Fall asleep in this cozy sleep meditation story that will take you back in time.
You are listening to the cozy Vendrette and in tonight's journey you find yourself in a city on a rainy night in late spring.
You walk in the rain and return to a charming brownstone for a night with a laundry club in the cozy basement laundry.
You and your neighbors come together once a week like a loving family of urban characters nestled among antique velvet chairs and overflowing bookshelves.
The rain patters against the basement window as the machines whirl with soothing sounds and clean your garments.
As your sweet elderly neighbor reads a poem,
A record plays on an antique player while you sip tea and enjoy freshly made pastries.
You gather your warm sheets and bedding from the dryer and return to your apartment for the night.
Grateful for the respite from the storm you snuggle with your pet beneath the freshly laundered sheets and quilt.
It's time to dream away.
I would like to welcome you to Michelle's sanctuary.
I am Michelle and as you are listening you may think of my voice as that of a guide and dear friend who is here to help you cross over the bridge to your sleeping life.
I am your ally in this transitional time and encourage you to remember that this time is just for you.
Every night you are given the chance to take a mental vacation.
To take the best care of yourself you have earned it.
Only pleasing thoughts and feelings are welcome right now and you may customize this experience however you want.
You may tune out my voice at any point and fall asleep if that most appeals to you because you can always return to listen again in the future.
Gift yourself permission to do what feels best.
Get comfy in your bed and feel free to snuggle.
Wiggle out any last impressions of your day with your eyes closed in the sanctuary of your room and the sanctuary of your mind.
You are the creator of this experience.
Take in a deep breath and inhale to the point that your body expands to its utmost capacity.
Open your mouth into a great big yawn.
Be greedy and unapologetic with your yawn and then with your sigh as you release the air and make a sound if you like.
You are signaling to your body that it is okay to stand down and let go and to ready yourself for a night of deep healing sleep.
Take in another breath filling your belly and lungs until your collarbones rise and you cannot sip in any more air.
Open your mouth and yawn and then sigh it all out.
Feel your body sink heavily into your bed safe,
Relaxed and ready to take an adventure through time.
Many decades past there was a city where people would flock to when they wanted to discover themselves.
Full of artists and dreamers,
People came from all over the world to learn and to explore.
Without judgment they could be true to themselves and it is this desire to be the greatest expression of yourself that leads you to the slick city sidewalks on a rainy night.
You walk on a narrow dark street lit by old-fashioned street lamps and the occasional headlights of a yellow cab.
Your rain boots slosh in the puddles that form on the concrete like melted mirrors.
Ripples are created by silvery drops that land in the ebony pools of rainwater.
It is late in the night and a mist covers the city like gray gossamer.
Beneath the protection of your umbrella,
You feel the soft cool mist on your face and it collects like morning dew on the grass of the nearby park.
In the city one may be alone and yet never feel lonely.
The pre-war brown stones that line your block are occupied by families and young workers,
By people who have come from countries in search of new beginnings,
And by those who have spent decades drawn to the energy of the city and call it their forever home.
In one of the brown stones there is a bow window illuminated by candles that flicker inside the apartment.
You see a pianist seated at a mahogany upright piano with a pencil behind their ear as they compose melodies and string together lyrics in a burst of creativity that often arrives at night.
When the city becomes quiet the artists may dream and make sense of the world when their creativity has no bounds.
Across the narrow street you see an older man in a khaki trench coat and an olive-aceous rain hat.
He walks a gray-and-white wire-haired terrier that has little interest in being out in the steady rain.
You smile and wave and he nods in return.
The street ends in the park that is green and vibrant in the daylight hours of spring but now looks like a shadow land illuminated by the bleary golden light of street lamps dappled along a walking path.
The street is charming and has block parties in the summer.
It is the most decorated street in the city when it comes time for Halloween and winter holidays.
This effort of care for your block makes all who visit feel that they are welcome and part of a family and community.
It reminds you how important it is to care and to find ways to show it because these efforts may be far-reaching beyond your comprehension.
You take in a deep breath and smell the flinty aroma of wet sidewalks as you come to the staircase that leads to your brownstone.
The wide stone banister flows from the entryway to the glistening sidewalk like an ocean wave.
The building was constructed at a time in history when details were important.
