The Village On The Bridge | Deep Sleep Story

In tonight's deep sleep story, travel to the valley of a thousand bridges. Over a century past, peacemakers and dreamers built a vibrant village on a bridge overlooking the river and snow-capped mountains. You arrive by train and horse and carriage to explore the historic village. At sunset, you enjoy a rooftop band and celebrate the anniversary of Pax Pontis. You return to a historic inn and fall asleep, comforted by the clean mountain air and melodies of the river. It's time to dream away.

Transcript

Fall asleep fast into tonight's relaxing bedtime story for grown-ups.

You're listening to The Village on the Bridge,

A calm sleep story that will take you to an enchanted village built on a bridge.

Travel to the land of a thousand bridges,

Where waterfalls,

Rushing streams,

And pristine rivers weave through a forested valley.

Step out of time in this fairy-tale setting,

Exploring the historic village.

Heartwarming,

Memorable interactions with the villagers offer inspiration that will stay with you for a long time.

At sunset,

Rooftop celebrations commence with rapturous music and dancing.

Come nightfall,

You retire at a cozy inn on the bridge,

And fall into a deep,

Healing sleep.

It's time to dream away.

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

I am Michelle,

And I encourage you to think of me as a trusted friend and your ally for peace and sleep.

Each and every day,

You deserve to revel in this sacred time for winding down.

Your peace of mind,

Pleasure,

And restoration deserve to be a priority.

All else can wait.

Release your concerns about anything that takes you out of the blissful now.

Safe in your room and tucked in your bed,

You are free to explore the sanctuary of your mind.

The power of choice means you may select any visualization and thought that helps you sail across the channel to your sleeping life and dreamscape.

Customize the brief meditation practice and story to what feels right.

You are the captain,

The architect,

The artist,

And the dreamer.

You may let go of my voice and fall asleep at any point.

Get cozy in your bed.

Feel your eyelids become heavy on your tired eyes.

Like shutters on a cottage,

They close you off from the noise and demands of the outside world.

As you go deeper within,

Notice how your chest feels.

Aim to embrace the fluidity of each conscious breath to follow.

And as you do,

Feel your ribs and belly soften as they take on the ebb and flow of gentle waves.

Exhale with a sigh and make a sound if you like to indicate that you are separating this part of the night from all that has come before it.

Inhale through your nose.

Imagining the air is cool,

Pure,

And fresh.

It has the aromatic notes of a misty forest.

Clean balsam fur,

Sweet mulch,

And the crispness of autumn are carried like a whisper on a breeze.

You may hold your breath at the top for a few seconds or simply open your mouth and yawn and then sigh.

Repeat this breath pattern two more times at your preferred pace.

Your breathing may be audible like sussurating evergreen branches taken by a night breeze.

Each second brings you deeper into a state of stillness and grace.

This washes over you from head to toe.

Your bedding bundles you in a hug of protection.

And in a safe,

Nurturing place,

You notice how much better you feel now than moments ago.

And in a state of deep relaxation,

You are ready for the story to begin.

Mary Lou Retton expressed,

Rather than focusing on the obstacle in your path,

Focus on the bridge over the obstacle.

Long ago in a land of a thousand bridges,

There were two villages divided by a river.

The river kept the pulse of the valley,

Often wide and raging after the thaw of winter,

And narrow and babbling softly during hot,

Dry summers.

For many years,

The people of the villages were content to wade across the river when it was low,

And simply wade out the seasons of unruly currents.

The valley was nestled between rolling hills and snow-capped mountains that kept their icy crowns until late August.

Hundreds of streams and rivers rolled through the valley,

And the residents were deeply proud of the thousand stone and wooden bridges erected over the tendril-like waterways.

Towards the end of the 19th century,

The bridge that was built between the two villages was one of the last and most ambitious projects at the time.

Villagers on both sides of the river enthusiastically came together to celebrate its completion.

