Lighthouse In The Rain: An Autumnal Sleep Story & Guided Meditation

Relax and calmly drift to sleep in this bedtime story and guided sleep meditation set on a foggy barrier island in the fall.

As keeper of a lighthouse in an era gone by,

You illuminate the way and offer a safe haven for weary seafarers on a stormy night.

After fulfilling your duties,

You retreat to your sleeping quarters,

Lulled to slumber by the sounds of rain and thunder.

So find a place to get cozy and warm,

To snuggle and relax before crossing the channel between your waking and sleeping life.

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 your dear friend and fellow adventurer.

I am here to remind you that you are safe and you have the ability to self-soothe with the powers of your own imagination.

With a gentle practice over time,

You may discover that when you can control the thoughts in your mind,

That anything is possible.

And with a night of restorative sleep,

You are empowered to live the life of your dreams with a clear and rested mind.

At any moment in this story and meditation,

You may drift away from my voice if sleep calls to you.

Remember this is your journey and time and you very much deserve to do with it whatever you like.

As you are in the sanctuary of your own room,

You may notice your eyes feel heavy as they close and you take in a deep breath,

Yawning if that feels good.

Signaling to your nerves,

It is time to stand down to your muscles that they may just melt as you exhale and sink deeper and deeper down into your bed.

Taking in another sip of sleep inducing air,

Feeling your abdomen rise and then fall like the wave of an ocean crashing upon the sand as you fully exhale.

And in the safety of your room,

You are free to be you and you are free to dream.

Imagine as you are in your bed that you begin to float,

Rising as you drift across your room to a wall.

You are standing with your feet floating just above the floor and in this wall a door suddenly appears that was not there before.

Even in the darkness of your room at night,

It is defined by light streaking through the cracks like a golden sparkling rectangular outline.

You reach your hand out slowly yet confidently and feel a warm brass antique doorknob in the heart of your palm.

You feel engravings on it made with the craftsmanship of another time.

You turn the knob and the door opens into your room,

Illuminating the darkness as if it's cloaked in a spotlight.

This light sparkles like specks of dust in the morning sunlight and curiosity lures you to cross the threshold.

You find yourself floating through space,

Through the warm golden light as a tingling sensation forms all over your body as you cross over into another dimension and another time.

You suddenly find yourself on a sandy path of a forest in 1963.

You smell the salty air that is carried on a thin veil of mist that slithers through the deciduous trees of the woods.

You are dressed in a plaid wool coat of the times,

In comfortable slacks and boat shoes,

And yet this moment feels timeless,

Like in a dream within a year of dreams and change.

And yet this moment feels timeless,

A dream within a year of dreams and change.

Lavender gray clouds cover the sky,

Moving swiftly yet gracefully in a crisp maritime breeze.

The woods are occupied by a family of deer,

Unafraid of your presence,

As you walk on the wet sandy path and they continue to feast on local vegetation.

The trees have changed into a vibrant array of deep reds and fiery oranges and rich marigolds and bring life to the otherwise gray drear that cloaks the woods.

A storm is on the way and you feel a sense of importance.

Knowing as keeper of the lighthouse,

You will help guide many souls through the autumn storm.

The cooler months and shorter days give you a sense of peace,

As you feel ready to hibernate in the warm and safe confines of your sleeping quarters within the historic lighthouse tower.

The forest opens out into a clearing that informs you that you are getting close,

A marker that lets you know you are getting close to the main section of the village.

Mostly a vacation town,

The small cottages and beach shacks are not winterized and have been cleared out for the changing season.

But a few brave souls remain with you,

Content to be in solitude and quietude in the winter months.

Like a hibernation period,

Those who stay will warm by the fire and enjoy the pristine landscape and the snowy beaches of winter.

But now you are in the middle of fall and relish the cool nights and stillness.

You have spent the summer canning vegetables and fruit from your garden and smoking local delicacies to keep you nourished through this period of slowing down and hibernation.

The woodlands open into dunes more than twice your height,

Rolling like short red hills.

You would think you are in a desert if the beach grass and shrubs and sound of the ocean in the distance weren't there to tell you otherwise.

The dunes meet the darkening sky and you can make out the tower of the black and white striped lighthouse in the distance.

