Songs Of The Canyon | Calm Sleep Story

Laurel Canyon in 1969 was the dreamy epicenter for singer-songwriters and the California rock scene. Spend the afternoon hiking the Hollywood Hills, inhaling the rich perfume of honeysuckle. You hitch a ride in a convertible to your fairytale cottage where Joni Mitchell is your neighbor. At twilight, you gather around a fire in a hammock swing with your cat. Joni's powerful voice and sage lyrics are met by a coyote's call. Basked in moonlight, you connect to a mysticism before falling asleep.

Transcript

Fall asleep fast with this relaxing bedtime story for grown-ups.

You are listening to Songs of the Canyon,

A guided sleep story set in Laurel Canyon.

Travel back to 1969 and spend a night in a fairy tale cottage nestled in the Hollywood Hills.

Find comfort in Mother Nature as Honeysuckle wafts on the canyon breeze that carries the melodies of musical icons and songs of nocturnal creatures.

Beneath a starry sky,

The magical canyon comes to life.

Set to the live music of Joni Mitchell,

Then a hammock swing by the fire,

You rock away and connect with nature and yourself.

As the embers burn down,

You revel in this timeless experience before returning to your cottage and falling into a deep sleep.

It's time to dream away.

I would like to welcome you to Michelle's Sanctuary.

My name is Michelle and as you listen,

Think of me as the voice of a loving guide and friend.

As your sleep ally,

I encourage you to use your imagination for pleasant thoughts as you prioritize rest and relaxation.

You have earned this time.

It is yours and yours alone to find respite from the outside world and go deep within the sanctuary of your body and mind.

You are safe.

You are well.

As you listen,

You have the liberty to customize every detail to your needs and desires.

At any point you may let go of my voice and fall asleep.

Be gentle and kind as you nurture yourself in a way that feels right to you.

Be soft,

Be easy as you prepare to drift across the bridge to your dreaming life.

Settle into your bed and feel your body become heavy.

Sink down,

Down,

Down into the support of your mattress.

You are supported right now in several ways.

Surrender to this feeling of security.

Place any tension held in your body as you open your mouth into a big yawn.

And then sigh.

At the pace that feels right,

Inhale through your nose.

Imagine the air of your room carries the aroma of the Hollywood hills of sweet honeysuckle,

California sagebrush,

And trail dust.

Open your mouth and yawn and then sigh.

Go at your own pace.

The fragrant air becomes so strong that you can feel the late afternoon sun filtering through wispy clouds and warming your face.

You inhale again very slowly as if savoring each aromatic note.

The air feels warm and dry as it travels down your throat.

Open your mouth into another yawn.

Indicate it is okay for all the muscles and nerve cells in your body to stand down.

Sigh and release all the air in your lungs until your belly deflates and your rib cage sinks down.

Take one more round of breathing at your own pace.

Appreciate every molecule of oxygen that makes its way through your body and gives you life.

Notice how much more relaxed and calm you feel now,

Setting the mood for the journey ahead.

It's time for the story to begin.

The steep curvy roads of the Hollywood hills wind like ambitious vines twisting towards open skies.

Whimsical conical cypress trees and Hollywood junipers rise out of the earth in spirals worthy of being painted by Van Gogh.

The energy of 1969 permeates the California air.

At a time when young souls make a mass exodus to the coastal state with lofty dreams and innocent hope,

They are met by sunny days and celebrate creativity with the hearts and minds of dreamers.

You hike a dusty trail that weaves through patches of sage and elderberry bushes.

Gravel crunches beneath your feet and you feel your shoes grip the small pieces of earth that leave tawny clouds in your wake.

Clouds like fairy hair create a veil over the golden sun to soften the heat of the late afternoon.

A breeze rustles the canyon trees and causes your loose yet colorful attire to ripple.

You extend your arms to stretch at a summit and the wind takes hold of the fabric.

For a moment you feel you could take off into the sky like a kite without a string.

You come to Laurel Canyon Boulevard and walk along the shoulder of the road over silvery gray stones that sparkle in the soft light.

You arrive at a lookout where a turquoise Volkswagen bus is parked and overlooks Los Angeles.

Two young women dressed in flowing skirts and bodices embroidered with jewel-toned flowers sit behind a small table that displays handmade jewelry and crocheted shawls for sale.

Dream catchers hang from the roof of the bus into the archway of an open door.

