A Snowy Winter's Night In Greenwich Village

Take a sleep journey to the historic home of beatniks and poets, Greenwich Village, during a winter's snowstorm. This guided visualization will help you relax, unwind, and find refuge in a loft apartment, cozy by the fire as the snow begins to fall outside your window. It's time to dream away.

Transcript

Get cozy and ready to fall asleep with a bedtime story.

There is a historic village in a bustling city where the beatniks once roamed and the music played all night.

Where artists and brave souls have spoken their truths from the candlelit exposed brick walls of basement parlors,

Smoky jazz clubs,

And legendary dives.

And tonight,

On a magical winter's eve,

You may find yourself in the timeless setting of Greenwich Village.

Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary,

You are listening to A Snowy Winter's Night in Greenwich Village.

This talk-down and guided sleep meditation will help you relax and unwind at the end of a long day in a setting that will foster cozy feelings and inspired thoughts.

That will unlock the imaginative and most creative parts of yourself before you fall asleep.

And in this bohemian capital of New York,

This artist's haven where all the dreamers came together will activate the inner voice that guides you towards your own dreams.

Because we all may connect with that voice in silence and in peace,

In reverence and appreciation,

With a knowledge that all you need to know is waiting to be accessed and most easily may be heard and seen after you are gently ushered over the bridge from your waking to your dreaming life.

And as you listen to my voice,

You may ebb and flow out of consciousness,

Letting go whenever it feels right to you.

Imagining my voice is that of a gentle leader and guide that will help you unlock the parts of yourself that you most desire connecting to right now before you fall asleep.

And you may lie down,

Feeling so heavy and relaxed as your body melts into your bed and your eyes fall like heavy sandbags over your very tired eyes,

Inhaling and exhaling,

Inhaling the word release,

And then exhaling the word me,

And inhaling again deeply.

And as you exhale,

You find yourself on Cornelia Street,

A narrow side street within the heart of the village,

Walking upon the sidewalk in the evening hours.

Your exhalation appears before you as the air is cold and damp,

Tasting like a cold metal spoon,

As you inhale the tiny droplets of the misty air,

And as you inhale again,

You feel your ribs press against the perfectly tailored wool peacoat that's double-breasted with brass buttons that are artfully engraved,

Before exhaling and seeing your breath come out in a visible stream.

In this magic state,

You see the word freedom scrolled across your visible breath as if drawn by a finger writing in the sand.

And you feel freedom.

Free from the judgment of others,

Free from self-judgment,

Free of expectations,

Free to beat to your own inner drum.

And as you inhale and exhale again,

Walking towards Bleecker Street,

You feel the captivating and enthralling energy of generations who came before you.

Time no longer feels linear,

As if all the greatest moments in this creative mecca are now existing all at once in this timeless experience.

Your laced-up military-style vintage boots have wooden heels that tap upon the damp silvery sidewalks in a determined rhythm.

You don't know where you are going,

And you don't have to know.

This is your time to wander,

To follow that inner voice that allows you to go wherever feels right and wherever feels good.

And everything feels right and good.

You turn left on Bleecker Street,

The artery of the village that is occupied by a cheese shop and wine bars and jazz clubs and quaint shops and restaurants.

Normally bustling,

The village is somewhat sleepy on this cold,

Brisk night as flurries begin to fall.

The row houses have occupied the historic stretch for centuries,

Rising just a few stories above the street,

So you may see the dark grey-plum clouds overhead with silvery linings.

The street is brilliantly decorated for the holiday season with red-bowed wreaths that hang on the shop doors.

Looking up into the apartments above,

You see the Christmas trees adorned with strings of rainbow-colored lights,

Noting how cozy it is within.

How many generations of families and lovers have enjoyed the safe respite in these historic buildings.

Stories upon stories have played out and you allow your mind to travel to thoughts of earlier days.

You allow yourself to realize that you are leaving your own mark in history right now.

You recognize what you are in control of and what you are not.

And you are in control of how you feel right now.

