Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time (a sleep story), when your attention is scattered — for jet lag
The last hour, when the lights go down row by row.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back. The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately.
The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
If you feel restless, that's a feeling, not a failure. If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel your wrists loosen.
Let the room get slightly further away. They will find their own way out.
Almost nothing to do now. Let it all get further away. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Scattered attention is the raw material, not an obstacle.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.