The Dream Brewer | Calming Bedtime Story For Adults

Have been enjoying the change in seasons, and are now ready for a cozy sleep.

I've got a quick favor to ask. If you're enjoying the show, please do share us with friends and family. It helps more than you know, and hopefully we can help them to a wonderful night's sleep. Recently back from a trip to Morocco, there was on the coast in a wonderful village called Tagazut. Some sea, sand, and surf. What really blew me away was the warmth of the people. So kind, generous, and welcoming. Also it was so exciting to explore the culture and cuisine,

immeem, barber for delicious, and to hit the suks, market, so vibrant and alive.

“In tonight's story, we're visiting a secret market that arrives once a year. When night falls,”

sleepers enter this magical place. There, one particular skilled craftsman arrives with a range of delicious teas, ready to get to work, creating perfect dreams. Before we begin, here is the quick ad break that keeps this free content possible. To go at free, subscribe via the link in the show notes. You know, there are some things that were very good at putting off, not because they don't matter,

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the full library of bedtime stories, and my subscriber only series. And this month, you can step into the dream brewer, wander through the registry of small wonders, linger at the cafe between the seasons. And for subscribers, we arrive at the Seely Court, as a song of two courts continues, all uninterrupted. Tap "try free" to claim your free 14 days on Apple Podcasts, or follow the link in the show notes, see you there. All right, now back to nightfalls. No one knew when it would happen,

or indeed why it happened. But once a year, something very special occurred for a few people in the world. It was a market, full of magic, and those who visited could experience the most wondrous of dreams and wishes. It took place when night fell, for those lucky enough to enter the magical market, it began in bed when they were all cozy and ready to drift. They'd slip into that delicious half sleep, where their eyes grew ever so heavy. Their thoughts started to blur, and time seemed

to slow, then quickened. They were the sleepers. As these lucky sleepers started to drift off,

decorated with embroidery, and a mix of shapes that seemed to move and twist in the low light.

“A roaring fire gave the room a rosy glow, and lining the walls, there was a set of huge”

mahogany bookshelves. When the sleepers looked closer, they could see the books were their favorite, fairy tale, old classics, with dusty covers, and books from their childhood. The sleepers waited in the room, and then a door appeared to the side. It was made of a deep,

golden wood, and it sparkled a little, as if to say, "Come closer."

The sleepers approached this mysterious door, and it creaked open, without anyone touching the handle.

“The doorway framed a desert. The sleepers walked through and found themselves standing in a”

glorious scene. It was warm and the ground was dusty. There was a vast, almost mirage-like stretch of water below, with huge hills on either side. There was a haziness in the air, a blur to the entire place, and you could tell that this unusual place was a dreamland. In front of the sleepers set up in the sand, there was a small market with many different stalls. The sleepers didn't know it, but this was where different merchants met once a year.

“It came from far and wide to sell their wares, like the sleepers. The merchants simply found”

themselves there. The merchants didn't talk much. They nodded to each other, as they set up their stalls in a semi-circle. The stalls were rickety wooden tables covered in light linen cloth. For sale, there were plump oranges, wrinkled delicious dates, and bright pink pomegranate, just waiting for someone to cut into them. Big bunches of mint and piles of golden saffron set in beautiful ceramic bowls. Behind the array of delicious produce, there were other things,

not for sale, but given out for free. There were memories, and the sunrise, captured in tiny bottles, treasures to savor, and enjoy at the market. Some said there was even a stall where you could buy wishes to take home, and enjoy again in the waking world. This was the magical market, and if you were lucky enough to experience it, you'd be able to acquire something remarkable. One particular merchant looked out at the beauty of

the market. He thought with satisfaction. He rubbed his eyes and felt excited to return to one of his favourite places. It was time. So he set up his things. He chose a long table that was set a little to the side of the main market, giving him a bit more privacy.

Like the other stall holders, he had bowls of fruit and dried herbs, which he laid out first.

