Windows By The Sea: Sleep Story And Guided Meditation

A snowstorm arrives on a magical sea wharf and you go window shopping. The window displays conjure memories of days gone by and inspire dreams to come. With the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks, the snow falls slowly, and then heavily. You find respite in a comfortable historic apartment above a bakery, where you fall asleep to the sound of the wind in the comforts of a loft. It's time to dream away.

Transcript

You are welcome to relax and unwind before you fall into a deep sleep in the sanctuary of your mind and the sanctuary of your room.

You are listening to Windows by the Sea,

A guided sleep meditation and bedtime story for adults that will transport you to a magical seaside town on a snowy night.

You walk along a seaworth and peer into the windows of closed shops.

You relish the solitude of a sleepy town in the off season and beautiful memories and manifestations are conjured by each display.

Flurries begin to fall as a snowstorm rolls in and the sea and village are coated in a blanket of fresh white snow.

You seek refuge in a charming old apartment where you snuggle by the fire before falling asleep in a loft as the winter winds howl and the snow continues to fall.

It's time to dream away.

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

I am Michelle and as you get cozy and listen,

You may think of my voice as that of a long time friend and guide.

I am here to remind you how to self soothe and escape into the glorious landscape enlivened by your own imagination.

You deserve this time.

A sleep routine that is all for you.

It's as if you are setting out on a vacation each night to find respite and to restore yourself.

You have earned every moment of relaxation and may tailor this experience to the whims and desires of your own mind.

At any point,

You may cross the bridge to your sleeping life and let go of my voice as you surrender to sleep.

Take in a deep breath and stretch and wiggle and let your breath turn into a guilt free yawn and then you may sigh it all out.

Audibly if you like,

You are carefree to feel your body melt and sink into your bed.

And then take in another big breath,

Feeling as if you are able to float away.

Your breath is your vehicle that will transport you to newly discovered worlds to exhale and sink deeper into your bed.

Feeling heavy and feeling tired as this journey begins.

There is a seaside town that is packed with visitors in summer and colored by celebrations and picnics,

By fireworks and barbecues,

By sun filled beach days and night time dips in the blue marine waters.

But on the cusp of fall,

The village becomes sleepy and the shops begin to close for the season.

As one of the few residents to remain,

You enjoy the transition that prepares you for hibernation during the dark winter months.

The daylight hours are harder to come by and the town is cloaked in midnight blue and silvery white during most of the snowy and foggy nights.

On nights like this and the beginning of winter,

Before an incoming storm,

You often walk by the water and relish the sparkling light.

Like sparks of hope on a bed of darkness,

They soothe you with their magical beauty as they dance as reflections across the water.

You are adorned in a warm harka and scarf and your feet are in boots that grip on the salt that covers the days old snow that has become sullied by shades of gray and brown.

It makes you happy to imagine the fresh coating of white snow because it will make everything feel new again.

The last of autumn's fallen leaves peek through the sparsest of snow patches.

The air smells of salt and snow damp with droplets of a fine mist that tingles the inside of your nose when you take in a deep breath.

You walk along the rocky coastline,

Passing a beach that sits in the cove of a sea wharf and the main sprawl of the town.

You watch the stormy waves crash down onto the shore,

Splashing high with flashes of white and the lights of the town reflect off the abundant seafoam.

The sound of the waves crashing is consistent and soothing,

A song that you can always rely on even in times of change and uncertainty.

The certainty of the ocean and the seasons that come and go gives you an inner peace and something to hold onto,

Something to count on.

You balance with each step,

Appreciating the muscles in your legs that have carried you through so many adventures in this life,

While it is easy to take them for granted.

In this moment of solitude,

You are awash with gratitude for all the functioning parts of your body.

Your body with all its mechanisms and miraculous functions that keep you alive is but a wonder.

You take in a deep breath,

Feeling as your ribs expand within the snug downy confines of your winter coat,

And then you exhale.

