historyMar 27, 20264:10:01

MAGICAL Sleepy Story✨ Stargazing on Cantharus ✨ FALL ASLEEP NOW

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GET SLEEPY — MAGICAL Sleepy Story✨ Stargazing on Cantharus ✨ FALL ASLEEP NOW. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.

The average cost of a D-Wine Virginia is $11,352.47. Drinking and driving costs more than your drinks. Learn more at what's the damage.org Brought to you by Virginia DMV. There's a moment right before a home repair goes wrong. When you say, what if I try this? That's when things get really tricky. When it comes to heating, plumbing and electrical, just leave it to the experts. Crop Metcalf handles everything from regular home maintenance to worry-free repairs. Book today at serviceexperts.com and save $90 on an HVAC Precision tune-up. Welcome to Get Sleepy. The podcast where we listen, we relax, and we get sleepy. My name's Thomas, and I'm your host.

Thanks for tuning in. I hope you've had a wonderful day. And now that it's done, you can enjoy a great night's sleep. Tonight, you and I will take a journey to a strange and wondrous planet called Cantharis. We'll walk through deep, dark woods to a famous star-watching rock. And along the way, we'll encounter miraculous mushrooms, birds that weave silk, and hear the story of a group of travelers who found their way home. And as we look out at the stars, we'll witness a grand spectacle, thousands of years in the making. So, let's settle in and prepare to hear our story now.

Make sure you're laying comfortably and just allow your eyes to close if you haven't already done so. Begin with a nice, deep breath in through the nose. Hold for a moment and slowly release. And on your next deep breath, really sense the flow of air, the softness and ease of the whole process. Feel that calming flow, the rise and fall of your chest and stomach that just allows us to center ourselves

and guides us deeper into relaxation. How lucky we are to find ourselves on this miraculous planet of ours, where the balance of the atmosphere is just right. The land we tread is perfectly hospitable. And the air we breathe helps us to live and thrive. Everyone here listening is resting comfortably, somewhere on the vast surface of this beautiful world. But as you listen to my voice, you can let your awareness of the world around you

begin to fade. Gently drift with your imagination and follow my voice as we embark on an otherworldly adventure in a different part of our limitless universe. Tonight is a very special night. Together, we'll gaze up at the stars from the surface of another planet and hear a truly miraculous story. We begin in a mysterious forest on a wondrous new world. In a distant arm of the galaxy,

there is a planet called Cantharus, whose name means a drinking goblet or a cow. In a distant arm of the galaxy, there is a planet called Cantharus, whose name means a drinking goblet or a cup that overflows. The planet is covered in green forests, but it's not these woods that gave Cantharus its name. Not the thousand varieties of sweet-centred, bitter-barked alien trees. Not the flowering vines, nor was it the gold-vained ferns that inspired the naming of this world. No, the jewel of Cantharus is a species of mushroom

called the drinking cup. It has other names as well. Some people call it the chalice of mercy, others the horn of grace, and still more have called it the angel's cup. This is the name that I prefer. Now the words fungus and mushroom fall short when it comes to describing a species the people of Cantharus see as proof that this universe of ours wants us to flourish. The angel's cup is a source of both life and hope. It's also beautiful to look at. It grows amidst dark trees,

which offset its pale golden colour, so that when you stumble across one in the woods, it always seems to be illuminated with warm, soft sunlight. It grows tall, sometimes up to 20 feet, and its figure curves gently, like a flared wine glass or a blooming rose. It feels warm to the touch when you rest the palm of your hand against it. When you draw near, you discover that it gives off a scent of crumbling, molded grain, or brown sugar sprinkled over buttered toast. If eaten fresh from the woods,

the angel's cup tastes faintly of lemon, or more accurately, lemon cake. But by some strange alchemy, if sauteed with olive oil in a cast iron pan, it takes on more of a savory flavour, like parsnips roasted with garlic. Most importantly, perhaps, the angel's cup can feed an entire people in difficult times. It grows plentifully in the deep woods of northern Camphoris. It regenerates quickly, and is rich in all the nutrients a body needs to live. For this reason, the people of this world

created huge nature reserves in the boreal woods where the angel's cup grows, so that it will always flourish here, in case they ever need its help again. Like many worlds now, Camphoris is home to humans, whose ancestors ventured from earth centuries ago. The surface of Camphoris is bright, with vast cities that glitter in the night. From space, you can see the roots between them, flowing like rivers of light, between luminescent ponds. As in other places, it can be hard to find a dark and peaceful place to watch the stars. But you've been to Camphoris before,