During what was meant to be a joyous occasion,

Conflict arose between the leaders of the two villages over a poorly received joke,

And the conflict escalated quickly.

Their fiery spat may have seemed trivial to an outsider,

But their egos fueled a small misunderstanding into escalating discord.

Without warning,

The villagers woke one morning to discover both sides of the bridge were barricaded and passage was forbidden.

For a month,

The villagers would gather at the riverbank at sunrises and sunsets to socialize and take in the beauty of the river and bridge cast in gilded light.

The bridge was wide and sturdy,

With ornate carvings in the stone crafted by local masons who poured their passion for the region into their work.

To them,

Creating this bridge was more than a job.

It was an immortal mark that they were once there,

Vibrant and strong,

Adding something that would be enjoyed and outlast their time on earth.

Most of the villagers thought relations between the hot-headed rulers would improve quickly,

But when they didn't after a season,

And then two more,

Concerns were raised.

The bridge was too lovely to be neglected and unused because of some despot's tomfoolery.

One night,

Beneath the light of a waxing gibbous moon,

The most compassionate and peaceful villagers from each side of the river convened in the center of the bridge.

They weren't breaking any rules by meeting on the bridge,

For the silly law enacted simply said they could not use the bridge to get to the other side.

They were well aware that laws that came suddenly from tempers,

Egos,

And fear shouldn't be laws at all,

So they obeyed it but found a workaround.

The wisest,

Most even-tempered members of the communities discussed how they could fix the situation.

They were mothers and artisans,

Teachers,

Masons,

Bakers,

And woodworkers.

They were souls who would make fantastic leaders,

But preferred to live their lives in harmony with nature,

Choosing work that gave them fulfillment.

It was only under the most trying of times that they felt the gentle tug at the soul level to do something and to lead.

The faint whispers of their intuition crescendoed as they came together in a chorus of encouragement to join forces.

Drinks were imbibed and loving embraces were exchanged when one of the villagers looked longingly at the river view and said how they wished they could awaken every morning and see the world from this vantage point.

Someone chimed in and said,

Then build a house there.

It started as a joke,

But the idea raged like a fire through the night as these visionaries from both sides of the river decided they would claim the bridge.

And the next morning,

As often happens when destiny aligns,

They asked their leaders if they could take over the bridge to reside.

The leaders told them to do whatever they wanted,

As they loathed the connection it provided to the other village.

Pride wouldn't allow these rulers to destroy the bridge,

For they secretly enjoyed the view from their castle-like dwellings.

In a quarter of the time that it took to build the bridge,

The village of Pax Epontis was formed.

Two dozen colorful row houses rose three or four stories towards the sky,

With uninterrupted views of the river to the north and south.

The half-timbered homes were painted in vibrant shades of mustard yellow,

Turquoise,

Forest green,

Tangerine,

Candy apple red,

Lavender,

And pink.

Logs were spliced,

Stained the color of dark chocolate,

And crisscrossed like the ribbons of a maiden's corset on the facades of the buildings.

The first floors of the dwellings served as shops and cafes.

Rooftop patios and decks were built to house gardens and to offer a place for celebrations.

Bedrooms on the second,

Third,

And fourth floors were given balconies overlooking the river and mountains.

Early on,

The villagers who were not involved with the bridge were judgmental and harsh to their former neighbors for mingling with the enemy and leaving the village.

These poor,

Angry souls had become bitter against people who had not done them wrong.

They lived in anguish without questioning it,

All because their leaders became enemies.

The peacekeepers and dreamers were happy on the bridge,

Feeling a sense of excitement and hope they had never felt before.

Most of the bridge dwellers had never left the valley,

But the bold move in creating a new life on the bridge was as transformative as if they had traveled the world.

It wasn't easy for the sparring villagers to stay angry at those who built a new life on the bridge.

The bridge dwellers had been the most beloved in the community.

They were empathetic souls.