And it is a night of magic brought on by the cold moon,

A full moon that comes on the longest and darkest of nights all year.

While hidden behind a shimmering gray veil of clouds,

You make out the softest white glow of the moon that is like an opal light bulb beneath cotton balls that have been stretched thin.

A few delicate flurries begin to fall and dance on the misty air around you,

And you cannot tell the difference between the melting snowflakes and the cold droplets of mist that touch your face.

You walk along the seaworth and the shops that look out onto the crashing waves.

These shops are in historic wooden and brick buildings that have lined the wharf for centuries.

In summer,

The rentals above the shops and bungalows on the wharf overflow with visitors and tourists.

You walk down an untouched lane where the snow is still white and pure.

You envision memories of summer and children running through the lane with sparklers erupting and their joyous laughter echoing throughout the caverns made between the low-rise buildings.

And now but a few stray electric candles illuminate the second and third floor windows of permanent residences.

The snow comes down more steadily and you approach the first store.

A candy shop with oversized rainbow lollipops in the bay windows and a holiday display of gingerbread homes has existed for centuries.

In the quiet of winter,

It opens only on the weekends with holiday offerings like English toffee and panucci and hot chocolate.

But in the summers,

The saltwater taffy is pulled and tourists line up outside the door vying for a piece of the warm,

Colorful,

Handmade confection.

The store has been around so long that the smell of chocolate is soaked in the wooden panels of the old walls.

Sometimes you imagine the many eras of visitors,

From the Victorian age,

The 1950s,

The 1980s.

Every era was a bit different,

But you're most interested in the eras where shoppers were adorned in fanciful attire,

Shopping for the most beloved candies of the time.

The candy shop is about to close and you open the old door by pressing on a cast iron thumb latch door handle.

The door opens and a bell dings to alert your entry.

The kind shopkeeper calls out as he comes from the back of the store.

You order a hot chocolate with freshly made whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

The beverage is prepared with the slow gentle motions of the elderly owner's hands.

And you watch in an almost hypnotic trance.

You remove your gloves and place them in your pockets.

You feel your face begin to tingle from the warmth of the shop.

And you happily exchange money for the sweet elixir.

You bring the cup close to your face and taste the light cream while you inhale the rich chocolatey aroma.

The shop owner wishes you a good night and you step out into the darkness.

A gentle wind off the ocean weaves like a ribbon through the old buildings,

Carrying the snow like a stream of opal glitter caught up in a tide.

You let your bare hands feel the delightful experience of the cold snow melting on the tops of them while your palms remain warmed by the cup of hot cocoa.

You sip the beverage.

Feeling the thick and smooth liquid cascade down your throat.

Its viscosity is filling and your stomach suddenly feels as if it is made of warm molten wax.

And you are warmed from the inside out.

You continue down the lane and pass by a five and dime shop.

The windows are lined with swirling metal displays of postcards with iconic images of the town depicted on them.

You suddenly remember greetings being sent or received with a personal handwritten scrawl of someone you love sharing their experiences on holiday.

Your mind drifts to past memories that dance upon the hope for future summers spent beneath the hot rays of sun and the sensation of the warm granular sand beneath your feet.

You recall how even the hottest of days are made pleasant by the cool ocean breeze.

Those contrasting experiences create a perfect harmony,

A perfect balance that optimizes pleasure and comfort.

Handmade sandcastles are in the store's window display.

These brown fixtures have shutters made of coral-hued seashells and sea glass ornamentations in shades of blue and green and brown.

You press a palm against the cold,

Slick glass and close your eyes for a moment.

You imagine what it must be like to live inside a sandcastle.

You imagine hearing soft echoes within a conch shell that remind you of the rolling waves of the sea.

The sweet smell of decaying seaweed marries the briny aroma of salt water that washes ashore.

And you imagine the stories that the sand could tell.

For the sand has taken quite a journey through time.