Beautiful scrolls are part of the design in the banister and stairs.
You pause beneath a street lamp for a moment and look up towards the raindrops as they fall like tiny silvery blue petals from the purple black skies.
You take in a deep breath and appreciate the quietude of this rainy night as millions of souls that inhabit the city are now fast asleep.
You hurry up the stairs knowing that in a short while the laundry club will convene in the cozy basement with what has become a weekly gathering.
You unlock the front door and pass by a wall of mailboxes.
You look at your name written in delicate cursive loops by the landlady and take a tiny brass key to open the box.
You discover a postcard sent from a loved one that's traveled through time and space,
Perhaps with someone you have not heard from in some time.
On the back written in vibrant blue ink you read,
Wish you were here,
Miss you,
And think of you often.
You run your finger across the indented words and feel a warmth in your heart as your lips turn into a smile.
No matter the distance,
Love is a connector that may always be conjured with a kind thought.
You close the mailbox and unlock the second heavy wooden door that has a large stained glass window.
The mosaic is composed of vibrant glass and hues of sapphire,
Emerald,
Marmalade,
And purple.
You open the door and enter the carpeted foyer and place your umbrella in an antique bronze stand that houses other dripping umbrellas from your neighbors.
You walk up the creaky wooden stairs to your second floor apartment.
The stairwell smells of home,
Of baked bread and pastries that were made by Madeleine,
A young and aspirational baker who caters for the weekly meeting of the laundry club by testing new recipes.
There are two apartments on every floor and you walk past her apartment door to your own.
You insert the key and it clicks as you open the door and are greeted by your pet.
You remove your wet boots and leave them on a doormat in the hallway and then slide your feet into a pair of plush slippers.
Your pet yawns.
Slowly awakening as they come up and brush against your legs,
You bury your cool hand into their soft warm fur and they wiggle with contentment.
The apartment like every room in the old building has a fireplace,
An exposed brick wall.
The wide windows look out onto a courtyard with various gardens in full bloom and outdoor tables and benches that belong to all the different buildings on the block.
Come summer there will be lanterns strung throughout that glow in a rainbow of colors.
But tonight the courtyard echoes the soft sounds of rain falling and splatting into puddles that shine like pools of oil.
Your pet jumps on the sofa and snuggles into the pillows falling back to sleep.
The apartment is designed to your dream preferences.
It's a quaint one-bedroom with high ceilings and colors that soothe you.
Every time you return to it and especially on nights with inclement weather you're filled with gratitude for the cozy dwelling you call home.
You look at your watch and it is fast approaching 11 p.
M.
You grab your sack of dirty laundry.
Your bed is now bare as you had stripped it in the morning in preparation for tonight's meeting.
You whisper to your pet that you will return in a bit and then turn off the lights and exit your apartment.
You walk down the creaking steps that have a familiar rhythm that conjures a homey feeling.
You know the common areas of this charming brownstone almost as well as you know your own body.
You have walked through the halls and down the stairs so many times that you have memorized every detail.
The burgundy silk wallpaper etched with gold damask patterns meets the mahogany wood paneling that runs midway up the walls.
You often think of the lives that have occupied these halls before you and this feeling of home that you share with them.
You feel the weight of the sack on your back and appreciate your body for its strength and ability to do these simple things.
Gratitude weaves in and out of every day so that nothing is taken for granted.
You approach the stairs that lead to the cavernous hall of the basement.
You walk by a window where the rain slithers down the glass pane.
It makes a soft dripping sound.
You descend the stairs and are met by the fragrance of clean laundry.
You hear the soft drum of the dryers in motion and the murmurs of your neighbors who have already convened.
You open the wooden door into the laundrette and find that nearly everyone has arrived.
The room itself is large and occupies more than half of the basement.
There are plush jewel-toned velvet chairs and an antique sofa that rest against an exposed brick wall.
A rush of warm fragrant air wraps around you like a generous hug.
It smells of spring-scented fabric softener and hot tea.
The room is lit by the warm glow of cast iron wall lamps and stained glass Tiffany lamps placed on accent tables around the room.
You see Dorothy seated in her usual spot next to a round wooden table with a tea set and a plate of fresh pastries that Madeleine,
The young and energetic baker,
Has made for the gathering.
