Let down your guard as your bedtime holiday begins right now.
This is your sleep story.
Designed to help you unwind.
Relax.
And drift into a peaceful slumber.
You are listening to The Midnight Fjords.
An intimate once-in-a-lifetime voyage aboard a private yacht.
Gliding through some of the most ancient and dramatic waterways on earth.
On either side,
Sheer walls of obsidian rock rise from the black,
Glassy sea.
Carved over millennia by glaciers long since gone.
Yet within this vast and untamed beauty,
You are held in a world of warmth,
And luxury.
Where every detail is arranged.
To make you feel special.
Safe.
And deeply at ease.
As the perfect night winds down.
You take to your room and witness the northern lights as they dance across the sky.
The majestic beauty outside.
Deepens the coziness within.
The isolation only sweetens the peace that settles in your bones as you retreat to your cabin for sleep.
It's time to dream away.
Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary.
I'm Michelle.
And I invite you to lie back.
And lean in as if listening to a longtime friend.
I offer you kind encouragement and nurturing ideas,
Always keeping your best interests at heart.
Every step of this journey,
I'll be here to guide you.
But feel free to adjust any details to fit your needs and desires right now.
Your imagination is the ticket to tranquil scenes and healing dreams.
So celebrate making it through today and honoring yourself.
Falling asleep whenever you like.
The story came to me in two ways,
As a request from one of you.
And as an ambiance gift from a book.
If you've read The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware you'll know the feeling immediately.
A small exclusive ship moving through dark northern waters.
The intimacy of only a few guests.
Being removed from ordinary life.
And the enchantment of a warm cabin.
While something vast and wild moves past the porthole.
I wanted to take all of that atmosphere,
Gently lift away the mystery and suspense.
And offer it instead.
Is something purely restorative.
Take some time now.
To ease into this delicious moment.
Feeling the room around you soften and shift.
Inviting you into stillness.
Let out a long,
Generous sigh.
Releasing whatever the day has been.
To be behind you now.
Countdown with me.
Inhaling and exhaling at your own preferred pace.
Each breath becoming slower and more rewarding.
Bye.
Bring your awareness all the way down to your feet.
Feeling them grow heavy and warm.
The soul softening as if pressing gently into the smooth teak wood of a ship's deck.
Grounding down.
Your nervous system feels safe and healthy.
There is nothing more required of you tonight.
Let that heaviness move slowly upward.
Through your calves and thighs.
Until your entire lower body.
Feels pleasantly anchored and still.
4 Draw a slow,
Full breath in through your nose.
And imagine the air of the North finding you.
Clean and cold and mineral and alive.
Carrying with it the faintest traces of cedar.
And pine.
And something briny from the sea.
Filling your lungs completely.
Releasing in one long steady sigh.
3 Feel your shoulders.
Those faithful holders of invisible wings.
Invites them now to simply drop.
To become heavy like draped velvet.
Enclosing you in softness and security.
Your arms releasing from the shoulders all the way to the wrists.
Palms falling open,
Fingers loose and quiet.
As a wave of comfort spreads through your back and front body.
And the word protect it.
Settles somewhere deep in your chest.
Two.
Bring your awareness to your face.
Smoothing the soft space between your brows.
And clenching the jaw.
Parting the back teeth just slightly.
Letting your lips soften.
Into that easy,
Almost smile of someone on the wandering boundary of sleep.
One Inhale and sigh once more.
From the ground of your head.
The soles of your feet and the tips of your fingers.
All of you is a safe vessel for slumber.
Your breath becomes easy and natural.
As our journey to the fjords begins.
There are certain destinations we reach with ease.
Planned and anticipated.
And arrive on schedule.
Then there are the ones.
That live for years.
As a feeling.
And atmosphere.
An image glimpsed somewhere.
And never quite forgotten.
A photo of dark gleaming water between rising cliffs.
A sentence or paragraph in a novel.
Coffee table travel book.
At a cozy bookshop.
A friend's voice.
Saying you simply have to go.
The look that tells you they mean it.
And then there are the rarest ones of all.
The journeys that exist at the very edge of the real.
So vivid and complete when we find them.
That it is difficult to believe.
We have never been there before.
They haunt us in a particular way.
Like a memory of an old fairy tale.
Or dream from another life.
Insisting that we find our way back.
The ethereal maiden promises and more than delivers.
With its midnight cruise through the Norwegian fjords.
Speaks to something deep.
A longing for wildness,
Witnessed from safety and beauty.
Held at just the right distance.
There's a moodiness here.
In this place of lingering darkness and fickle currents.
That allows you to be moody if you'd rather.