He pulled out a silicon pack and opened it to reveal his spoons. There they were, gleaming and silver. He began to remove each spoon from the fabric, giving them a slow polish so the metal was completely free of any smudges or dirt. He set up his wares carefully. He had an array of glass bottles, a mortar and pestle, a glistening flask, and a range of different quills he'd gathered from across the world to jot down his favourite

tinctures, formed of dandelion root and citrus fruits. He had jugs of cream and many, many

jars of tea. The merchant sold something special. Something the sleepers could use right away. This was a dreamland after all, and the merchant's gift was to create the most extraordinary

“dreams all crafted from tea. And that's why he was known as the dream brewer.”

As he sets up his stall, he laid his mind wonder, focusing on nothing in particular. Then, after a few moments, he found himself wondering who he'd encounter. Sometimes, the most hesitant visitors to the market fined their way to him. They wonder over to

his stall, curious, but unsure what he was selling. The merchant always felt there was a quiet

kind of magic in that. He waited, feeling the sun on his face in the magical market, and he listened,

“as a flock of birds flew overhead, their gentle coos fading into the distance.”

The sun was shining down, making the sandy ground glisten in the heat. The sleepers began to explore the square, hesitant, and blinking.

The merchant enjoyed it, as he saw the wonder in their eyes. He remembered the first time he

had found himself here, ready to sell, and how magical it had fell. He waited, observed each person, and pondered over who might come to him. He didn't take long at all for the first visitor to arrive. He turned up, rubbing his eyes as he walked over, and looked at the different fruits. "What's your name?" the merchant asked the man. "Ronen," the man said, still trying to gather himself.

The merchant whispered to Ronan. Ronan, he said, letting each syllable fall slowly. Ronan, Ronan, Ronan, the merchant was getting a sense of who Ronan was. He stomped whispering. "Would you like me to make you something?" he asked. Ronan's eyes widened, as he looked at the eclectic assembly of spoons and bottles. "What could the merchant possibly be offering up?" the merchant smiled, he enjoyed this part. "I can make you a dream," he said,

"just for you. Would you like one?" Ronan seemed unsure. "What do you mean?" he asked. "I feel, well, I feel like I'm already dreaming." "You are," the merchant said kindly. "This is the magical market," said in a dream. "But there's lots of other people in this particular dream." I could make something just for you.

“I believe a good dream is like medicine. The merchant continued. It has certain”

healing properties. I hardly remember my dreams. Ronan said with a shrug, "That's no problem." The merchant replied, "He was a soothing man. His voice low and comforting." Ronan felt no fear. The merchant found the understood Ronan. All these ideas were coming together to form a recipe. It needed to be something freeing. Something Ronan was desperate to do that would release him and give him a sense of awe. It needed to be magical. That was for sure.

letting the warm air fill his lungs. He could smile that delicious fruits and herbs on the

“stalls around him. He led his mind empty of everything and he exhaled, allowing thoughts to”

slowly transform into the seeds of a recipe. The merchant hummed as he worked. He started to run through techniques he'd used in the past. Images drifted into his mind and he let them float away into nothing. On his table, the ingredients began to fizz. Like they had a mind of their own. Like they were trying to tell him exactly what to do. The merchant started with a

blend of brown sugars and he added rich cream. With care, he brewed a specialty,

using a selection of different leaves he'd gathered over a long time. Then he poured the mixture into a cup. A wave of steam rose into the air. With a slight bow, the merchant handed it over to Ronan.

“Well, I think I have something for you. Something to make you feel free.”

What do I do? Ronan asked. But he was not scared. He was excited to experience whatever this was. Drink. The merchant said. Ronan took a big gulp. It had a smooth consistency and has he drank. It warmed his throat and that warmth spread through his lungs and his chest. The liquid was absolutely delicious though it tasted like nothing he'd ever had before. Such was its unusual sweetness. The closest thing he could think of to describe it was sweet honey.

Or perhaps trickle mixed with something nutty and dread. Ronan walked away from the merchant.

“He was entirely in control and he felt very relaxed. It was as if every sip of the tea was”

slowly moving through his body. He slipped with ease into his dream. Then he was flying and he soared through the air like a bird. The wind wrapped around him.

Ronan felt extremely powerful as he moved over mountains, looking down on the wall.

He dipped low winding in and out of clouds, watching the roads threaded into the mountain, like a smooth line from a pen. He felt so very alive and free just as the merchant had said. He could see the sunlight sliding over mountains in the distance and the soft curve of the horizon. The merchant watched as Ronan disappeared into the dream and he found a great sense of pride. He was sure the dream was a good one. The next visitor was a young woman.