Dorothy smiles when she sees you and encourages you to settle while she fixes the cup of tea to your liking.
Tom,
A middle-aged writer who has had his poems read at all the hippest downtown cafes,
Is seated near an overflowing bookshelf that has become the building's library.
The sweet smell of old books often perfumes the room when the laundry machines are not in use as the smell of fresh laundry tends to overpower the book smell.
You approach an empty washing machine and remove the bottle of your favorite detergent from your laundry sack.
You fill the machine with your linens and clothing and submerge them in a cap full of detergent before you close the door.
You then grab a few coins from a pocket in the bag and start the machine.
You look through the circular glass door as the water fills the machine and streaks down the window much like the steady sheet of rain that falls down the windows in the laundry room.
The machine makes a whirling sound as it spins.
As often is the case,
The hypnotic spin and watching the suds begin to form is soothing and entrancing.
You feel satisfied when the basin is full of water and suds and the fabric become like a braided round pretzel as they spin in a clockwise motion.
You listen as Charlie,
The building's super,
Enters the room.
He's still dressed in his navy blue uniform.
His eyes always sparkle when he puts on his charm and his face erupts in a warm smile.
For decades he has been reliable in times of catastrophic need or even for simple moments when a light bulb needs changing.
You are the newest member of the laundry club and yet every person in this room feels like a dear old friend or family member looking after you.
Madeleine enters the lingerie,
Dressed in a paisley dress,
And enthusiastically brings you a Danish that is still warm from the oven along with a cup of tea prepared by Dorothy.
You thank her and settle into a plush velvet chair.
The small of your back rests against a soft pillow made by Dorothy.
Everyone to have used this special space over time has left behind their mark by leaving books,
Furnishings,
Artwork,
And records to play.
Madeleine goes over to the antique record player and removes an album from a sleeve.
She sets it on the turnstile and you hear the needle softly crack before the song that fits the perfect mood of the room begins to play.
All of you come together with a mutual desire to relax and enjoy the cozy respite in the launderette each week.
Each gathering feels like a meditation.
Everyone comes to this room as their most authentic self because it is a safe place to be real and honest and be met with compassion and understanding.
Here you can sigh and let down your guard and free yourself from all the expectations of the outside world.
Within the exposed brick walls you may renew yourself as your most beloved articles of clothing and fabrics are renewed in the wash.
Charlie and Madeleine sit atop the dryers with their legs dangling over the vibrating doors and like an elegant dance the moments of the gathering blend together in a way that you do not realize the passage of time.
The crackling of the record and softly falling rain add to the symphony of sound created by the washing machines swishing and the humming melody of the dryer.
You sip the tea and feel the silky warm beverage cascade down your throat like the clean warm water now cascades down the glass door of the washing machine in the final rinse cycle.
You notice how everyone in the room takes an audible sigh together when Tom asks Dorothy to read his selected poem for the week.
It's not a sigh of judgment but of deep relaxation.
Dorothy adjusts her glasses and wipes away a wisp of silvery white hair from her forehead that has fallen from her loose bun.
She takes the passage in her hand and the room silences before the softly playing music sounds of the machines and trickling rain.
Dorothy clears her throat and her motherly voice begins to read Home and Love by Robert Williams Service.
Just home and love.
The words are small,
Four little letters unto each and you will not find in all the wide and gracious range of speech to more so tenderly complete.
When angels talk in heaven above I'm sure they have no words more sweet than home and love.
Her teary hazel eyes reveal gratitude and warmth.
Having made it to her 80th year it is this communal gathering that reminds her she is so lucky to have both home and love and how it came together in a way she could have never anticipated or planned.
After a beat the washer turns off and you rise to remove your wet belongings from the machine and transport them to a vacant dryer.
You inhale the fragrance of the cool damp garments as you place them into the dryer.
Now heavy they will soon be made light and fluffy.
This is a reminder that with a little help and intention circumstances may change in a short while.
This applies to your life as well and even with these changes the core of you is still the same.
As the night approaches the midnight hour the members of the laundry club become tired and more quiet.
Tom falls asleep in the chair with a book in his lap.
You and the remaining waking members of the club softly laugh and warmly smile in his direction.
Only crumbs remain on the plate once abundant with pastries.
The last drops of tea have been poured and consumed.