You listen to the surf that gets louder as the path between the dunes leads you to a narrow elevated wooden boardwalk that looks out on the dusty blue ocean waves that form lacy ivory crests as the waves crash down.

The tide is high and surf is rough from the storm at sea.

The thin veil of mist is becoming more opaque as you walk past the white picket fences that surround the small beach bungalows that have closed for the season.

It feels as if the entire barrier island is yours and that you are the keeper of light and of the island as well.

The sense of purpose is soothing and healing.

You know your role and fill it with pride as each day of work brings you the deepest of sleep.

You walk towards the center of the village.

The island is so narrow that you can see the bay to the north and the ocean to the south when you walk along the quiet main street.

A car drives by.

It is a mercury comet and signature peacock turquoise paint.

It's a symbol of the times and you watch as it drives slowly by.

The car is over packed with a family of five and all their belongings.

The father tips his hat in your direction,

Driving to make the last car ferry of the year.

You smile and wave to the family as you continue to walk past closed shops,

An ice cream parlor and a local grocery store.

The wind increases in speed and you push against it,

Looking forward to the warm respite of the lighthouse.

At the edge of town you come to the narrow sandy path that winds through tall honey-hued reeds that shuffle in the breeze as their feathery tops brush against one another.

It's like being in the middle of a maze that you know well,

Aware of every turn and bend that leads you to the lighthouse property.

It always seems to take your breath away,

To take in its beauty,

Especially on a day like today when the vibrant white and black stripes are bold against the grays and blues of the sky and sea.

You walk on a stone path that you created yourself over the summer and feel proud of all the little efforts that made this safe haven a home for you and a beacon for others.

There is a garden with flowers still in bloom,

Namely hydrangeas that look like vibrant powderpuffs in shades of cornflower blue and raspberry pink and pastel purple.

You hear the waves crashing against the black rocks of the shore and you walk around the lighthouse to take in the crisp briny air and beauty of the arriving storm.

You can see the black and dark grey bellied storm clouds illuminated by flashes of lightning out at sea.

The torrential rains are still far out at sea and look like pewter swarms connecting the sky to the white caps of the stormy waters.

You feel a drop or two of rain begin to fall.

The drops are big and cool and when one lands on your lips it tastes like the sea.

You are ready to head indoors and walk towards the heavy metal door,

Pulling it open and entering into the foyer.

You smell the lavender that hangs above the door that you hand picked in June and dried in the sun on a perfect summer's day.

The changing of seasons and the variety of weather on the island has created layers of memories that you deeply enjoy.

The beauty is unlimited and can be found in every variation of weather.

A fluffy grey cat comes to meet you,

Rubbing against your shins as you lean down to pet her.

The walls are brick and a winding white metal staircase leads up through your sleeping quarters and to the top of the tower.

The rhythm of the day is similar as before dusk you climb the stairs with your cat in tow,

Going further and further up.

You feel the strength in your legs and the cool dampness of the lighthouse that will change once you illuminate the wicks.

As you reach the top,

You first go to inspect the Fresno lens and the many prisms that you clean each morning.

You run your hand along the entrancing design,

Like a greenhouse of prisms that stands taller than you.

It consists of concentric grooves that refract light so a solid beam of light may cut through the fog and illuminate a path for the most weary out at sea.

You trim the wick and check the fuel before lighting the wick and watching as the flame burns brightly.

You hand crank the weights to the top so they may descend again and cause the gears to spin the beacon of light and flashes across the ocean.

You stay for the requisite time to make sure the light does not burn out and you look out the windows to the fog rolling in,

Watching as the light cuts through the fog.

Its rhythm is captivating and hypnotic and lulling you into a relaxed state.

You sit on the wooden floor as your cat nestles beside you,

Purring and cuddling as you pet her.

The storm rolls in and you hear thunder rolling across the island.

The sky darkens as the purple black storm clouds roll in and you begin to reminisce.

The silvery mist of the fog becomes like a movie screen where you play out memories of the beach,

Your first time in the ocean,

The first time your bare feet stepped into a tidal pool.

You see yourself surrounded by those you love and those timeless memory and sensation of belonging as you watch the sunset over the bay.

The idea of time alludes you as if all these memories brought to life are happening at once.

You feel just the same in 1963 as you feel in your waking life.