As the nippy breeze hits your nose and makes it tingle,

Surely red as a cherry,

Upon your flushed face,

The feeling spreads to an enjoyable burning sensation in your cheeks because you feel so alive as each large snowflake falls around you,

Some landing upon your lips as you feel the detail of each unique design,

As if being draped with cool lace.

While most of Manhattan is designed in a meticulous grid,

The quaint streets of the village weave and wind,

Turning and curving in ways around every corner that you may find a surprise park or garden.

Once a rural area in the 17th century,

The carvings of roads remain unique even now as you continue eastward on Bleecker until you come upon a square.

In the center of this square,

That is surrounded by park benches and a wrought iron fence,

Is a Christmas tree that is adorned with sapphire blue and white lights,

Twinkling beneath the falling snow.

And positioned at the base of the glorious tree is a saxophonist,

Playing a festive and soulful melody that reverberates through your torso and sends tingles up and down your spine as you are the sole audience member.

You stop to watch him beneath a straw-hued glow of a street lamp that shines down upon him in the holiday tree,

His fingers exposed from fingerless gloves as they gracefully move upon the keys.

You take in the splendor,

The damp air invigorating the fragrance of the tree as it wafts towards you and makes you feel as if you have been transported into an evergreen forest.

The music continues to play and you drop a handful of coins into his case.

He looks up and meets your gaze and says,

You are free,

My friend.

Free and easy and happy to be alive.

And you smile and thank him and tell him he is free as well.

Two free winter birds on Bleecker Street and you are so amazed that he can even recognize how great you feel inside and how it manages to project to all those around you,

Shining your light,

Spreading good vibes.

You continue on your way,

Noticing as the snow comes down,

As if poured upon the village in buckets,

The streets are now as if coated with icing,

With a blanket of clean white snow that glistens and refracts light.

A cab continues northward,

A stash of brilliant yellow amidst the bleary white snow.

As you cross Sixth Avenue and continue along Bleecker,

You feel quite tired and ready to seek refuge as the wind howls against your back like a gentle push towards the warm historic townhome that awaits you.

Your boots crunch upon the fresh snow as you inhale and think of the word let and then exhale and think of the word go.

Letting go,

Right?

Gliding across the snow,

You extend your arms and embrace the night.

How beautiful it is when the snow comes in and within moments a dark street is shimmering and fresh and transformed.

And so too may you,

With the right intention,

Be fresh and renewed and reset.

Walking past an intimate French bistro,

You look inside to see patrons enjoying glasses of red wine and cappuccinos at cozy tables covered in red gingham and you realize it would be so nice to enjoy being nestled in the comforts of your home.

You turn left on a side street towards your apartment building,

Ready to call it a night.

Your feet leaving prints in the fresh snow,

Crunching as you turn around and smile,

Remembering the first time you ever experienced snow.

The wind is becoming blustery as you come upon a four-story row house that is painted red and has French windows and doors.

The intercom is to the right of the door,

Now lightly dusted in snow.

It has your name written in cursive.

You place the key in the lock and open the door,

Entering,

Shaking the snow off your person as you approach the carpeted steps that lead you up.

The mahogany wood banister has been covered with a spiral of gold garland,

Counting each step,

One,

Two,

Three,

Four.

As you come to a landing and another hallway,

The doors of the two apartments on this floor have been made festive for the holidays,

With the word joy appearing on one and a fragrant wreath hanging on the other.

You continue to the next set of stairs,

Feeling the garland beneath your numb hands that are returning to life as prickling needles of heat meet them.

Feeling so tired and heavy and almost sluggish,

You come to your apartment door and unlock it,

And you feel that relief that comes after a long journey home.

This is your home.

This is your sanctuary.

The door opens into a foyer where you hang your coat and scarf and remove your boots,

Slowly unlacing them.

You step upon the wood floors and inhale the fragrance of Christmas from the cinnamon sticks that adorn a mistletoe that hangs above the threshold.

You continue into the lofty apartment,

With ceilings that soar high overhead.

The exposed burgundy brick walls,

Aged by centuries yet still intact,

With a beige mortar that now looks like sand.

A Christmas tree stands high in the corner of the wide open room,

Nearly ceiling height.