and I'm lucky enough to have deep ties to this strange and special world. There's a place I've visited several times before, a dark sky reserve in the northern woods, and I think it will be the perfect place to go star-watching with you on this special evening. For it is the night of the festival of stars. And so, as dusk settles over the city, like falling plum blossoms on the gardens of earth, we walk out together to the grassy landing pad outside the tower where you're staying. We find the golden needle of your flying craft,

nestled among your neighbours, like one starling in a flock, or a minnow in the midst of its school. We climb in together and settle ourselves on the plush seats. I fix myself a mug of spice bark tea while you warm up the controls. In a moment, we're airborne, rising over the city's crystal towers, like one of the planet's rosy coloured moons. And then, silent and inertialists, the craft takes off to the north, whispering over rivers, lakes, and glittering towns.

It glides like an awe. There's a moment right before Homer Pergo's wrong, when you say, what if I try this? That's when things start getting tricky. Next time, just leave it to the experts. Book with Crop Metcalf today and save $90 on an HVAC precision tuneup. There's a moment right before Homer Pergo's wrong, when you say, what if I try this? That's when things get really tricky. When it comes to heating, plumbing and electrical, just leave it to the experts. Crop Metcalf handles everything, from regular home maintenance to worry-free repairs. Book today at serviceexpress.com and save $90 on an HVAC precision tuneup. Through foaming waves of pink and purple clouds, that mass themselves over the red mountains, and above the shining disc of the twilight sea.

This craft of yours is swift enough to cross the dark between stars in a single afternoon. But cantharis is a lovely world, and it pays to make the journey slow. We fly northward together, while the evening fades out to a blue night. The moon's rise like a chain of rosy pearls, and pods of whales fly slowly over the ocean's surface. At last, the northern continent shows itself as a dark line upon the horizon. A moment later, we drift past its creamy surf

and stretches of white sand, and begin to descend over its wide reaches of nightbound forest. We fly slowly now, and lower the windows of the craft, to allow ourselves a taste of the fresh northern air. From time to time, we catch the crumbling golden scent of the angel's cup, mingling with the richer smells of spice bark, canthapine, and coffee wood. A chime from the dashboard tells us we're close to our destination, and you bring the craft around like a kayak in the water. You let it slowly settle in the air,

dropping gently to touch down on the liking-crusted northern stone. After stretching our arms and pouring ourselves another thermos of tea, we step out into the cool northern night. This way, I tell you, pointing to the north. There's a path barely visible under the dark trees, but I know where to look, because my friends have brought me here so many times during the warm summers. Under the trees, it's cool and dark, with a slow, humid breeze, that wafts the smell of fruiting the spores and softening wood.

Above us, through the branches that spread like stretching arms, we can just briefly see the sky for short moments every now and then. The stars here are so very bright, like fistfuls of diamonds scattered across a black velvet cloth. We stop to stare for just a moment, but then must hurry along. There's a better view ahead, and the main event is due to start in a couple of minutes. We come out of the woods onto a wide stretch of gently curving granite, which rings a body of water that's not quite big enough to be a lake.

Up this way, I tell you, and bound along a path that parallels the water's edge. Wiry trees grip the rock with gnarled roots. The breeze ripples their feathery bark. Off on our left, the water is flat as glass, black as obsidian, and full of stars. I'm leading the way up to a granite bluff that overlooks the water on the farther shore. The rocky ground is rising as we go. As we climb, the flavour of the air suddenly changes. It has gone from humid and rich in the trees

to sharp and clear by the open water, and now it takes on that flavour of crumbled malt. We crest a low rise, and there above us, spreading like trumpets or crystal goblets, is a stand of angel cups. You've never seen them this size before. They rise in stately ranks, the height of temple pillars, and give off that soft warmth, like stones warmed by the sun. I lead us up to the peak of the bluff, where the angel's cups thin out.

It's as if they want us to have an open place where we can watch the stars. This is it, I tell you. This is the spot, and it's obvious why. Above us, the sky is as clear as pure water, and you can see for thousands of light years into its depths. Below us, the water is no less clear, and it feels as though we're staring into a hole through the world itself, watching the endless sky on the planet's other side. You unfowl a blanket, and spread it out on the stones. It's cool here,

but the stones are still warm from the day, and the angel's cups block the breeze. I pour our thermos of tea. As we settle ourselves on the blanket, the billowing steam from two hot mugs curls upward into the bright black sky. Leaning back against the warm stones, we settle in to watch the celestial events unfold on this night of the festival of stars. I tell you a story about how this special night came to be, and why it's so important. It goes like this.