Dorothy's load is finished and you help her gather her items from the dryer.
Madeline helps her fold them and once complete she says it's time for her to retire.
Ever so helpful Charlie carries Dorothy's bag and leads her to her apartment as he says good night.
Madeline awakens Tom and he stirs before rising and saying good night as well.
You and Madeline remain and clean up the dishes while the dryer finishes drying your garments.
The room now tidied you return to the dryer as it slows to a stop.
You open the door and inhale the fragrant hot air.
You remove towels and sheets and bedding and pajamas and a few articles of clothing from the hot metal drum.
You engage in one of your most pleasing habits by bringing the warm towel to your face and inhaling the fresh laundry scent.
The warm soft fabric feels so good against your skin.
You take it away and fold it along with the articles that you will not need on this rainy night.
You place them neatly in the laundry sack.
The routine of folding gives you a sense of accomplishment.
Zoe is so soothing to see the transformation that occurs.
It's amazing how such an easy task can give such a feeling.
The once dirtied items are now warm,
Fragrant and inviting.
Madeline says good night as she collects her clean laundry and returns to her apartment.
You fill your bag with the rest of your clean linens and then switch off the lamps around the room.
Now led through the shadows by the soft lights that shine in from outside the window.
You walk through the room and then close the door behind you.
You ascend the steps to the first floor feeling tired and quite sluggish.
Your arms and legs feel a slight burn with each step and you count your ascent to the second floor.
One,
Two,
Three,
Four,
Five,
Six.
You readjust the bag on your back and continue up the final steps.
Seven,
Eight,
Nine,
Ten,
Eleven,
Twelve.
At the top of the stairs you once again walk past Madeline's apartment and enter your own.
You close the door behind you and relish the gentle click of the lock because the sound means you are now tucked away from the world for the night.
Safe,
Serene.
Your sleepy pet follows you into the bedroom where you put away your garments in an antique armoire.
You feel the cool smooth door and brass handle as you gently close it.
You change out of your clothes and into flannel pajamas that are still warm from the dryer.
The storm outside intensifies and the rain comes down more steadily.
You feel all the more grateful to be dry and comfortable and warm indoors.
You grab the sheets and quilt from the laundry bag and make your bed.
You smooth out the warm cotton fitted sheet onto the plush mattress and then put the downy pillows into clean pillowcases.
Your pet is eagerly at your feet,
Awaiting the chance to cuddle in the warm bedding.
You finish making the bed and retreat to your bathroom with the freshly folded towels beneath your arm.
You place them on a shelf and brush your teeth and wash your face.
At one point you felt so tired that you considered skipping this nightly ritual.
But when you brush your teeth and feel the minty tingle and gentle massage of your gums,
It relaxes you and signals to your body it is time to retire for the night.
You splash your face with warm water over the white porcelain sink.
You clean yourself of the day.
You cleanse yourself with your favorite soap and then rinse away the suds.
You burrow your face into the fresh clean towel for the second time on this night and it soothes you even more than the first.
Everything about this experience feels renewing and clean and full of self-care.
You take in a deep breath and sigh as you hang up the towel on a brass hook behind the heavy white wooden door.
You walk through the shadows of your apartment that is now illuminated by the lights of the courtyard and you retreat to the dark sanctuary of your bedroom.
When you arrive your pet has already snuggled beneath the covers on their side of the bed.
You pull back the quilt and top sheet and sink into the plush mattress.
Every deep breath and inhalation of the clean laundry brings you back to memories and the love that you have shared in the small basement launderette.
Your head sinks into the clean pillows.
Your head sinks into the clean pillows and you close your eyes.
The rain patters against the window that is behind your headboard.
Street is quiet before the occasional sound of tires rolling atop the slick pavement splashing in puddles.
You feel the warm furry body of your pet who has snuggled against you and you drift between the soothing moment and the sweet calling of sleep.
Letting go.
Surrendering to the comforts of the night and like a cape around you these feelings of love and connection are your superpowers that will enliven your dreams as you sleep through the night relaxed carefree and nestled in a soft and well-deserved moment.
I am going to count you down to a night of deeply restorative and healing sleep.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Finding bliss.
Finding grace.
Finding peace.
Finding sleep.
It's time to dream away.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
Good night.
