Sleepy Awake Rain Story | ASMR/Guided Meditation | Soft Spoken, Hypnotic

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Do you remember how it feels to wake up on
a Sunday morning to the sound of rain right outside your bedroom window? Staying in your cozy bed with your eyes shut,
listening to the sounds of schlepping and sloshing, as the big, heavy rain drops steadily
hit the ground, covered by the fallen oak leaves? The air, coming through the slightly open
window, is a fresh cocktail of the wet earthy aromas. The cool mist, blown into the room by the
wind, settles on your cheek. There is nothing you have to do today, nowhere
you need to go. You are in a cabin far away in the woods,
and it’s raining. There is nobody else here with you, and it
feels good to have all this space and all this time for yourself. It is such a luxurious yummy feeling. The
sound of the rain envelopes the house; it “disappears” the rest of the world beyond
these rainy woods. The day is all yours–you can take your time
to decide what you are going to do next. You can stay in bed longer. And then, later, start your day with a cup
of hot coffee, or tea, sipping it slowly, listening to the rain outside. You can start a fire in the wood stove and
watch the dance of the flames for a while and feel how the room warms up so much that
the cool air outside starts calling you. This rain slows the day. Time moves slower. A moment becomes an eternity, and you expand
and flow with the rain, staring at the falling drops through the front glass door. Opening the door and stepping out onto the
porch transfers you into the reality, that is completely ruled by the rain. It’s the water. Water is everywhere. The deck of the cabin is wet. Like a tarnished mirror, the deck holds the
upside-down reflection of the trees. The rain nails the deck mirror to a standstill, as if it could take off otherwise, like a deck of a ship. You marvel at the old umbrella in your hand,
which seems like such an ingenious device in this situation. You linger on the porch, still protected by
the roof above, waiting to be ready for that first step which will take you out into the
open space. The stones of the path in front are not waiting
for you or anything at all. Pouring rain or sunshine, cold winter breeze
or dry heat, people or dogs walking– the stones just are, unaware that collectively
they make a path and a wall, oblivious to having a purpose, oblivious to the rain; oblivious to the fact that you are about to take that first step and start walking. You are in the yard now, in the world between
the cozy confinement of the cabin and the spacious vastness of the woods. The rain walls off any possibility of having
an aim for your journey. Your feet wander without much purpose, following
your meandering gaze that flits from a tree trunk to the shed, back to the wet ground
covered by the leaves, then to a patch of luminous emerald moss on an oblivious rock. The rain equalizes every surface with its
drumming, taking away the familiar meaning of the objects. Your truck is not a vehicle any more. It’s a combination of angles at which water
can be delivered in a downward direction. It’s an underworld where the reflection
of the trees is wetter than the trees themselves. The shed is nothing but an amplifier for the
rain staccato, broadcasting it to the world with insistent continuity. The dark, dry shelter you find in the shed
is momentarily an interesting option. But inside this drum your ears long for a
softer sound, so soon you wander back outside again. The space that you vaguely remember as a driveway,
is where a sloshy orchestra glorifies an intimate act of lovemaking between the skies and the
earth. You watch how the earth, unable to take in
all the liquid love falling down on it, pools it up for later savoring. You watch the dance of the drops on the muddled puddles, the ecstatic shivering of their battered surfaces, the relaxed acceptance of the dried
blades of grass, witnessing the prolonged act with stoic indifference. The rain’s drumming on the umbrella reminds
you that you are an intruder with no role to play in this scene, so you try to occupy
yourself with wondering about what is happening in the garden. But the garden is very busy, very much a conforming
participant in today’s soothing watery event. The broccoli dreams of being seaweed and feels
united with everything green, unified by the downpour. The broad leaves wave at you with innocent
aliveness, and you finally remember that you, too, have a purpose, a role, a task, and a
destination. You feel like you are a part of everything
that is happening here right now, and it does not matter what you will do next. Anything that you do will be a right thing. You make your way back towards the cabin. The rain keeps raining, far from being finished. It does not care about your purpose or destination
but is focused on fulfilling its own being. You walk slowly, eyes lingering at the site
of verdant moss, ears enjoying the ceaseless sensual splashing of the raindrops. Stepping back inside the warm and dry cabin
brings a wave of pleasure. Closing the door enables the walls to muffle
the sound of the rain into a soothing rustle. A nap seems like the best option right now. You go straight to the couch, stretch your
body there, pull a blanket to your chin, and close your eyes. Listening to the soft beat of the rain behind
the window, you fall into the deepest, most peaceful sleep.

 

4 Responses

  1. Donna Landazuri

    February 20, 2019 4:03 am

    The patterns the water makes are so beautiful. The whole video is a mental nap where you're dreamily led along the story. But there is no story, it's a chronological sequence of experiences, which is a story or film moving at its slowest. It draws you in. It's erotic. It's mesmerizing. It's amazing…

    Reply
  2. Анастасия Баженова

    February 20, 2019 4:40 am

    I was hoping to have some hot tea after the walk, but a nap is also good 👍🏻 👍🏻

    Reply
  3. Анастасия Баженова

    February 20, 2019 4:53 am

    I am so relaxed and elated having watched and listened to this beauty of a video. Not only that, but the narrative got me remembering how I looked at the rain when I was a young child. Congratulations, Lena, you’ve created a transformative piece. Keep up the good work!

    Reply

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