There's no pressure to smile and play the part.
And the elimination of such expectations.
Makes it all the easier to surrender.
To find serenity and bliss.
With a most natural ease.
The particular sweetness of warmth.
Is made meaningful.
By the cold.
Just beyond the glass.
As the vessel ventures.
Beyond the perimeters of land.
So you may be somewhere and nowhere.
All at once.
Whether this journey becomes when you take in waking life.
Or one you return to.
Again and again.
The quietest rooms of your sleeping mind.
It will always feel as real.
As your next breath.
The Evening on the Ethereal Maiden.
Begins at a small timber harbor on Norway's coast.
Or the late afternoon light of October.
Has turned the water to hammered copper.
The wooden duck planks.
Are still faintly warm beneath your feet.
Leaving the smell of sun-kissed pine.
Contrasting the coolness in the autumnal air.
In this picturesque quietude.
There's nothing to distract from the evolving peace within.
You feel the pace of your own inner life.
Slowing down to match the gentle ease.
The dark waves,
Laughing against the dawn.
There is a small gathering of fellow travelers.
12 at most.
Assembled near the gangway.
With that particular quality of ease.
That belongs to people who have made a deliberate choice to step away.
Journey to this stop.
As an act of self-care.
The setting of an intention.
To simply arise.
And to simply be.
Someone catches your eye and smiles,
Without needing a reason.
And you smile back.
Imbued with camaraderie.
The shared silent thrill.
For this beginning of a holiday at sea.
Modest in size.
The ship is anything but modest in presentation.
The brass trim of the navy hull.
Polished to a warm honey gleam.
Its lines are clean and elegant.
Ready to slip quietly into the landscape.
And assuming amongst the towering fjords.
To attendance in freshly pressed ivory and navy dress.
Greet the group at the gangway.
Addressing each guest by name.
From a handwritten manifest.
In a worn leather portfolio.
Your cabin is one of only 12 aboard.
Stepping inside.
Feels like stepping into the most considered version of comfort.
You have ever encountered on a boat.
The room is arranged like a song.
With attention given to every note and space between every detail.
The air circulates gently.
And carry the smell of fresh linens,
Roses,
And springs of juniper arranged in a vase near the entry.
The walls are paneled in polished mahogany.
A deep and inviting clover honey.
Shifts with the light.
Warm as firelight in some angles almost cognac in others.
The linens on the wide beds.
Or a softer shade of white.
Not quite buttercream.
With the same deep navy trim.
Found throughout the vessel.
The duvet is marshmallow-like.
Piled with four pillows.
In cases edged.
With a fine embroidered border of thin dark blue and sparkling gold thread.
On the nightstand.
A brass valve.
With a cream colored shade.
Casts a warm and gilded circle of light.
Across a silver tray.
Holding a glass carafe of water.
And a small,
Single glass.
Above the bed.
Hangs a single framed artwork.
Of a large format photograph.
Printed in deep blue and silver tones.
Of the surface of a northern fjord at dawn.
The water is perfectly still.
The cliffs reflected in it.
In a way you cannot tell.
Where the sea and sky begin or end.
The floor beneath your feet.
Is a warm tea.
Scattered near the bed.
Is a small run.
In deep ink blue and ivory.
Its pattern a traditional Nordic geometric.
That is both ancient and entirely at home here.
Narrow built-in bookshelf beside the porthole.
Holds a handful of cloth-bound volumes.
A novel.
A collection of Nordic folklore.
A slim book of poetry.
With a forest green cover.
And on the shelf below them.
A folded blanket and a heather charcoal wool.
Thick enough to sleep under on its own.
The porthole frames the harbor.
Darkening into evening.
The last amber light ripples on the water.
From the first lamp.
Lit somewhere in a building on the shore.
A faint trail of wood smoke.
Lingers in the harbor.
Trailing the ship.
And curling just above it toward the sky.
You change into something soft.
Loose trousers that whisper against your legs.
A downy soft pullover and warm oatmeal.
That settles around you like a second skin.
The sweater and matching thick socks that pad quietly against the teak floor.
Were purchased from a small boutique just outside the harbor.
Each layer offers its own small pleasure.
Tactile comfort.
Is one of many on this journey.
That act as a form of self-care.
Serve as a reminder.
Of how wonderful it can be.
Be alive.
You ascend the spiral stairs to the main deck.
Moving carefully just as the ship begins to gently move.
Departure is so smooth.
It is almost imperceptible.
Just the gentlest shift in the harbor lights.
In the dark beginning.
Its slow,
Backward drift.
And then the open water ahead.
And why?
