 1: tied into the world, when we remember that we can
Speaker 1: begin again and that our only real work is kindness,
Speaker 1: maybe that is when the door opens. Maybe that is magic.
Speaker 1: Sweet dreams