She had been scooping out the other stalls for a while and the merchant knew there were many exciting things to discover all over the market but she kept looking over to him. He back in for her to come and she walked over, curious. "What's your name?" he asked. "Floorant," she said. "He smiled that saying warm smile he'd given Ronan."

"Well, florant, I can make you a dream, if you like." "And a thing I want," she asked. "Well, yes," the merchant said, amused. The merchant looked hard at her to determine what kind of dream would suit her. He didn't need to ask her any questions. He looked at her and said her name under his breath.

He closed his eyes. Again, he breathed in deeply.

Letting his shoulders fall, relaxing his ideas as the recipes started to come together. The merchant laid his hands over the spoon and let them lead him towards the dream. He had just the thing for her. He could tell she wanted something with a sense of adventure to it. He looked at her and saw her love of swimming, just how free she found as she moved in the water. The merchant saw how she craved something impossible, the ability to live under the waves.

The merchant began to brew a small cattle over a flame.

“He brewed a tea for Florence with fresh spearmen and then his secret mixture of tea leaves.”

He smiled that the delicious scent coming from the mixture, closing his eyes. The merchant stirred in an extra cube of sugar, watching it dissolve and then he added some final touches, a dash of lemon verbina and orange blossom water. He ended it over. Florence closed her eyes and took a sip, letting herself enjoy the delicious flavors. What do you think? The merchant asked,

"I can't describe it." She said with a smile. "It's wonderful."

“Go on. The merchant said gently, "Go. Florence walked back into the market.”

The tea warmed her whole body, cocooning her. She was relaxed and confident. Then she was gone. She was in the dream she wanted, transported to an underwater city with huge towers, and everything was made of shells. The shells formed shops and walls and even parks, like in the world above. She found that she could breathe easily underwater and move through this wonderful aquatic city. The light rippled through the water and around her.

Schools of silverfish scattered and vanished into the coral.

“She saw something that rose from the sea floor. At first, it looked like a rock formation.”

But as she got closer, she could see it was man-made. A palace made of massive shells. Giant conge cells formed archways, players of coral and mother-of-parallel spiraled outward into towers. She stared at it. The most perfect, intricate building. The seemed ancient. Inside through a wide archway framed by coral fans, she could just about make out a long haul lined with scallops shells.

The floor was dusted with a fine white sand, and she felt herself sink into it. Back in the magical market, the merchant was happy with his second dream. He could see the crowd of sleepers starting to retreat. He wondered if there would be any more visitors to his stall, and then a woman approached him.

She was an old woman, and he smiled at her, welcoming as always.

The merchant could tell something was different about this visitor. She wore a long silk dress in deep blue color, like the night sky, and it stood out against the earthy reds and browns of the market square. She wasn't surprised by the market, like the rest of the sleepers. No, she seemed entirely as he is, and that intrigued him.

Ariadne. The woman said, "The merchant realized he did not need to tell this woman what he did.

“She could see straight through him." She was a fellow dream brewer.”

He could tell she was one because when he looked at her, he found he couldn't picture making a dream for her at all. This only happened with fellow dream brewers, and he met a few over the years, but not for a very long time. She looked at his equipment within trust. You use lavender ash. She asked approvingly. He nodded. She went closer, and she picked up a

tiny vile of one of his most precious ingredients. She raised an eyebrow,

unusual. This leads to some excellent combinations.

“It sounds like you know what you're doing. The merchant said, "Well, I do.”

Ariadne said with a friendly smile." This might sound a bit forward, but I had an idea. Would you like me to brew one for you? She jestered to his equipment. The merchant was delighted. He'd made so many dreams, and he knew instinctively while to put together, and the combinations that would delight any sleeper. The thought of someone doing it for him was very enticing.

He nodded and stepped to one side. Ariadne walked behind his stall.

“She got to work. She didn't need to know his name. She didn't seem to need to do anything to”

know what he'd like. For the skill evident in her speed, she ground down almonds to a fine paste, and added some of the merchants' rarest tea leaves, collected from Himalayan gardens.