They also had contributed the most to society.

The smell of Lorianne's fresh baked goods wafting across the flinty damp air was enough for even the rulers to declare a truce.

Only when the desire for peace and joy surpassed the need to be right could harmony be found.

And it was found in the simple pleasures during an impromptu party on an autumn's eve hosted on the bridge.

Over a century and a half past the first anniversary of Pax Appontis,

You arrive by train.

The fresh mountain air comes through the cracked window of your sleeper car,

Greeting you with a morning mist as you arrive at the depot.

The interior of the train has luxurious decor replicated from the golden era of train travel.

Lush emerald and gold velvet upholstery,

Sleek mahogany wood doors,

Brass sconces,

Crystal vases,

Edison light bulbs,

And jewel toned silk wallpaper set the timeless tone for this journey.

At the train station you are met by Louis,

A fourth generation villager from Pax Appontis,

Who transports you to the bridge with a carriage led by a chestnut stallion.

You travel light and dress in layers,

As summer's warmth sings through the daylight hours until the promise of autumn lends its cool melody come nightfall.

The silvery mist burns away as you travel on a well-worn path that weaves through the woods like a caramel suede strap.

Each bump and jostle makes you laugh,

Full of childlike glee as you travel through an awakening forest.

Louis smiles knowingly,

For it is quite common for visitors to become drunken with glee when they enter the woods.

The air is cool enough to require a sweater until the sun pours through the canopy of evergreen trees and lush green leaves on the precipice,

Transforming into gold,

Orange,

Mulberry,

And magenta hues.

You remove your coat and enjoy the brisk air on your skin,

Even as tiny goosebumps form.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply.

The air is so richly perfumed by the scent of forest floor,

Pine needles,

Crystal clear spring water,

A trace of balsam,

And decomposing leaves.

You feel lighter with each breath.

Louis glances over his shoulder to observe you taking in the experience and offers a glass bottle of water gathered locally.

Your teeth softly clink against the glass lip,

And you sip the water.

It purifies and cools your throat,

And somehow makes you feel even closer to the landscape.

A dove creates a silhouette in the shower of sunlight that lands on your skin as you arrive at a clearing in the woods.

Louis guides you through rolling hills dappled with historic stone cottages and a manor overlooking a river bank.

The carriage continues on a stone path and across wooden bridges over babbling sapphire streams until you come upon the view of Pax Epontis.

The village on the bridge looms taller than you expected.

The facade of the stone bridge is castle-like,

With parts carved into mermaids and mermen,

Lotus flowers,

And ornate balustrades.

The brightly painted row houses resemble a box of rainbow oil pastels.

You feel as if you have fallen into the pages of an illustrated storybook.

Sunlight causes the mist to glisten like gold dust.

The happy voices of villagers and visitors travel across the water to the river bank.

Louis parks the carriage and helps you down with your luggage.

You step onto a cobblestone river walk that leads to the bridge,

And Louis invites you to join him that evening atop the turquoise house for a celebratory night that marks the anniversary of peace in Pax Epontis.

You happily accept the invitation and make your way towards the Pontis Inn,

A residence turned into a quaint bed and breakfast in the heart of the bridge.

The wheels of your suitcase click and rumble on the stone pathway.

You carefully guide your luggage around outdoor cafe tables where patrons dine on fresh croissants and quiche,

Sipping on their cappuccinos and lattes as bistro music plays from the speaker of the Pax Cafe.

Everyone around you is savoring the mid-morning hours.

Wet laundry hangs on lines strung atop buildings,

And you look up at the garments billowing in the river breeze.

The flinty,

Salty aroma of the river rises up to meet the perfume of freshly cleaned linens drying in the sun.

Your walk is met with smiles,

Kind greetings,

And the feeling of being part of a community.

You arrive at the Pontis Inn,

A royal blue building with ivory detailing and flower boxes overflowing with fuchsia bougainvillea.