A young man sits on the edge of the van,

His legs outstretched and cowboy boots resting on a pile of loose butterscotch-hued dirt.

Incense sticks burn on the table and squiggly trails of gray smoke travel towards the lush green branches that create shade.

The trio greets you casually and without intention.

One of the women introduces herself as Willow and peruses your face as if reading over a page of prose.

She tells you that you give off good vibes.

She opens a hand-carved mahogany jewelry box to reveal an array of turquoise pendants with silver clasps threaded with thin braided straps.

Her slender fingers wrap around a pendant shaped like a guitar pick and she places it in your palm.

It feels heavy and cool.

Turquoise has healing powers you know.

It can open your throat and give you the power to use your voice,

Willow explains.

You feel your throat begin to relax as you inhale deeply,

Hit with the aromatic notes of Nag Champa.

Perhaps it is the power of suggestion,

But you do feel better when you run your finger across the marbled pattern of the turquoise.

You thank Willow and reach into your pocket to pay for the pendant,

But she insists this one is a gift.

She tells you the world will benefit when you speak your truth and she is happy to help create a world of truth tellers.

Willow takes the pendant and wraps the strap around your neck.

She arranges and ties it so the turquoise floats above your heart.

It feels comforting to wear.

Since she refuses to take money,

You invite her to come by your cottage to help herself to eucalyptus and avocados that grow on trees in your backyard.

She smiles and says,

It's a fair exchange,

I prefer to barter.

You tell her that you hope to see her soon and say goodbye.

You continue your walk home,

Close to the edge of the road.

Your neighbor Danny,

A well-known bass player,

Drives by in a cranberry-hued Mustang convertible.

He offers you a ride back to the cottage.

You hop in and settle into the cream seat as he hits the gas,

And you ride in splendor as the sun dips beyond the horizon.

The sun is an orb of molten lava with a dreamy metallic hue that casts Laurel Canyon in fiery light.

The warmest days in the hills quickly turn into cool nights that make you grateful for a fireplace in your quaint cottage.

The air kisses your face,

And an involuntary smile forms on your lips.

A dip and turn of the silver ribbon of a road tickles your stomach and makes you laugh.

One of your favorite songs of the summer comes on the radio.

Danny happens to play bass on this tune,

But he is modest,

And it is you who reminds him how his playing creates the heartbeat of the song.

You drive by fairy-tale cottages that are rustic with stained glass windows that open out into gardens with spectacular views of the valley.

On Joni Mitchell's property,

Man-made caves surround a garden and add an element of quirk.

You drive by Frank Zappa's home.

The pond in the back of the property is a frequent gathering spot on warm days where colorful floats dabble the still water and sunbather's lounge.

Danny parks the Mustang at the bottom of a steep hill that leads to your cottage.

He wishes you good night.

You thank him grateful for the sense of community and kindness of this special place and time.

So moved by the generosity in others,

You wish to be as generous in return.

You walk up the hill to your cottage that is nestled behind a row of eucalyptus trees that perfume the damp air of twilight.

Tangerine,

Raspberry,

And plum bands stretch across the sky over the dark silhouette of rolling hills illuminated by pops of golden lights from canyon homes.

You take in a deep breath,

Savoring the rich,

Sweet,

And piney smells that only exist in the hills.

Your cottage is the hue of dark chocolate with brightly painted shutters that hug each unique window of the home.

Not one window has the same shape and dimensions.

Some are round,

Some oval.

Others are slender rectangles or shaped like diamonds.

Above the French doors that open onto the backyard are windows shaped like a crescent moon and a star.

You walk towards the front door to your home that resembles a gingerbread house.

The stained glass window on the door has a celestial pattern in hues of teal,

Sea foam green,

Emerald,

Yellow topaz,

Sapphire,

And deep purple.

Run your fingers across the mosaic out of habit and out of appreciation for the beauty.

Every tiny detail of your home has been considered and designed to create harmony with nature and showcase beauty.

At times you wish all man-made dwellings could be so artistic and beautiful.

Everything takes effort to build,

But not every building is given great care and attention.

You open the door and step into the dim foyer.

You turn on a hurricane lamp made of ruby glass.

It casts the living room in a soft glow.

You find your cat curled up on a plush armchair made by a friend in the hills who spends her weekends resurrecting antique furniture.

You open the French doors in the living room and step out onto the veranda.

The colorful hand painted tiles beneath your feet came from a weekend adventure in Mexico.

