A Coastal Train Ride To Sleep

Sleep peacefully tonight with the sound of being on a train as you fall asleep. I will guided you into a very relaxed state and describe the surroundings that you will visualise from my words. You will pass through villages and yet at the same time be adjacent to the sea. This is a slow and unhurried guided meditation and the background sounds will continue to lull you into a restful and calm state.

Transcript

You find yourself on a train journey.

The motion beneath you is steady and patient,

A rhythmic sway that moves through the seat,

Up your spine and into your breath.

Outside,

The sky is folding into dusk,

The last rays of the sun stretch across the sea,

Painting it in layers of bronze,

Pink and silver.

The windows are wide,

The glass faintly cool against your temple.

Somewhere down the carriage,

A quiet voice murmurs,

The soft click of cups from the trolley fades into the distance.

The hum of the wheels against the track is constant,

Almost like a heartbeat,

Regular,

Soothing and infinite.

You can see the coastline now,

The sand glows in the last light,

The small waves reach the shore in gentle sighs.

Behind the dunes are houses with slate roofs and small gardens leaning toward the water.

Every window catches the same sunlight,

Small squares of gold that blink one by one as the train glides past.

You take a slow breath,

The air smells faintly of sea salt,

Iron and warmth.

You are safe here,

Travelling between places,

Watching time slow into evening.

The rhythm of the train begins to cradle you,

Each curve of the track rocks your body,

Each steady beat of wheels smooths away another thought.

You realise you don't need to go anywhere in particular,

You're simply moving through this long luminous evening,

Towards rest.

The coast opens wider now,

The track nearer the water again,

The light ripples on the surface,

Bright like melted metal near the horizon.

A seagull glides parallel with the train,

Just for a few moments,

Then veers away toward the dunes.

You lean your head against the window and let the sound of the sea and the sound of the train blend together.

Two rhythms becoming one.

Ahead,

The first cluster of rooftops appears,

White against the fading sky.

The train slows slightly as it approaches the first village.

Seabrook rests at the edge of the tide,

Cottages with chalk white walls line the narrow lanes,

Their roofs are red clay,

Curved and uneven.

Each house has shutters painted blue or green,

And hanging baskets spill over with petunias that sway in the salt air.

You glimpse the harbour,

A horseshoe of stone walls holding still water where fishing boats float,

Their hulls painted turquoise and green.

The masts creak softly as the evening breeze moves through them.

In this small village,

You can imagine the smell of fried batter and vinegar,

From the little shop near the pier.

The sunlight hits the windows of the harbour inn,

Turning them to sheets of gold.

A cat stretches on the doorstep.

A man closes a shop shutter.

The metallic clatter echoing once,

Then silence.

The train glides past at a walking pace,

And you feel as though you're floating,

Sliding between moments of other people's peace.

The track curves,

And the sea returns on your right.

The water gleams peach coloured now,

A ribbon of light that stretches to the horizon.

The sound of the waves merges again with the wheels.

You breathe in softly,

Feeling the calmness of Seabrook settling into your chest.

Small,

Simple,

Complete.

As the village fades behind,

Your body grows heavier in the seat,

Your muscles loosening in perfect rhythm with the train.

The coast broadens,

The train runs parallel with the beach.

You see footprints in the sand below,

Two lines wandering toward the tide,

Disappearing into foam.

The smell of seaweed and cool brine drifts faintly through the vent.

The sun lowers another degree,

Its reflection stretching across the water like a path of fire.

The sky begins to shift from apricot to rose to the first hints of violet.

The rails sing under the carriage,

Each note vibrates through your bones,

Slow,

Sure and hypnotic.

In the distance,

Another village appears,

Tucked between a river and a hill.

Rivenmere begins with a bridge,

Stone arches spanning a narrow estuary.

You can see where the river meets the sea,

Fresh water curling into salt,

The colours merging in subtle swirls of green and blue.

Reeds bend along the banks,

Their soft plumes shimmer in the fading light.

Beyond the bridge,

Houses cluster around a church tower,

The walls are pale grey stone,

The roofs steep,

Edged with moss.

Each window glows amber as lamps are lit inside.

There's a small green where people walk their dogs.

You glimpse one lamp post flickering on,

Hallowed in a soft mist.

A windmill stands at the far edge of the village,

Its blades unmoving now,

Silhouetted against the orange sky.