And perfectly still.
The fjords receive you gradually.
The landscape at first,
Simply vast.
Broad sky.
Low mounds losing their color to the dusk.
Then the cliffs begin to rise.
Appearing first as shadows.
At the outer edges of your vision.
But in mere moments.
They become completely present.
Sheer walls of ancient rocks.
Ascending on either side of the ship.
The quiet grandeur.
Something in your chest stirs.
Brought by a warmth and gratitude.
For this beauty.
The moment conjures.
The same wonder.
Is when a whale reaches the sea.
And you are reminded of how remarkable.
And how fantastic it is.
To share a planet.
Was something so majestic.
These magical encounters.
The noise and the urgency.
Of ordinary life.
Are quickly put into a new perspective.
It no longer has the same intense pull on you.
Attendant appears at your side with a tray.
Offering a glass of something sparkling and very cold.
And you take it.
The first sip is extraordinary.
Effervescent and clean.
Infused with the soft floral sweetness of elderflower.
And the most delicate whisper of lavender.
You lean against the railing.
And watch the sky perform its slow transformation above the cliffs.
The last orange goal.
Drains from the horizon.
Deepening into amber and amethyst.
And then into something richer.
Stranger.
More saturated.
Radiant indigo arrives first at the heights.
And melts downward.
Soon the entire sky between the cliff walls is that deep and luminous color.
Pearly plum warming the upper edges of the stone.
Where the light still lingers.
Below the super yacht.
The water deepens from pewter to dark silver to a black so complete and so still.
It becomes a perfect mirror.
In moments.
When the water becomes still.
Cliffs and the first flickering stars.
Are replicated in a precise and breathtaking reflection.
Attendant drifts past and tells you unhurriedly,
That the fjords you are moving through.
Were carved over 10,
000 years ago by glaciers miles thick.
They were never rushed.
Patiently form.
With a force,
Slow and persistent.
You find yourself sighing without warning.
Imagining the same slow shifts within you.
And how so many could be better enjoyed.
Are the same.
Patient.
Approach.
Cool air kisses your face.
With a hint of myth.
The attendant noticing the shift in temperature.
Invites you to make your way to the wellness spa.
Where an appointment has been prearranged.
She leads you back inside.
Where you descend a narrow staircase.
Into a low ceiling.
Beautifully warm space.
It feels entirely removed.
From the world above.
The walls are clad.
In rustic pale birch planks.
With a soft grain.
You can't help but run your fingers across.
The ceiling is fitted,
The deep vault of hammered copper.
That has oxidized over time.
Into a warm verdigris.
And surface catching and scattering the candlelight.
Dozens of constellations.
Across the walls and floors.
And there are candles everywhere.
Tea lights nestled.
Shallow stone dishes.
Pillar candles of varying heights grouped on a low shelf.
All protected within clear glass hurricanes.
They add a subtle green scent to the air.
Something is soothing.
As the golden.
Thermal embrace of the spa.
The air also carries the scent.
Of pine resin and warm oil.
And something floral beneath it.
Threading through the deeper,
Woodier base.
You breathe deeper.
Taking it all in.
Fantastic air.
Imbued with the intention of cleansing.
Creating a sense of ease.
Along one wall.
A narrow table.
Holds a collection.
Stone apothecary vessels in a matte gray.
Deep forest green.
Their labels handwritten in ink.
Containing the oils,
Scrubs and salts.
Used in each treatment.
The massage therapist greets you.
Invites you into a cozy wood-paneled room.
Gently giving you instructions to prepare.
With a subtle accent.
That's posh and hard to trace.
When settled on the table.
She returns and works slowly and with great intention.
She begins at the base of your neck.
Moves outward across the shoulders,
Down your arms.
As she does.
You feel the constant,
Gentle rug of the boat.
And the subtle vibrations of the engine.
Her strong hands continue.
With just the right pressure.
As she uses a warm pine-scented oil.
She works into your muscles.
With a patient confidence.
Of someone who understands.
That the body stores its tensions.
In Hidden.
Surprising places.
And she finds every one of them.
She moves through the familiar knots along the trapezius.
And the stubborn holding at the tops of the shoulders.
Each one releasing.
And as she does.
A voice in your head whispers.
That it's okay to receive.
You deserve every moment of letting go.
Your body transforms.
Entirely surrendering.
And entirely different.
From the body that boarded this ship a few hours ago.
The cedar-lined finish sauna receives you next.
Small and deeply fragrant.
The walls of pale honey gold.
Deepens to warm orange hues around the stones.
The air is so dry.
And so intensely hot.
It's almost like a physical texture against your skin.