Your cottage is full of colorful and artistic details and every object has a unique story of how it arrived.

Much like your story that has been a unique journey and yours alone.

Your cat stretches and awakens to the night.

She follows you outside as the stars begin to shine.

A fence surrounds your property made of reclaimed wood and gnarly branches that look like chocolate licorice twists.

Three hammock swings dangle from the thick branches of a canyon live oak tree and surround a brick fire pit.

Wildflowers grow in the yard unkept and varied in shades of fuchsia,

Lilac,

Clementine and butter yellow.

Over a dozen birdhouses hang from trees and cast iron posts,

Once collected by the previous owner who is a writer and animal lover.

At night the birds tuck inside the houses lined with nesting twigs and straw gathered from the canyon.

The sky is clear,

Velvety and has a rich hue of purple black.

The lights of Los Angeles create a distant halo.

You consider all the brilliant and creative minds surrounding you in their canyon dwellings.

The castle inspired home of Carole King is across the canyon.

It has a small turret and cozy nooks that will become the location she shoots the cover of the Tapestry album.

Many of the homes are whimsical,

Inspired by European castles and cottages.

The homes foster a sense of romance and fun.

You squat down and start a fire and stand once the flames engulf the dry splintered logs.

Your cat brushes against your legs and you pick her up.

You walk towards the hammock swing and hold her against your heart.

Your hands brush against the turquoise pendant.

You remember the kind exchange with Willow and look at your avocado tree,

Abundant with fruit,

And vow to repay her kindness.

Joni Mitchell's home stands on the other side of the tree and wooden fence.

At night the mockingbirds come out,

And the yips of coyotes echo throughout the canyon as the moon rises.

The melodic tones of a dulcimer originate from Joni's yard and reverberate through the hills.

On this night Joni is alone,

Just like you,

Beneath the stars,

Surrounded by the rich smells and sounds unique to Laurel Canyon.

The fire cracks and pops as you listen to her sing,

Without the male voices and showy guitar solos that sometimes accompany collaborative gatherings at Joni's place.

You connect with the purity of her voice.

The female chantouse effortlessly sails through notes of vulnerability before diving into the strong bellows of her chest voice.

Her voice travels from highs to lows,

Delicately like a roller coaster made of satin ribbons.

You hate to interrupt or let your presence be known,

Yet curiosity prompts you to rise.

You walk to the edge of your property and peer through the wooden fence,

Concealed in the shadows of the avocado tree.

Joni basks in the moonlight.

Her luminous hair is like corn silk and flows around her as she gracefully plucks at the strings of a dulcimer that she balances on her lap.

Ethereal and haunting,

You watch and listen to her,

Captivated in what feels like a dream.

She continues to sing.

I've looked at life from both sides now,

From win and lose and still somehow.

It's life's illusions I recall.

I really don't know life at all.

Her glistening blue eyes turn towards the glow of Los Angeles and the howl of a coyote echoes back.

She stops playing and begins to laugh,

Ascertaining as you do that the mournful sound was in response to her song.

Her childlike glee contrasts the deep pangs of emotion in her music.

And you admire the totality of her range,

Like a sibling looking up to their older sister.

You appreciate how she maintains levity while digging into the greatest depth of human emotion and with such ease at such a young age.

Of emotions were spices.

Joni removes every spice from the rack and manages to balance it in her song.

Your cat pounces on the top of the gate and creates a noise,

Capturing Joni's attention with a slight startle.

You step into the light and apologize,

Worried she may think your cat is a wild animal.

She simply smiles and laughs.

You tell her that you didn't mean to intrude.

She says on nights as beautiful as this,

She's more than happy to share the sky and canyon with a neighbor and cat.

Joni mentions a new song she's written about life in the canyon as she reaches for her acoustic guitar.

She tunes the strings and begins to play.

You get lost in the lyrics,

In the imagery of a woman making brownies surrounded by cats and children,

In visions of crocheted shawls and banyan trees.

Your mind drifts to the imagery of wooden pallets with dollops of vibrant paint,

Of an easel holding a fresh canvas,

Made wet by a brush painting vibrant petals in the lush green hills of the canyon.

Our song reminds you of the sense of community brought by the women of the canyon,

Who mother and nurture those who cross their paths with a tender smile.

And on the days that the California sun showers the canyon with sparkling light,

The women shower the canyon in song and love,

And the comforting aromas of freshly baked bread and cakes.

