A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), on a low-energy afternoon — for a restless night

The light goes out across the water and comes back, and goes out again. The wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass. The room at the top is small, round and warm, with a kettle on a ring.

The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting. A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

Your chest can be still now. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.

The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it. The lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it.

Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person. The window is thick and slightly green at the edges.

Feel your wrists loosen. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing. Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

The window is thick and slightly green at the edges. The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing.

If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.

Let your hands be completely still. Let the mattress take all of it.

You do not have to count them. Nothing needs deciding tonight.

Just the breath. Stay with the weight of your body. Let them.

Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. They will find their own way out. Slower.

Low-energy afternoons are what this was written for.

Let this be the last thing you listen to.