You sit on the upper bench.
And close your eyes.
And let the heat press against you.
From every surface at once draws the last of the cold and tension upward and outward.
And away.
Prepares you for a night deep sleep.
Your thoughts grow thin and quiet.
Widely spaced.
Like the last few utterances before sleep.
The sound of the ship.
And the water.
Is muffled here.
Replaced by the occasional hiss.
Water meeting hot stone.
A sound that is deeply and explicably comforting.
After a warm shower rinses you clean.
To towel off and dress in a robe.
The attendant leads you up another narrow staircase.
To the rooftop hot tub.
Set deep into the very top of the vessel.
And open entirely.
To the northern sky.
You lower yourself into it,
Slowly.
The water bubbles up to your collarbones.
The heat rising around you like an embrace.
Your body releases.
Its last remaining held breath.
In one long and audible sigh.
That leaves you feeling.
So deservingly unstoppable.
The air above,
The water is cold.
Genuinely,
Bracingly calm.
Carrying the bite of open water.
A mist that nearly freezes on your lips.
Contrast between the heat that holds you and the cold that grazes your face.
Is so perfectly balanced.
That it draws your attention.
Entirely into the present moment.
Your mind lives here.
Aboard the ethereal maiden.
It cruises through the ebony waters below.
You get lost in the sky.
Black mirror of water stretching between the formations on either side.
The stars emerging in their thousands above you.
And once you've soaked.
As long as you can.
Your body feeling like jelly.
You rinse off upstairs in the wood-paneled shower beneath the stars.
You bury yourself.
A fluffy heated towel.
As your breath condenses steam rises off your skin.
You wrap once more.
In a plusher oversized roll.
Swaddled against the knife.
Once back you find.
The energy of your room has shifted.
The attendants have been here in your absence.
Turning down the bed.
So that's the white duvet.
Is folded back in a perfect diagonal.
The linen sheet beneath it.
Smooth and cool and waiting.
A single sprig of lavender.
Laid across the pillow.
The lights are dimmed to their lowest settings.
In the room is a palette of sleepy golds and deep shadows.
And the nightstand beside the caress.
A small card has been left.
The same careful handwriting you noticed when you first checked in.
Sleep well.
.
.
You notice the glass balcony door.
Set seamlessly into the far wall.
Nearly invisible in its rage.
And you slide it open.
And step out into the dark.
The balcony is made entirely of clear glass.
Railing.
Side panels.
Floor beneath your feet.
Standing on it.
Like standing on nothing.
Suspended in midair.
The dark rise of the cliffs and the glassy sea below.
The vessel moves forward with a low hum.
Parting the water.
And a long white V that fans out behind you.
And then disappears.
You stand with your robe pulled close.
Cold air moving softly against your face.
Peering out at the fjords.
Star.
And glistening water.
That offers more depictions of the color black.
Than you have ever seen before.
Hints of obsidian,
Tints of dark purple and deep blue.
Then something begins to change.
At the horizon.
Just above the line where the formations meet the sky.
A light arises.
Slowly.
Without announcement.
Simply appears.
The way a feeling arrives.
For your mind can even form the words for it.
A ribbon of pale,
Luminous green.
Undulate softly in the upper atmosphere.
And it stretches and unfurls.
With a finger like grace.
A second ribbon joins it.
Lower and wider.
Its edges shading from green.
To the most vibrant and luminous violets.
Almost neon.
The two of them move together.
In a dance above the fjord.
The Northern Lights.
The Aurora Borealis.
Perform without a care about their audience.
They shine because they were meant to.
The colors reflect on the water below.
The sea.
Which was black and impenetrable a moment ago.
Now holds wisps of the green and violet light.
They shift and reform.
Rippling with a quiet movement.
Of the ship's weight.
You can hear a few gasps of awe.
Quiet,
But there.
From other guests aboard.
That now take in the majestic lights.
You stay so long as the chill will allow.
Before stepping back inside.
Once indoors.
Your pajamas wait.
Kept warm.
You slip into them.
And then gleefully pull back the heavy duvet.
You surrender to the cool and quiet luxury.
The pressed linen sheet.
And the weight of the comforter settles over you from above.
Like a long and final exhale.
You turn off the lamp.
And your eyes softly closed.
The images of the Northern Lights.
Now dancing through your mind.
As you drift to the soft edges of sleep.
Rocked and low.
By the motions of the bow.
Breathe it in.
Not knowing when or how.
But knowing the beauty of this night.
Greet you again soon.
Finding peace.
Beauty.
Finding comfort.
Finding sleep It's time to dream away.
