Sleep story · rain, green
A garden in the rain, when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for a racing mind
Steady rain on leaves, and a chair under an awning that stays dry.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The rain on the roof of the awning is a lower sound than the rain on the leaves. Somewhere in the hedge, a bird is sitting it out. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour.
The path has gone darker where it is wet, and there are two small puddles near the step. Water runs off the gutter in a thin, continuous line. Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let the mattress take all of it.
There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part. A snail is making its way along the bottom of the wall, going nowhere in particular.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
The earth smells the way it does after a long dry spell. The leaves in the border are dark and glossy and moving slightly.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
The watering can by the tap is full and nobody needs it. The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Your chest can be still now.
Under the awning it is dry, and the sound is a steady, unhurried patter. There is nothing to do about any of it, which is the good part.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
The rain has settled into the kind that will last all afternoon without getting heavier. There is a wooden bench that nobody has sat on for an hour.
If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back. Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Slower now. Slower.
Sleep. You do not have to count them. Leave it there.
Let your breathing do the rest. Let the quiet be boring. Stay with the weight of your body.
Feeling fine is a good reason to do this, not a reason to skip it.
The end. Sleep well.