Joni finishes the song and closes her eyes for a moment,

Basking in the moonlight.

She opens them and you clap slowly in awe and tell her how her song resonates and truly captures the energy and artistic flair of Laurel Canyon.

You share a moment,

Quiet and calm,

As the fire casts the shadows and amber light as it burns through the last walk.

Your cat arches her back.

Your sinewy body creates an oversized shadow that pours onto Joni's garden.

You revel in the mystical wonders.

The simple treasures that capture the night are where Joni finds the words to weave into verses and melodies.

On this night you have an attention to detail like hers.

The awareness of an artist who senses and observes the world through a curious lens.

Through their songs,

Artists like Joni give the rest of the world permission to feel things deeply,

To cry,

To smile,

To move their bodies,

To grieve,

To feel safe and less alone.

You long to capture this moment in time in a memory capsule that floats on the surface of your conscious mind and is always retrievable.

Moonlight pours over the hills in silvery blue light and the cool air and magic of this moment cause goosebumps to rise on your skin and remind you of your human form.

And at the same time,

A part of you feels light and free from gravity,

As if you could soar across the night sky on the lofty notes of Joni's intoxicating song.

As Willow instructed,

You use your voice to thank her for reminding you to be more present with the beauty of each moment and for making you feel less alone with the messages in her song.

She nods and wishes you good night.

Her dreamy eyes look at the moon.

Her distant stare makes you wonder what words she will string together with a melody next.

You return to the hammock swing and settle into the net,

Gliding back and forth as the flames become embers.

You hug your arms around your body and rub them to keep them warm.

Tiredness comes in like a heavy wave that cascades over the crown of your head and eyelids.

Like a child fighting off sleep,

You resist going indoors because the night is so splendid.

Joni gently plucks out a melody on the guitar and it sounds new,

Or at least new to you.

With thought you hum along a harmony softly,

Once again using your voice.

You grasp the turquoise pendant that has been warmed by your chest and feel the music soothe you.

Your cat meows as she often does when it's time to go to bed.

And so you rise and gather a copper gardening can to pour water over the embers from the showering spout.

As the water lands the silvery magenta embers hiss and sizzle.

A plume of dark gray smoke rises and you inhale the sweet and peppery aroma of charred wood.

You walk to the veranda and open the French doors.

Your cat raises a head into the soft ruby glow of the hurricane lamp.

You follow her upstairs to a loft where your bed is tucked within a white wooden alcove.

In the moonlight you change into your pajamas and look out the star shaped window at the moon and rolling hills cast in nocturnal blue light.

The fabric of your pajamas is soft and warms your skin as you walk across the creaking wood floors and peel back a patchwork quilt.

You climb two steps that lead to the bed.

A plush mattress is nestled behind a wooden frame carved in the shape of a crescent moon.

The alcove often reminds you of the bird houses in the garden.

It is a safe enclosure where you can let down your guard and welcome the dreams that come each night.

You settle into the bed as your cat jumps up and curls by your feet.

The vibrations of her purring soothe you as you close your eyes and begin to drift to sleep.

A soft cool wind blows through the bedroom with a whiff of eucalyptus that makes you sleepier,

Drifting between worlds.

Every now and then you hear the faint guitar playing next door and Joni's melodic voice like a mother singing you to sleep.

And as you drift away,

You think of how nice it is to escape the modern world,

To enjoy this time of hope and community in a place where the greatest musicians and artists thrive and create works that will cast spells for decades to come.

And on this special night,

You surrender to the spell cast by Laurel Canyon as you let go.

As you surrender and fall into soft cushions of slumber,

Finding bliss,

Finding peace,

Finding respite,

Finding grace,

Finding sleep,

It's time to dream away.

Good night.

Reviews

Lovely, thank you for your creativity and these beautiful stories. 💙💙

I fell asleep so will have to listen again. 1969 was a special year for me because I graduated high school & started college. The music at that time was some of the best. Thank you, Michelle.

The voice is soothing. The description of the settings excellent.overall Igive Michelle a A++

Magnificent, dreamy & grovey namaste

Only heard the introduction, then fast asleep! Will have to try again! Thanks

Loved the story very much as I used to work there many moons ago .Never grow tired of your new masterpieces .🧡🙏

Another great sleep story. Thank you.

🤔this is starting to be a pattern 💗falling asleep so fast I miss most everything ❣️wow 🪄thanks Michelle 🙏🏻