The Dream Brewer | Calming Bedtime Story For Adults

Hey Jeffrey here, and welcome back to Night Falls. I hope you've had a wonderful day, 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, I was on the coast in a wonderful village called Taghazout, San Si, Sand and Sarf. 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, imim, berber for delicious, and to hit the souks market, so vibrant and alive. And 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's the quick ad break that keeps this free content possible. To go ad free, subscribe via the link in the show notes. You know, there are a lot of different places here in night falls, but during the day, I still find myself wanting to learn a little more about the world. That's what led me to everything everywhere daily. It's one of the most popular daily education podcasts. Even recently ranked the number one history podcast. In each episode is about 10 minutes, so it's easy to fit into your day. They cover everything from history and science to fascinating people and moments you might never have come across otherwise. Some recent episodes I really liked include one on the history of curling, which as a scott I have a soft spot for, tracing it back to medieval Scotland. Or their episode on the world's greatest art museums, which I found myself really drawn to. I've always loved art, and hearing the stories behind these places makes it feel surprisingly immersive. So if you like the idea of learning something new without ever feeling like work, learn something new every single day with everything everywhere daily. Find it on Apple podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts. Alright, now back to night falls. 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 quicken. They were the sleepers. As these lucky sleepers started to drift off, they found themselves in a warm living room. The old wooden floor was covered with a huge antique rug, decorated with embroidery, in 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. They 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 semicircle. The stalls were rickety wooden tables covered in light linen cloth. For sale, there were plump oranges, wrinkled delicious dates, and bright pink pomegranates just waiting for someone to cut into them. Big bunches of mint and piles of golden saffron set in beautiful ceramic bowls. And behind this 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 favorite 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 silken 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 favorite recipes in a huge leather-bound recipe book. There were tiny bottles of delicious sweet tinctures formed of dandelion root and citrus fruits. He had jugs of cream and many, many jars of tea. The merchants 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 set up his stall, he let his mind wander, 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 found their way to him. They'd wander 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 felt. He waited, observed each person, and pondered over who might come to him. It 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. Ronan, 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 stopped 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, set in a dream. But there's lots of other people in this particular dream. I can 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 he 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. Something that would inspire. The merchant closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply, letting the warm air fill his lungs. He could smell the delicious fruits and herbs on the stalls around him. He let 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 special tea 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 as 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 treacle mixed with something nutty and rich. 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 world. 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 felt a great sense of pride. He was sure the dream was a good one. The next visitor was a young woman. She had been scoping 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 beckoned for her to come and she walked over, curious. What's your name? He asked. Florence, she said. He smiled, that same warm smile he'd given Ronan. Well, Florence, I can make you a dream if you like. Anything 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. Florence, Florence, Florence. He closed his eyes. Again, he breathed in deeply, letting his shoulders fall, relaxing his ideas as the come together. The merchant laid his hands over the spoons 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 felt 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 kettle over a flame. He brewed a tea for Florence with fresh spearmen and then his secret mixture of tea leaves. He smelled 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 verbena and orange blossom water. He handed it over. Florence closed her eyes and took a sip, letting herself enjoy the delicious flavours. 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 silver fish 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 conch cells formed archways, layers of coral and mother of pearl spiraled upward into towers. She stared at it, the most perfect, intricate building. It seemed ancient. Inside, through a wide archway, framed by coral fans, she could just about make out a long haul, lined with scallop 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 no, she seemed entirely at ease, and that intrigued him. Greetings, the merchant said. What's your name? 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'd met a few over the years, but not for a very long time. She looked at his equipment with interest. You use lavender ash, she asked approvingly. He nodded. She went closer, and she picked up a tiny vial 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 gestured to his equipment. The merchant was delighted. He'd made so many dreams, and he knew instinctively what 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. With a skill evident in her speed, she ground down almonds to a fine paste and added some of the merchant's 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 herbs, and she took a few pinches from many of the bottles, adding them to the tea with care. Ariadne stirred the mixture, and the merchant could smell the fragrant and unusual blend. Then she handed it over to the merchant in a steaming cup. Go 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 lychee 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 for the first time. 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. She'd included some of the elements of dreams he'd always found the hardest to create, and he wondered how she'd worked out the exact blend of tea and sugar and herbs. The scenery was perfectly intact. It didn't slip away as he looked around. He realized this was perfect for him. He loved the forest and its 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 skills, and the scenes moved quickly. With 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 syrups and different milks to develop a wondrous escape. Marvelling, 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 left. 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 backs. 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 tin containing all his special types of tea. Then, when he'd finished, he slotted each one of his spoons into the silken bag and back into his battered old trunk. He appreciated how everything fit just right, and as he closed the trunk, it made a satisfying clunk. With all his things packed away, the table was bare. The merchant picked up his trunk and began to walk, feeling his body relax. 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.