Sleep story · water, slow
A boat at anchor (a sleep story), when you have already had a long week — 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 blanket smells faintly of salt and diesel. The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it.
Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing 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.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times. If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Let the quiet be boring. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. You can stop listening properly. Let the room get slightly further away.
Long weeks are cumulative. This is a small subtraction.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.