It is decorated by your own design and illuminates the room,

And nestled within the brick wall is a fireplace that you go to and begin to start a fire,

Striking a match against the wall.

You create a flame and ignite scrunched up balls of newspaper that sit in the hearth and surrounding a log.

They instantly come aglow as you add kindling and the fire begins to roar,

Flames slowly licking around the log.

And you rub your hands as you take in the amber warmth,

As you inhale the fragrant smell of burning wood.

You go to your armoire,

An antique piece of history that has been in this loft apartment for decades and was hand-painted so many years ago.

You always take a moment to admire the artistry that carries the energy of local artists from the village in a time before you came along.

Your hand grasps the brass handle as you open the door to remove your favorite bedclothes,

And you change into them,

Feeling warm and cozy,

And so content to be in the colorful,

Warmed-toned glow of the room from the fireplace and the Christmas lights.

There is a velvet settee and a canopy bed in the apartment and you opt to go straight to the bed,

Where you may get beneath the down comforter and listen to the fire crackling and popping and the howling winds that whip through the narrow street below.

And from your plush bed,

You may watch as the snowflakes fall upon the city street,

Coming down like powdered sugar.

You can see into the apartments on the other side of the street,

Looking in on their holiday trees that are also aglow and a menorah that occupies another window.

You feel so blessed to be here,

Connected with life and humanity,

Where just outside the safety of your apartment and sanctuary,

Life continues to happen and may be witnessed whenever you desire.

Before you,

Like a live movie,

It unfolds.

It offers a rhythm and a feeling of nostalgia,

Reminiscent of a Norman Rockwell painting and the most bittersweet of Christmas carols,

About longing and holiday cheer.

You hear the sounds from the streets,

The joyous laughter of a couple running in the snow.

From the safety of your bed,

You may look out upon the snowy landscape and also at the cozy tree and fire that burns brightly inside your dwelling.

Sensing the high ceilings above,

The worn wooden floors below,

The exposed brick walls around you,

It is as if you're in a protective cocoon,

Ready to bed down for the night,

Ready to dream the most beautiful of watercolor dreams.

Painted by the vivid and playful strokes of your imagination.

And whatever it is you seek to know about your life,

Whatever you seek to heal,

You may do so tonight in the safety of your sanctuary,

In the blanket of warmth and warm light that wraps around you,

Melting you in the heart center,

Feeling such relief,

Such bliss,

Such total relaxation as you are letting go,

Drifting,

Dreaming in between your waking and sleeping life.

How wonderful it is to have two separate worlds that begin to melt together right now.

And as the wind continues to howl,

As the snow begins to pile up on the city streets and the sills of your oversized windows that glimpse out unto the world,

You are able to drift as gently as a snowdrift in a winter's wind.

And with this,

I am going to guide you deeper and deeper down towards sleep,

Deep towards respite,

Counting down 10,

9,

8,

7,

6,

5,

4,

3,

2,

Finding contentment,

Finding ease,

Finding your voice,

Finding all that you seek and all that you desire,

Finding sleep.

It's time to dream away.

Good night.

Reviews

I will use again very visual meditation that was relaxing & I went to sleep thankyou.

I fell asleep. Thank you so much. Maybe one day I will make it to the end 💓

Loved this guided meditation, transports you to a place of peace and tranquility.

I lived on Grove Street in the Village many years ago. I could picture every street, etc. I fell asleep when I got to the apartment! Thank you. I will listen again to the end. This was so enjoyable.

This was lovely and I fell asleep so peacefully. Thank you 🌹.

Thank you, as always for the soothing talk, Michelle!

Great pace. Puts me to sleep gracefully. Thanks!

I never heard the end! Thank you!

Thank you, Michelle🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻Love this one. Have been using it for 2 nights now, and only very early this morning did I hear the full story, kind of, I lost some parts in between, and it gave me several more hours of sleep and could not really tell you the content, it is very atmospheric, roaming through a crisscross of streets, remember the sax player under a decorated tree🙏🏻😴🙏🏻😴🙏🏻😴

Love this!! Thank you. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 😘

What lovely journey!♥️♥️♥️

Uniquely curious, creative, and cozy approach.