Over 6,000 years ago, there was a planet called Morris. This world no longer exists. The jewel of Morris was a certain kind of tree, the Kaifian mulberry, which at the time could not be found in any other place within the universe we know. In truth, this so-called mulberry was nothing of the kind. Unlike the mulberry trees of earth, its fruit was large, silver, and poisonous to eat. But just as earthbound silkworms love the mulberry, so the Kaifian tree was favored by the famous Morian silkbird.

Only this bird could safely eat the fruit. It transformed them into silk, which it used to weave its nests. In time, the people of Morris learned to raise these birds and weave their silk into a fabric finer than any other that could be found in a thousand light years. They became wonderful artists and masters of the craft. They made tapestries that told the stories of a hundred worlds, and wove cloaks the colour of the inside of an atom. But there was a price to be paid for all this. While the people of Morris dedicated themselves wholeheartedly

to their art and trade, they forgot what it was like to take time away from the world, to simply sit and watch the stars. And so, maybe it was for the best that this state of affairs couldn't last forever. In time, the star around which Morris orbited became unstable. The people of Morris were left with a choice, to scatter across the worlds of their neighbours and friends, or to embark together on a voyage to an uninhabited planet far across the stars. They chose to stay together,

and like bright minnows venturing into a vast black ocean, their ships left Morris and travelled far into unknown space, never to return again. I force silent for a moment. And you ask me, is that the end of the story? I laugh and shake my head, and answer, no. As we lean back on the warm blanket, laid across the stones, watching the stars turn above, I point to a certain sector of the sky. There it is, I tell you.

For a moment, you follow the line of my finger, confused. It might seem as though I'm pointing at a dark, empty space between the stars. And then, as if by magic, a light kindles itself in the depths. It's as if the stars have poured some slight of hand, produced an extra moon from their sleeves, and snuck it into the sky while we weren't looking. The light grows and grows, from a star-like pimprik, into a light even bigger and brighter than the largest moon. It's a light so bright,

it dims the other stars, and casts shadows across the tall and silent angels' cups. It's a curious thing to gaze into the night sky, because it's the same as staring into the distant past. Because of the speed at which light travels, you are, in essence, peering back through the years, as you trace the line of light and picture it to its distant origin. It's strange to watch the breaking of a star that you know was broken six millennia ago, and it's strange to be on Cantharis,

when the people of Morris see the light of their home star for the first time in six thousand years, and for the last time. It feels like a reminder of all we have in this life, that is precious, and of the notion that home is the place you've come to land, where beautiful things are possible. It is wondrous to ponder these ideas, both from the time frame of stars and galaxies, and on that of a single evening in the woods. The people of Morris traveled for many years.

Their ships became their homes, as they voyaged across the vast, uncharted sky. And yet, they knew they could not travel forever. Eventually, their voyage had to come to an end. After all that happened, days and nights and years spent traversing the darkness of space. The people who left Morris landed right here on Cantharis. When they arrived on this strange new world, without rations or supplies, they found the angels' cup awaiting them, offering a drink of gathered rainwater

and a nourishing bite to eat. And now, six thousand years have passed. What they call canthar and silk, is as fine as the murion style ever was. The people still keep the northern forests dark and protected, so that the angels' cup can grow, and so they always have a place to go and watch the stars. In their hearts, they are grateful for their journey through space, for the memories of Morris, and the place they now call home.

For a while, we sit together, watching the supernova bloom across the sky. It's colour the same faint gold as the angels' cups around us. In time, the night brings with it a light chill. We gather up our things, and make our way back down to your craft. You tell me that you're feeling sleepy, and I offer to fly us home. It's warm inside, and the craft gives off a comforting hum, as it rises into the air. And then, we saw together through the gentle night,

watching the distant light of the star of Morris, reflecting alongside rose coloured moons on the surface of a quiet sea. And then, we saw together through the gentle night, watching the distant light of the star of a quiet sea. And then, we saw together through the gentle night, watching the distant light of the star of a quiet sea. And then, we saw together through the gentle night, watching the distant light of the star of a quiet sea.

And then, we saw together through the gentle night, watching the distant light of the star of a quiet sea. And then, we saw together through the gentle night, watching the distant light of the star of a quiet sea. And then, we saw together through the gentle night, watching the distant light of the star of a quiet sea. There's a moment right before Homer Pair goes wrong. When you say, what if I try this? That's when things start getting tricky. Next time, just leave it to the experts.

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