You imagine the smell of damp earth and wild mint from the marsh,

And somewhere a bell rings six times,

The hour folding gently into night.

The train crosses the bridge,

The sound deepening as iron meets stone,

Then lightens again as you emerge over the open fields.

The view widens,

The sea returns,

Closer this time,

Its edge marked by drifting lines of white foam.

You watch until the water and the sky merge,

Then close your eyes briefly,

Letting the rhythm carry you deeper,

Inward.

When you open them again,

Trees fill the view,

Brackenly wood hugs the inland curve of the track,

Its roofs hidden among pines and silver birches.

The smell here changes,

There's an earthy resin,

Damp bark,

The faint sweetness of leaf mould.

Wooden houses stand on stilts above the forest floor,

Their walls are dark with varnish and their windows reflect in the last orange light of dusk.

You can see strings of lanterns between them,

Swaying slightly in the breeze.

A narrow platform passes by,

A single figure waits,

Holding a paper bag that catches the glow of a nearby lamp.

The train barely slows,

You glimpse the path leading from the platform into the trees,

Lined with mushrooms and fallen leaves,

Shining wet with dew.

Then the forest thins out,

The light changes and the sea returns.

It's now a darker blue,

The waves edged with silver,

You can hear them faintly even through the glass,

A soft hush timed perfectly with the trains rocking.

The sky above the horizon burns in the last flare of sunset,

You watch the colours melt,

Gold fading to rose,

Rose to violet,

Violet to deepening blue,

The transition feels like a long exhalation.

You notice your shoulders sink another inch,

Your hands resting open and still on your lap.

The track climbs gently,

Curving along a high bank,

Below,

Cliffs drop to the sea in layers of chalk and shadow.

Clifton Rise perches along the ridge,

It's houses arranged like steps,

Carved into the hillside.

Their walls are pale stone,

Veined with iron,

Their roofs gleam copper in the last streaks of sun.

You see a bell tower rising from the centre,

It's clock face is golden,

It's hands dark against the glow.

A path winds downward to a small promenade lined with benches,

There's a cafe with striped awnings now closing for the night,

The chairs are stacked up and the lights are dimmed.

The windows reflect both sunset and sea.

A small bridge crosses a gorge where water tumbles invisibly,

Far below.

You catch only the faint flash of it's movement,

Like silver thread in the shadows,

The train passes so smoothly it feels as if it's gliding through the air.

From this height you can see far out,

The curve of the coast,

The next stretch of track winding toward twilight.

The air has become cool and the first star shows faintly above the horizon.

You breathe in and feel the freshness of that height settle into your lungs,

Your pulse slows to the rhythm of the wheels,

Steady,

Circular and endless.

The train drifts closer to the sea once more,

The beach glimmers under the lilac sky,

The tide is lower,

With pools of water mirroring the fading colours.

You can see the reflection faintly in the window,

Superimposed over the landscape,

Your eyes are half closed,

Peaceful as if you are already dreaming this journey.

The rails hum softly,

The sound feels almost like breathing,

You can imagine the scent of the water,

Clean,

Mineral and cool.

The sun's rim touches the horizon and the sea catches fire for a final moment before it begins to dim.

In that glow,

Another settlement appears,

Boats moored close together,

Lights flickering on the masts.

You are approaching the fifth village,

Harbour's edge lives by the rhythm of boats,

The station here is only a short platform,

Beside warehouses turned into cafes and galleries.

Strings of small bulbs hang overhead,

Their reflections dancing in puddles left by the afternoon tide.

Fishing nets dry along fences,

Crates are stacked neatly by a shuttered market stall.

You can smell salt and diesel and something sweet,

Baked bread cooling behind a window.

A radio plays softly from somewhere unseen,

A tune half lost to the wind.

Seagulls perch on lampposts,

Their feathers ruffled,

Their eyes closing one by one as evening deepens.

The harbour water shifts with slow ripples that catch the gold of streetlights.

You watch as the first real darkness gathers.

The sky deepens into indigo,

The sea turning mirror black.

The train moves again and you watch the reflections of the village lights slide along the carriage wall,

Then fade.

You feel the motion deepen in your body,

Each sway more like a breath,

Each sound more like a heartbeat.

The weight of sleep is nearby now,

Gentle and persuasive.