Dry grains of sand surrender to the wind and bluster down the shore without the slightest resistance.

At times they unify with other granules when the ocean waves lap against the shoreline and they become wet and heavy.

For a moment you imagine what it would be like to surrender to that journey and the majesty of the universe.

Trusting the guidance as it comes.

Letting go and floating.

Open your eyes and look one last time at the whimsical designs of the sandcastles.

Born from someone's imagination.

Just as all these experiences and sensations are born from your imagination,

You finish your hot cocoa before it becomes cold and continue your walk down the lane.

You arrive at your favorite antique shop.

A headless female mannequin made of ivory fabric,

Dons an elegant burgundy velvet trumpet gown.

With a plunging neckline,

It exemplifies an era of glamour and style.

It is arranged next to another mannequin that dons a black vintage tuxedo with luxurious red velvet trim.

These articles have been posed for years and no buyer has dared to buy them because they have become such permanent scenery in the town.

The wardrobe conjures ideas of the magical times once had by the sea.

Of the long closed opera house where people used to flock.

To imagine how happy and regal the couple must have felt when wearing this elegant attire.

You continue to the last window of the antique shop and see a full body mirror with an ornate brass frame.

Intricate in its design,

It looks like metal lace.

The mirror has tiny tarnished spots that appear like specks of bronze.

And when you look into the mirror,

You see yourself as you are.

Content and bundled from the cold,

You see the sparkling white snowflakes dance around you illuminated by the soft golden glow of a street lamp.

You look into your eyes in the mirror and see yourself transform in the coming new year.

This mirror shows you something you have longed for.

And you see it play out as if the mirror is suddenly a movie screen,

Depicting scenes from your own life.

You see that your dream is being realized.

Perhaps this is a dream you have kept hidden deep within for a long time.

Too afraid to admit how badly you've wanted it.

Perhaps this is something you have worked hard to accomplish and have faced many setbacks.

In this depiction of your future,

You see yourself in the reflection,

Wiser,

More experienced,

And at the place you long to be.

Your eyes are relaxed and sparkling.

They are smiling,

And your lips are in a beaming smile as well.

You feel every sensation of hope and appreciation,

Of gratitude and trust in yourself and in the universe.

The hopes you are given are not merely dangled before you as a tease.

They are yours to be had,

To steer you in a direction towards what you have always yearned for,

And to help you evolve and grow.

And in the antique mirror of the closed shop on a snowy seaworth before a new year,

You see all that you have known all along.

This confirmation soothes you as you continue your walk through the snow that accumulates at a quickening pace.

In between the 18th century wooden structures,

You see the white caps of the midnight blue waves.

The sky looks like a dark gray canvas,

Brightened by the white snow that dances feverishly above the vast ocean.

You walk past a quaint restaurant that has existed for centuries on the wharf,

The owners prideful for their freshest of offerings from the sea.

The business has been run by generations of the same family.

Creating like the same long lineage of the lobstermen and fishermen of the village.

The business just runs in the family.

It is nearing closing time,

And you peer inside to see one couple sitting in the glow of candlelight.

A bottle of red wine sits between them.

Their two glasses are half full,

And the amber glow of the flickering flame makes the wine appear translucent and plum-hued.

The red and white checkered tablecloths and wicker baskets of bread are familiar images that conjure memories of family gatherings and dinner celebrations for longer than you can even remember.

Again tonight's walk offers a glimpse of what feels timeless.

Consistent through the most uncertain of times,

You feel as if you are enveloped with a warm embrace,

Brought on by nostalgia and the simplest of pleasures.

For it is the smell of home or a nourishing meal.

The sound of a loved one's voice or the melodic music of the crashing waves.

The familiar sensation of a warm beverage cascading down your throat or the cold tingle from melting snowflakes on your lips,

Or the beauty of a blanket of fresh snow and the honeyed glow of a fire that bring a comfort and sense memory that runs deep.