You feel the essence of who you are,

No matter where or when you go in time.

The rain begins to splat against the metal roof of the lighthouse,

Soporific and calming.

You are warmed by the burning wick,

The flames licking against the glass enclosure.

Your face is warmed by the amber glow and you ready yourself to descend and take a nap before you will rise and check on the flame again.

You walk down the spiral stairs,

Your hand sliding down the cool metal rail as your fluffy cat races ahead.

You arrive at the second floor to your sleeping quarters.

The room is quaint and you feel embraced by the curves of the brick walls.

There is a bed on the opposite side of the room with an oil lantern that you light with a set of matches kept in your pocket.

The lantern illuminates the room with a warm glow.

There is a cast iron wood stove upon which you place a tea kettle full of water.

The flat black surface is perfect for cooking and heating water.

You stoke the fire and add another log to the smoldering embers left from earlier in the day.

The log soon catches,

Crackling and popping in a percussive sound that marries the sounds of the pelting rain and whistling winds of the storm outside.

You remove a can of food from the cupboard for your cat,

Emptying it onto a fine china plate.

She deserves the best as much as you,

For she is your loyal companion through the quietest and even the stormiest of nights.

You remove an antique teacup and saucer,

Bestowed to you from a grateful passenger on a ship once stranded at sea.

You were very helpful in that rescue,

And the appreciation was paid forward with this china.

You run your finger around the gold trim of the cup,

As if for good luck,

Before you place a tea bag in it.

The water boils and you remove it from the wood stove,

Pouring it into the teacup and smelling the sweet aroma of the tea as its redolence wafts on the steam.

You sweeten it with local honey that you harvested from beehives you looked after during the summer,

Knowing it will boost your immunity and strength.

You take the tea and saucer to an upholstered armchair that is overstuffed and well worn.

You sink into it and peer out the lookout window to see flashes of the lighthouse that are in competition with the streaks of lightning that come with the storm.

You look to black and white photos on the walls,

Photos of you in various seasons on the island,

In the fashionable attire of the 1960s.

You are standing with guests who visited the lighthouse in summer,

The ladies in cotton summer dresses and white gloves,

The men in linen suits.

In other photos you are wearing your signature uniform.

You are reminded of the busy summers,

So crowded with visitors that you are entertained and treated like a hero.

As if carried on the fog,

You hear the conversations from joyous outdoor dinners of summers past,

Where beneath the stars,

Swarmed by fireflies and enlivened by the laughter of children running around with sparklers,

You wish the moments would never leave.

They stay with you,

Like all the warm feelings of love and connection that help you greatly appreciate this time for reflection.

Your eyes feel tired as you polish off your tea and rise,

Walking to an old trunk that contains your most precious and most often used belongings.

You pull out a pair of pajamas that are meant to be worn on a cool night.

You change into them feeling warm already as you walk to the bed and remove the heavy patchwork quilt that you purchased from a craft festival on the island years ago.

It cloaks you in warmth and memories of splendor.

Your cat jumps atop the quilt,

Nestling in the crook of your arm as she kneads the fabric and settles in.

You feel perfectly safe and content as the storm continues and you drift to sleep.

The sounds of the rain against metal and the blustering winds offer a soundtrack for sleep.

There is no safer place to be than in a lighthouse that has stood tall against every storm to come over centuries and still remains.

It continues to pour light onto the darkness with buttercream beams that glow on a sable blanket of nightfall.

You inhale,

Still smelling the salty air and the sweetness of your tea,

Before you exhale and sink deeper into the antique bed.

You drift towards maritime dreams,

Envisioning the light inside of you that sparkles in your eyes on the happiest of days,

That pours from your heart center when you connect with those you love most.

Nestled with your cat high atop the island,

You fall deeper and deeper into this feeling of relaxation and safety.

You enjoy your own company and the rhythm of life you have found as a light keeper.

With this sense of accomplishment,

You feel the tiredness that comes from a productive,

Active and well spent day.

Drifting down towards sleep,

Floating like a buoy atop the cascading waves,

You are floating and drifting in the sensation of fluidity.

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

Tranquil sleep.

5,

4,

3,

2,

1.

Finding peace,

Finding stillness,

Finding sleep.

It's time to dream away.

Good night.