The Cozy Attic On A Stormy Night: A Sleep Story

In a seaside town, you walk among historic Victorian homes as a storm comes in and you find refuge in your own home. You go to the attic, a cozy place on a rainy day, where you savour tea and open a trunk to find mementos that take you back to memories of joy. You uncover an old stuffed toy, feeling quite tired, you cuddle with it in a nook of the attic where a twin bed awaits. The sounds of the rain and thunder lull you to sleep. It's time to dream away.

Transcript

Relax with tonight's calm sleep story as you prepare yourself for a cozy retreat to a sleepy nook in an attic on a stormy day.

This nostalgic journey will connect you to memories of blissful times gone by as you find safety and refuge among trinkets and beloved items from the past.

And then you may find yourself lulled to sleep by the sounds of rain upon the roof as you are tucked beneath a handmade quilt in a comfy bed.

I would like to welcome you to Michelle Sanctuary.

I am Michelle and as your guide and friend on this journey,

I will help you unlock access to your own inner sanctuary.

For when you are worried or having trouble sleeping,

You may uncover ways to self-soothe before you drift across the gateway between your waking and dreaming life.

And you may let go of my voice at any point you would like as this experience should be personalized by your needs and desires before it's time to dream away.

So get cozy and wiggle your body if this feels good.

Maybe like a puppy that has just come out of a bath.

Be silly.

Be free with your body.

Do whatever feels right.

Because now is the time to do what feels good for you.

You have earned it at the end of another day.

Get as comfy and cozy as you can as you take in the biggest inhale of the day and let your body expand before that breath turns into a yawn.

And then you sigh it all out.

Then inhale before you sigh it out through pursed lips as if you are blowing through a straw.

And as you do this,

You are suddenly transported to a quaint village by the sea.

You see your breath condense on the damp cool air that you can feel in your bones.

Even as you hug yourself to keep warm.

A scarf around your neck is a gift from long ago,

From someone who loves you very much.

And it takes flight on the increasing winds that warn of a storm on the way.

You walk upon the slate sidewalk made uneven by time and the roots of tall elm trees that have pushed up the earth around it.

You appreciate your balance in spite of the wind as you gracefully walk through the quiet harbor town.

The Victorian homes that surround you are of varying vibrant hues with artistry in their design and the care that went into scalloped patterns and widow walks.

They have ornate designs and series of pointed roofs that are all the more vibrant in their pastel and earth tone palettes against the bleak gray undersides of the clouds overhead.

You can taste the salinity in the air as a mist is formed carrying with it droplets from the ocean.

The street upon which you walk has a sharp incline.

As these homes were constructed long ago and a place safe from the harbor.

And when you look behind you through the silvery lavender hue of the fog,

You may make out a marina and harbor in the distance.

You feel a droplet or two of cold rain begin to fall from the sky,

Landing upon your lips and sliding down them like beads of water from a melted ice cube.

Just in time,

You come upon your Victorian home.

With a sprawling emerald green lawn before it,

There are flowers in all arrays of color and variety that line the property,

Growing along a surrounding picket fence.

As the raindrops continue to fall,

Splatting against the slate sidewalk and upon your face,

You come to the door to the fence.

Your hand lands on the wet rough surface of the wooden door as you undo the metal latch and open it.

Closing it behind you,

You already feel safe,

As if the confines of this landscape is saturated with your energy.

And all the fixtures and colors and designs are what most appeal to your sensibilities.

The home has three floors,

With bay windows on the first floor and Juliet balconies on the second,

Adorned with colorful shutters with nautical cutouts.

You relish a brief moment to take in the beauty of the six bedroom home that is all yours.

You continue up your walkway,

Comprised of colorful flagstones that are like purple and burgundy lily pads upon a snow-white river of landscaping rocks.

You balance upon one foot and then the other,

Taking a moment for some fun and splendor,

As if dancing in the rain.

Your home looms majestically as you come upon stairs that lead to a grand wraparound porch,

Wide enough to be used as a dance floor to host as many as thirty people.

And for a moment you imagine the wondrous parties hosted by the inhabitants of another time with women in gowns and men in tailored three-piece tuxedos.

It's as if the music still plays on,

As the soft patter of raindrops upon the petals of the flowers surrounding your home provides a rhythm section.

A porch swing sways in the breeze,

Creaking ever so softly,

And the air smells of fresh cut grass and flowers,

And the metallic aroma of fresh rain.

You walk to the front door and take note of the ornate patterns of a stained glass window that comprises more than half of the door,

Running your hand over the design.

It is hypnotic and in vibrant jewel tones,

With a focus on sapphire blue and chartreuse and deep green.

You open the door to enter the foyer,

Where you find a mahogany wood antique coat stand and remove your wet coat and place it upon it,

As you then take off your shoes and place them on a mat below.

This is just the kind of day you were awaiting to explore past memories stored in a hope chest in the attic,

And while the warm dry air of the house sedates you and gives you a feeling of tranquility,

You are up for the adventure that awaits.