These simple things soothe you and relax you and make you feel the comforts of life.

And these simple things have soothed generations that came before you and will continue to do so for generations to come.

Your walk leads you past a candle shop and the smells of cinnamon and balsam fur and fresh baked sugar cookies waft through the cracks of the closed door and spill out into the nippy night's air.

You take in a deep breath,

Appreciating how the air is warmed through your nose before it reaches your lungs.

You enjoy every fragrant note that hits the air.

And you look inside to admire the handmade candles.

Arranged in tiers of varying heights and rainbow colors,

The hand carved candles have ornate ribbons of wax that weave around the thick pillars like rolling waves of pastel stripes.

From indigo to emerald green,

From pastel shades like peach and buttery yellow,

To red raspberry and amethyst,

The candles represent a kaleidoscope of colors.

And the candle in the center is as wide and tall as the trunk of a young tree and reminds you of an enchanted forest.

Your thoughts drift to the candle that awaits you at home.

Purchased at the store and designed in your favorite color palette and inspired by your favorite scene from nature.

The thought of home makes you realize how tired you feel.

And you decide to return to the warm refuge that awaits.

Before you venture home,

You stand in the center of the lane and look up to really take in the magnificence of the snow.

You focus on the intricate designs of each flake backlit by a streetlamp.

The flakes are also backlit by a string of white lights that dangle from the edge of the roof of a nearby cottage.

The wind whistles softly and you imagine hearing the joyous voices traveling on it.

From sailors returning home,

From seafarers welcoming the discovery of land after long nights at sea.

You feel the same sense of relief,

Knowing that your home is but a few doors down and waiting for your return.

Your feet crunch on the freshly fallen snow,

Leaving footprints that lead to a local bakery.

Your apartment is located below and you open the door to hear it shut behind you with a soft creak.

You stand in the foyer and peer into the second glass door that opens into the bakery.

Your mornings are often met with the smell of coffee and fresh baked goods.

From muffins and croissants to artisan loaves of sourdough bread.

The interior of the shop feels like a second home that your memory now brings to life with visions of sunny mornings.

As the shop is cloaked in a vibrant yellow haze and village regulars line up for their coffee and baked goods.

You can almost smell the fresh baked bread.

You take in a deep breath and exhale.

And your attention turns towards the carpeted stairs and the sapphire blue rug that cascades down the white wooden steps like a waterfall.

The white paneled walls of the stairwell are adorned with black and white photos of the bakery and seaworth in various seasons.

One of the photos depicts a wintry scene,

A blizzard of decades past.

And it feels as though tonight could replicate the many snowstorms through history that the wharf has survived.

The steps creak as you carefully climb each one.

They are narrow and steep,

But you float along with a familiarity that comes from years of living in the same place.

This familiarity is comforting,

As is the tone of every squeak that sings out into the stillness of the night.

You know every nook,

Every cranny,

The feeling of every texture as you run your hands along the smooth alabaster banister.

You come to the top of the stairs and the door that leads to your apartment.

You remove a key from your pocket and feel a tingling sensation in your fingers,

Brought on by the warmth of the steam powered radiator that clanks in the hallway.

You unlock the door and it opens into a lofty apartment.

You remove your boots and leave them on a nautical doormat that depicts a sailboat in a cove on a summer's day.

You enter the apartment and remove your coat and hang it to dry on an ivory coat tree.

The apartment is modern and cozy,

Yet retains the character and charm of an old building.

Wayne Scotting wraps around the main living room that is decorated with soothing hues of blues and greens.

You turn on a Tiffany lamp and the room is cast in a soft teal light.

At times in this apartment,

With the sound of the ocean and the color scheme and decor,

You feel as if you are out at sea.

You often fall asleep and dream of voyages beneath the stars,

Led by the light of the moon.

A long strand of silver-white lights is draped around a loft that extends over the living room.

Many nights your eyes become bleary before bedtime and your attention goes to these lights.