The bright pink petals drape down the timber like water trickling over a log.

The sky is crystal blue,

And the morning mist has burned away and transformed into midday warmth.

The sunlight has a rich honeyed tone that comes towards autumn when the white hot light of summer becomes subdued.

And many things on this day in Pax Epontis feel subdued,

Easy,

And as gentle as the rippling currents and line-dried linens.

You open the heavy,

Dark brown door into the foyer of the inn and are greeted by Margareta,

A woman with flowing silver hair and piercing violet eyes.

Sunlight pours in from the open door and surrounds her in a halo.

She greets you by name.

Her voice is soothing and distinctive,

With an accent you cannot place.

She helps you with your bag and guides you up the wooden stairs that creak beneath your feet.

The wide cherry wood banister feels smooth and cool to the touch,

And spirals around into the foyer like a slide.

You ascend each step and take in the fragrance of cinnamon,

Sweet old books,

Pumpkin bread,

And Margareta's lemon verbena perfume.

The air is dry and warm inside the inn.

You walk down the shadowy hallway of the third floor and Margareta opens ivory double doors into your suite.

Bright sunlight pours into the room from the Porta Fenetris,

Known in France as windowed doors,

As the multi-paned windows are large enough to walk through.

They open into the room and chiffon curtains drift on the breeze like opal morning mist.

Ceramic vases throughout the suite overflow with dried lavender,

Adding pops of color to the cream and beige tones that dominate the decor.

A king-sized four-poster bed is in the center of the room,

Covered in a white embroidered duvet and a sea of pillows.

Margareta opens a luggage rack and you place your suitcase atop it.

The suite embodies the purity of the mountain air and sky.

You are certain you will sleep well here,

As you attempt to stifle a yawn that comes out anyway.

Margareta smiles and says people often yawn when they feel at peace,

And that she hopes you feel at peace in Paxe Pontes.

She gestures to a small silver bell on a hand-carved wooden table by the entryway,

Insisting you ring it should any needs arise.

You thank her as she wishes you the most pleasant stay and then closes the doors behind her.

You walk to the windows and take in the view,

Overcome by a deep sense of reverence and ease.

The faint laughter and conversations of café patrons merge with the persistent music of the river,

Gurgling and flowing with a soothing soundtrack.

You sigh with ease and grace.

You spend the afternoon exploring shops and trying local delicacies that satisfy your palate and satiate you.

The tangerine building was the first one built on the bridge.

The ground floor now serves as a small museum with artifacts and local paintings accompanied by inspiring prose about the villagers who chose unity and joy over division and rivalry.

You come across an oil painting portrait of Clarissa,

A motherly soul who hosted the first gathering of the dissenting rulers at what is now the Pontus Inn.

Her violet eyes and bone structure have an uncanny resemblance to Margareta.

The afternoon hours pass by quickly,

As they often do on the most leisurely and fulfilling days.

A garden café towards the end of the bridge offers a dozen wooden porch swings with soft pillows.

You spend the afternoon journaling and reading,

Listening to laughter and conversation in languages you do not understand.

The musicality of the voices reveal joy and contentment.

You rock back and forth,

Sipping on a unique beverage,

Complex enough that each note hits you with a pleasant memory,

Such as being in nature,

Enjoying summer,

Picking berries,

And tasting fruit.

At sunset,

The river and lush forest bathe in rich magenta light that pours over the valley with a fireiness that you imagine is the sun's final attempt to leave its mark on the land until the dawning of a new day.

The vibrant colors of the houses on the bridge reflect on the rippling amber waves of the river like a watercolor dream.

This visit to Paxe Pontus will stay with you in a way that you may often question if you are truly here or if it was just a dream.

A band begins to play the moment the sun slips behind the river and the sky erupts in ribbons of pink,

Lavender,

Peach,

Orange,

Buttery yellow,

And magenta.