You approach a staircase that leads to the second floor,

With its deep mahogany banister that has been polished to shine even in the dimly lit space.

You ascend the stairs,

Feeling the banister's cool smoothness beneath the palm of your hand,

And you think of times you wondered what it might be like to slide down it.

It's the type of banister that conjures such fantasies of play and children.

And you think to yourself how there is still a hint of that within you.

Walking up the stairs,

You come to another hallway that is carpeted with a weather worn oriental runner that feels soft beneath your feet.

The hallway is long and narrow and shoots off into different bedrooms and bathrooms.

A row of stained glass windows,

Similar to the front door,

Are upon the wall of this passageway and add cool tones to the walk.

At the end of the hallway is a small white wooden door that is but three quarters of the size of the other doors and with an angled top.

You pull a black cast iron ring to open it and duck down to fit beneath the door as you come upon a worn wooden staircase.

The stairs wind about in a circular motion and as you climb you are nearly on all fours,

Like a bear climbing a mountain,

Until you come to the creaky wooden floors of the attic.

There is a small brown leather side table with metal studs from a different time,

Upon which a Tiffany lamp sits.

You pull the metal beaded chain to turn on the light as it illuminates the room in warm red and golden and orange tones.

The attic is warmer than anywhere in the house and you instantly feel your muscles relax and the coldness melting away.

In a sensation like having warm soup on a wintery day.

There is a rectangular window from which you can see the sea clearly and it appears a muted navy blue beneath a translucent white fog.

The rain intensifies and you hear the patter upon the roof,

Feeling grateful for the warmth within the attic.

There is an electric glass tea kettle upon a wooden upturned crate that you turn on and watch as the base illuminates with red lights as the contained water is heated.

Next to the kettle is a cup and saucer and a wooden box of tea imported from India.

You remove a tea bag of your favorite flavors and place it in the cup,

Waiting for the water to heat up.

The ceiling is angled and towards the back of the attic is a small sleeping nook where a twin sized bed is adorned with a handmade hatchwork quilt that has faded over time.

The attic smells of books and a bookcase runs the entire length of the opposing wall with original copies of the finest works in literature.

These books came with a house and you go to them,

Running your hands against the spines as if going up and down the keys of a grand piano.

The tea kettle starts to bubble as the light turns green and it shuts itself off now the water has come to a boil.

You pour the hot water into the cup,

Instantly smelling the botanical redolence that wafts in steam that meets your nose after cascading upon the tea bag.

These smells remind you of loved ones,

Of being a child as elders got together over tea and taking you back in this experience of running through a neighbor or a family friend's home while tea was consumed makes you feel safe.

It reminds you of what it was like to not question the future but to live in the moment and right now you live in the moment.

A pair of old ice skates hang upon a nail on the wall,

Their laces tied in a bow from when they were carried to a nearby skating pond in the winter.

They conjure images of snowy days and the sound of metal blades cutting into smooth ice.

You think of sleds going down hills of snow and how often the changing weather informs you of new joyous activities to come.

A wooden wine crate is flipped on its side with a vintage record player atop it as dozens of record albums are lined up within,

Their cardboard covers have white patches where the imagery has worn away over time.

And the coziness of this experience has the feeling of a needle coming upon vinyl and crackling softly as the music plays on.

Lightning flashes over the sea as thunder rolls far in the distance in a gentle rumble.

You take your teacup and saucer and walk over to a hope chest beneath the window.

A knitted afghan blanket is atop the antique chest and you take a seat upon a cream shag rug beneath it.

Setting down your saucer and tea and the hard wood floor that's around you.

You remove the blanket and turn the skeleton key that is resting in the lock of the chest.

You turn the key and feel the lock give before you push up the heavy top and let it rest against the wall.

Inside the box are many precious items that you have collected throughout your life.

First,

You find a photo book kept from when you were a child.

You see yourself as a baby and a small child just learning your way in the world.

Before there were any requirements to behave a certain way,

When you relied on your instincts and were unafraid to voice your needs and be honest about how you felt.

And in this moment,

You allow yourself to wonder what it would be like to reconnect with that same authenticity.

To be transparent with how you feel and what you desire.

You are able to do that now.

To be honest with yourself.

To settle into these treasured items that are but portals to memories of long ago.

And these memories inform you,

And perhaps even re-inform you,

Of who you are.

To recognize the thread through time,

Like a tender silver strand upon which experiences hang,

United by the continuity of you.

Of your spirit or soul,

Or whatever it is that you can feel that has always been there.

The consciousness and awareness.

And only you know what this experience is like.

In spite of all the universal human emotions and feelings,

The story is uniquely yours.

And as you rummage through more items,

You find a costume you wore as a child.

And once again,

The imaginative part of your mind awakens.

It illuminates in a way similar to what it must feel like to a baby robin breaking through a sky blue shell as spring's rays of sunlight break through.

You remember how much fun it was to dress up and to pretend.

To be a cowboy,

Or a princess,

Or a warrior,

Or an animal.