You imagine they are stars that shimmer above you and that the interior of your apartment is an extension of the nautical beauty of life on a seaworth.

You start a fire in a fireplace that is centuries old and was renovated before you moved in.

Like your walk through the wharf,

Like the shops of the village and the energy of the town,

You are constantly drifting between the historic authenticity and the modern improvements.

The kindling catches and you throw a log onto the fire and then sit on a velvet sofa.

The sofa is plush and its elegant back and arm rests curve like ocean waves.

You sink into its deep cushions,

Watching the snow fall outside of the bay window that looks out on the neighboring buildings of the wharf and out on the ocean.

Now near whiteout conditions,

You barely make out the twinkling holiday lights strung on various buildings and the glow of the street lamps.

There is an end table constructed of gray driftwood that sits before the sofa.

Your attention turns to the hand-carved candle that sits in the middle of it.

You admire the intricate details of the ribbons and curves that now bask in the glow of the fire.

This candle is an emblem of the sense of community you feel,

Supporting the local artisans and being part of a special place that has existed throughout time.

The fire crackles and pops and as it softens into magenta embers,

You feel you are becoming more and more tired.

Before you fall asleep on the sofa,

Your eyes retreat to your bedroom for the night.

You climb up the spiral stairs,

As if rounding the inside of a clock tower,

Counting each step as you go.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 You arrive at the landing and your feet land on a plush furry white rug.

There is a skylight above the loft that is now covered in a thick blanket of snow.

Come morning the sun will illuminate it and you will watch as the snow slowly melts and a blue sky reveals itself again.

You flip a switch on the wall and all the lights turn off and you appreciate the dark tranquil sanctuary of your loft.

You remove your clothes and change into warm flannel pajamas that smell freshly laundered when you raise the soft and weather worn fabric to your nose.

They comfort you and accompany memories spent hunkering down in the winter months and enjoying the coziness of your home.

You peel back the downy thick white comforter and cool white sheets that remind you of fresh snow.

You sink into the bed and the pillows form around your neck,

Supporting your head and offering you a place where you can always be your authentic self.

Where you can surrender all that cannot be solved today and hand it over to your subconscious mind to work it all out in the dreams that come.

You listen to the patter of snow and the whistling wind.

You hear the faint sounds of the ocean waves that respond to the pull of the moon and the intensity of the storm.

And you surrender like a grain of sand caught in the tide,

Like a snowflake gliding on the winter's wind,

Like a seafarer returning home.

Floating and drifting between the safety of your historic home and the healing dreams that await.

You are blessed.

You are safe.

You are warm and at peace.

With all that you cannot control and with the magical power of choice that you have been given each day and each night to choose what is best for you.

Tonight you choose rest.

You choose nurturing and respite from the storm outside and the storms that come uninvited.

You remain calm within.

You remain at ease with the wisdom that this too shall pass and you will thrive.

And I am going to count you down to a night of healing,

Dream filled sleep.

Where you may play out all you hope to manifest.

Where you may repeat all that has served you kindly.

Where you may enjoy the limitless potential of your own imagination.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Finding peace.

Finding restoration.

Finding ease.

Finding grace.

It's time to dream away.

Good night.

Reviews

The description of the town when tourist season is ending was relaxing and calming. Thanks, Michelle, for another great sleep story.

Lovely!!

This one of my favorite things to listen to when I fall asleep! I love the detailed description of the candy and all the other details. I would love to go visit a place like this in the winter.
I tried to listen to Michelle’s new Treehouse in the Woodlands, but it wouldn’t work for some reason. I am sure it will be great too!

Enjoyed the story...

Hi Michelle
Really great , One of your best renditions of a snow-decked village i have heard , i did fall asleep in the last seems like 5 minutes but that was just music
Thank you for all your effort and hard work .
Namaste
🙏🏻

Which towns are those Michelle ?

I don’t remember anything past just a few minutes! It was soothing! Thank you!