He wondered what she was going to do with them, as he had always struggled to create a coherent

dream with those particular leaves. Then Ariadne turned to his vast array of harbs, and she took a few pinches from many of the bottles, adding them to the tea with care. Ariadne starred the mixture, and the merchant could smell the fragrant and unusual blend. Then she handed it over to the merchant in a steaming cup. "Oh, ahead," she said. "It's ready for you."

He took a sip. He savored the delicious tea, letting it run around his mouth. The temperature was perfect. The taste was exquisite, sweet and minty, but somehow with notes underneath of lyche and grape and honey. The merchant walked away from his stall, and from Ariadne feeling excited to reach his dream. He led the sounds of the market fade, the drifted into the background.

He knew what he was doing as he moved away from the square. He knew what would happen as his eyelids felt so heavy. That sense of complete relaxation flooded his body as he stepped into a forest. He looked down and then around. He hadn't fully considered what kind of dream Ariadne would create for him. But still, he was surprised by the hazy autumnal light and the forest with its fiery foliage.

He heard the distant sound of birds singing, and when he looked up, he could see them flying above. Believes made a gentle crunch as he wondered. It was clear Ariadne was a master dream maker.

and he wondered how she'd worked out the exact blend of tea, and sugar, and herbs.

The scenery was perfectly intact. He didn't slip away as he looked around. He realized this was perfect for him. He loved the forest, and it's peacefulness. He could feel his breath moving through his chest, in and out, in and out.

“When he looked down, he expected to see leaves below him, and at first he thought that's what they were.”

Simply leaves. But then he noticed something beautiful. The leaves were not normal.

He bent down and picked one up, and he saw it was filled with writing, in the most beautiful calligraphy. He read the story on the leaf, and it was a tale of a dream he'd brewed long ago, about a river made of fire on a tropical island. It was one of his earliest dreams when he was still honing his skill, and the scenes moved quickly. But the time he'd learned to really look at the sleeper, to tell what they needed. He felt himself dive into his memories, thinking of the

“combination of ingredients he'd needed to create the dream. The merchant remembered adding many”

seraps and different milks to develop a wondrous escape. Marveling, he picked up another leaf, and read the story of another dream he'd created long ago. And this one was about a fairy tale castle, the brick building up high into the sky, draped in a lush pink. He remembered this one well, his skills had expanded by then, making the scene easier to render. He couldn't have said how long it lasted. It was that thing in a dream where time was impossible to gauge,

and the second seemed to pass, slow and then fast, slow and then fast. He could have sat there

“for much longer, reading all the different dreams he'd created, but eventually he continued to walk.”

As he stepped through the forest, the ground beneath him grew soft, and the trees slipped away to nothing. There he stood in the magical square, all his equipment was there, but Ariadne had laughed. He thanked her under his breath for what she'd given him. Clearly, she was a brilliant dream brewer, and he hoped he'd meet her again one day. The sun was coming down over the mountain range, making the hills look like they were topped with fire, and the ground was covered with shadows.

The rest of the merchants began to head away, walking out into the desert, their packs of equipment on their bags. They left their tables empty, and clean. The market was over. It had been an extraordinary one. The merchant was the last to tidy up and leave. He knew this would be the last time he would experience crafting his dreams for at least a year. So he took pleasure in the purposeful act of tidying away.

He took all his different flasks, carefully washed them with water, and laid them to dry. He took wax paper from his bag, and wrapped it around his different sugars to form small parcels. Each one wrapped up with a piece of twine. With care, he closed each ten containing all his special types of tea. Then, when he'd finished, he slaughtered each one of his spoons into the silicon pack, and back into his battered old trunk. He appreciated how everything

With all his things packed away, the table was bare. The merchant picked up his trunk

“and began to walk, feeling his body relaxed. He thought of nothing as his feet touched the ground,”

left, and right, left, and right. The dust came up around him, and he felt how his arms swung

with each step, and his spine seemed to relax and become soft. The merchant fell into a slow and

“easy rhythm as he walked towards the mountains, heading home at the end of the day.”

We'll leave our story there for tonight. Hope you enjoyed our visit to the market,

and that you have some special dreams tonight. Sleep well. [Music] [Music] [Music] [Music]

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