Beyond a stretch of open coast and low dunes,

The track curves inland,

One last time,

Toward Moonmere.

Here,

The sea and a fresh water lake almost meet,

A narrow spit of land between them holds the village.

As the train approaches,

You see both waters at once.

To one side,

The lake smooth and still as glass,

To the other,

The sea rippling under starlight.

The houses stand between them,

Whitewashed,

The windows glow pale amber.

Along the lakeside,

Willows dip their branches into the mirror water,

A small footbridge arches from one bank to another.

Its railings,

Silvered by the rising moon.

You can now see a rowboat tied beneath it,

Rocking gently in place.

Beyond the last houses,

A stretch of woodland climbs a low hill,

Oak,

Ash and pine,

Their leaves whispering softly in the night air.

The scent of wet grass and wood smoke reaches even through the glass.

The train slows almost to a silence,

You could believe it's gliding.

The moon climbs higher,

Perfectly round,

Its reflections stretching across both lake and sea,

Two silver paths leading away in opposite directions.

You breathe in once more and feel a peaceful ache of beauty,

So calm it almost dissolves the edges of thought.

The world outside the window seems endless,

And yet you are safe within it.

Now the train leaves the villages behind,

The coastline opens into emptiness,

Dunes grass and sea,

Night has fully arrived.

The moonlight lays a path across the water,

Every waved peak catches silver before it falls again,

Into shadow.

Inside the carriage,

The lights are dimmed,

Only the soft overhead glow remains,

And even that feels distant and gentle.

You can hear the low murmur of the engine,

The quiet breathing of other passengers asleep.

Your own reflection in the window looks half dreaming,

Its eyes are heavier in each moment,

Its lips curved in the faintest smile.

Outside,

The scenery blurs into shades of blue and black,

With the occasional sparkle of a far lighthouse,

Or a ship's light drifting on the horizon.

The rhythmic sound of the train becomes a lullaby,

The steady clatter softened by distance,

The low hum rising and falling,

Like waves.

You feel your body sway with it,

Muscles releasing one by one,

Each breath slower,

Smoother and quieter than the last.

Your head rests against the seat,

The fabric is warm and slightly textured,

You can sense the vibration of the rails through it,

A tiny tremor,

Comforting and constant.

Your hands rest loosely in your lap,

Your feet heavy against the floor.

You notice how the sound of the sea seems to echo the motion of the train,

Two tides moving together.

The moon outside is high now,

Its light silvering the interior of the carriage,

It glances off of metal rails,

Off the surface of the waves,

Off your own half closed eyes.

Everything glows faintly,

As if covered by a layer of calmness.

You breathe in the night air that seeps faintly through the vent,

It's cool,

Slightly salty but perfectly clean.

It fills your lungs and with each breath your mind grows clearer and emptier at once.

There's no effort and no direction,

Just rest stretching out before you like the coastline itself.

You watch the moonlight dance on the water one last time,

The waves rise and fall in slow motion,

Each crest catching light and fading again.

It feels like watching your own thoughts drift away,

One shining briefly and dissolving into the darkness.

Your eyelids grow heavier,

They lower half way,

Then flutter once,

Then settle closed.

You can still hear the train,

Still feel it moving,

But it's distant now,

A sound already belonging to a dream.

In the space behind your eyes,

The rhythm of the rails continues,

Your breathing synchronises with it perfectly,

In and out.

The muscles of your face loosen completely,

Your jaw hangs soft,

Your shoulders melt,

Your spine unwinds.

Every part of you drifts toward weightless rest.

Outside,

The moonlight turns the waves to silk,

They shimmer and disappear.

The train moves onward into the darkness,

Its lights like a quiet thread along the coast.

Villages sleep behind you,

Each one leaving a trace of its peace within you.

The sound grows softer still,

And the space between each breath lengthens.

Your thoughts fade like tide foam,

Dissolving into the sand.

Soon,

There is only the rhythm,

That endless harsh of movement.

The ocean,

The rails,

The steady beating of your own calm heart.

Your eyelids are too heavy to lift now,

You sink deeper,

Hearing the final whisper of the waves against the shore,

Seeing the last gleam of moonlight slide across the window.

Then even that light fades,

The sound fades,

The world narrows to warmth and stillness.

You are asleep.