It is the only time of day that the sky becomes more colorful than the bridge dwellings.

The wispy clouds and pastel bands are reminiscent of the sweetest confections of cotton candy,

Creamsicles,

Saltwater taffy,

And pinwheel lollipops.

The music is joyous,

Bouncy,

And fun.

Remembering Louis' invitation,

He walked to the turquoise house to find the doors open and guests in a grand library with walled ceiling first edition books.

Louis sees you and says hello,

And encourages you to check out the views from the roof.

You ascend the winding stairs for four stories.

Your hand grips on the etched ebony handrail that wraps around like fine black lace.

A narrow hidden staircase leads to the roof,

And you step out onto it as the sky turns navy blue with a fiery orange band by the horizon.

Silvery stars emerge,

Twinkling like the fairy lights strung around the roof.

A three-piece band plays on a stage made of wooden pallets beneath a pergola dripping in wisteria.

Empty wine crates are strewn across the roof to serve as seats.

Down below revelers dance on the narrow sidewalk,

While other villagers dance on their roofs.

A flutist trills from a neighboring rooftop,

And the music,

Voices,

And sounds of the river create a symphony that will pleasantly haunt you for years to come.

Celebrations continue throughout the night,

And you dance and explore the person you become in an environment where nobody knows who you are or where you are from.

The sense of mystery you carry enhances their kindness and curiosity,

And you experience a warm exchange with everyone you meet and feel deeply safe and confident.

As midnight approaches,

The revelers return to their homes one by one,

And from years of tradition,

Tapered candles and antique holders are lit in the window of each bedroom.

You walk on the stone sidewalk as the marmalade flames dance and the village prepares for sleep.

A quiet hush takes over steadily and swiftly.

You return to your suite to discover a flickering candle on the windowsill.

Honeyed light from the flame illuminates your turned-down bed with a soft silver glow of moonlight.

You change into clean pajamas and wash your face and brush your teeth with water from a mountain-fed spring.

Again,

You feel purified and clean.

You walk to the windows that open out onto the night.

You look at the inky blue river that ripples with the reflections of a million mirrors.

You inhale the pristine night air and hug your arms around you when hit by the crispness of the midnight hour.

You raise the brass candle holder so the flame is positioned before your lips.

And as is the custom in Pax Epontis,

You make a wish for all you hope to dream and the sleep to come and wish peace for everyone.

You place the candle holder down and dreamily lean against the windowsill,

Bathing in the luminous light of a nearly full moon as the chiffon curtains billow around you.

You feel as if you could float through the night,

As carefree as the water below,

The wispy clouds in the sky,

And the delicate curtains that dance like gossamer.

You close the windows,

Leaving a small crack for the mountain air to flow through the room and usher you to sleep.

You draw thick gold velvet curtains closed and retreat to the plush bed.

You climb atop the downy mattress topper and pull the crisp sheets and weighted duvet up to your chin.

Your head sinks into the marshmallow-like pillows that contour around your neck and head supporting you.

You feel safe and full of trust as you close your tired eyes and begin to drift.

Your chest undulates like waves,

With each deep inhalation and exhalation as you go deeper and deeper down into the soft,

Inviting darkness.

You nurture the gentleness of this moment,

Feeding the sensations of peace and bliss that you deserve.

The night taps into the wonders of the sanctuary of your mind and ushers you to sleep.

Finding respite,

Finding tranquility,

Finding stillness,

Finding sleep.

It's time to dream away.

Good night.

Reviews

The beautiful, soothing story & music sent me back to sleep after waking up in the night. Thank you, Michelle.

Loved the peacekeepers! Awesome as always Michelle, thanks

Beautiful, thank you Michelle.

Incredible as all your stories

So beautiful...
Thank you.💐🙏💐
Blessed Be;
Morgaine🌸

Love your stories, asleep right away, but I’ll keep listening till I hear the whole thing. I’m in awe of your creativity. Thanks 💕