And you may still unlock that curiosity as an adult,

As you go through your life.

Because it may remind you to feel,

And to experience,

Rather than to let your mind wander to worry or things beyond you.

And this thought is quite lovely.

The idea of just being.

As you are.

Right now.

In the warm air of the attic,

Nestled upon a soft rock,

As you continue to explore.

Inside the hope chest,

You find a letter written to you from someone who was your biggest supporter.

Perhaps a teacher,

Or a friend,

Or a family member.

Whoever it is,

You look upon the handwritten scroll.

And it is as if this person appears alongside you in the form of a hologram.

Writing each word kindly to you over your shoulder as the rain continues to patter upon the roof and the storm rolls in.

And you feel safe.

You feel loved.

You run your fingers upon the indentations of where the pen pushed into the stationery.

And you accept these loving words.

You feel special.

And you remember who you are.

And going through the hope chest,

You find other relics from the past that make you feel happy.

You sip some of your tea,

Now safe to drink.

And feel the slightly sweet botanical beverage cascade down your palate.

Then you inhale and exhale.

Feeling so good.

Cozy and warm.

And within the hope chest,

You pull out one last item.

It is something that has been long since forgotten.

Perhaps it reminds you of a true love,

Or of a lost love.

Perhaps it is from a parent,

Or a grandparent,

Or an aunt or an uncle.

But whatever item appears,

It is one that holds great meaning.

It is something that makes you feel there is something bigger.

And beyond this moment,

And you.

You feel connected.

You watch as the sky darkens outside.

As the underbellies of the puffy storm clouds are now a dark plum black.

And the lightning bolts are white hot and blinding to look at.

You begin to put back the item neatly into the chest.

But hold on to one other item.

It is a stuffed toy or doll from your childhood.

Then you bring it to your nose and inhale.

The fragrance of another time fills the attic.

And you are brought back to moments of peace and tranquility.

Of lullabies and early bedtimes.

Of night lights and safe places.

Of bedtime stories and your childhood sheets and pajamas.

You put the lid down upon the chest.

And take the stuffed toy,

Worn and soft by many washes.

And you begin to feel tired.

You desire a nap.

As you walk to the twin bed in the corner,

Hunching lowly like the hunchback of Notre Dame,

So as to not hit your head on the sloped ceiling.

You feel the buttery soft cotton of the quilt.

Feeling loose stitches as you run your hand along it.

You grab a corner and peel it back.

Selling the fragrance of fresh laundry as you climb into the tiny bed with your stuffed toy in hand.

You feel tended to.

You feel as if you are in a little cave as the ceiling angles in a way to form a pod around you.

Your head falls upon the feather pillows as you relish in being dry and snug as the rain continues to fall.

It taps against the window as the wind begins to howl.

And as the rain cleans the windows,

You feel a cleansing as well.

Deep inside your body.

And you just sigh it all out,

And voluntarily letting it go.

You close your eyes,

Nestling your face in the downy stuffed toy as you feel yourself drifting.

Floating across the bridge to the sleepy world that awaits you.

Feeling so safe and tended to as you were when you were first united with this toy.

And even now,

You are able to let go of it all.

To just be present to the sensation of relaxation and tranquility.

Feeling calm,

At ease,

At peace.

As if memories are like layers coexisting right now and taking you to a feeling of bliss as you go down,

Down,

Down.

And you may let go of my voice.

Letting your dreams guide you to uncharted territories where anything is possible.

And where you may envision and visualize the best possible life for yourself.

Where you may find restoration to help you become the best version of you.

And for now,

Rest at ease.

You are well.

You are loved.

You are safe.

And I am going to count you down.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Finding rest.

Finding ease.

Finding sleep.

It's time to dream away.

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Reviews

Love ❤️ this story. All your stories have been wonderfully written. Thanks 🙏🌹
I’m trying to listen to all your stories.

Wow I am mesmerised what a beautiful imaginary meditation. This is my first time doing this type of meditation. I adore it and will be regularly going back to visit the attic. Thank you so much for sharing this with us all this is the time I have to say that I am so grateful that I can hear beautiful words like this. You have an amazing talent Michelle!! Sending you love and peace ❤️

One of my very favourite meditations, wonderfully magical and incredibly relaxing.

I listen to this almost every night to help me sleep! Thank you!

This is my favorite! It never fails to help me sleep!

One of my favorite sanctuaries. Thank you Michelle.

This is my favorite, with the storm and the quilt and the scarf and the comfort and Michell's soporific voice. Thank you!!

This is my new favorite! Great visuals along with a nice calming voice. Looking forward to listening again 💤

Love this, I listen to it every night, cause I never get to here the ending, it sends me off to dream land every time. Thank you.

My favorite one so far 💜💜Thank you Michelle!

I loved this one. Thank you!

Love this one! The stormy stories are my favorite. Thank you!

Love this whole series of bedtime stories. Just the thing I need to get my brain to settle down and help me get some rest. Could listen to these every single night