Sleep story · still, water
A lake before dawn, when you are at home and cannot settle — for jet lag
Flat water, no wind, and light that has not arrived yet.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling.
The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move. There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday.
Feel your cheeks let go. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill. Notice the pull to make this mean something. It doesn't have to.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Let the quiet be boring. Leave it there.
The words can start to blur now. Let it all get further away. Let the room get slightly further away.
Being at home and unable to settle is a very specific problem.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.