Sleep story · water, slow
A boat at anchor (a sleep story), if you are sceptical about all of this — for waking too early
A small harbour, a rope that creaks, and a boat that moves about a metre in the night.
Lights off. Press begin and let the story read itself to you, at the pace of sleep.
Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.
The story, in full
The harbour is behind you, with three lights still on and the rest dark. The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it. The rope to the anchor creaks as the boat turns very slightly.
There is a torch hanging by the hatch, and a chart folded on the table. The boat is anchored in eight metres of water, and the chain makes a sound as it moves. The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
The blanket smells faintly of salt and diesel. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Everything in the cabin is stowed, so nothing rattles. Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
The cabin is low, and you have to bend your head to get into the bunk. Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
The harbour is behind you, with three lights still on and the rest dark. There is a torch hanging by the hatch, and a chart folded on the table.
If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back. If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Just the breath. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let the next part go past without you. Sleep.
You can stop listening properly. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Softer.
Scepticism is welcome. You do not have to believe anything for this to work.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
20 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.
If this story does not settle you, try A fire dying down (a sleep story), if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for a racing mind, A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are too tired to try hard — for a night when you do not want to think or A fire dying down (a sleep story), if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for waking too early.