Sleep story · sea, still
A lighthouse at the end of a long day — a slow story for the end of the day, when you want something simple — for jet lag
One light turning, a kettle, and weather you are on the right side of.
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 wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass. A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing.
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. The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting. The window is thick and slightly green at the edges.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders. There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
The lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it. The light goes out across the water and comes back, and goes out again.
Feel your cheeks let go. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Stay with the weight of your body.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let your breathing do the rest. Softer.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the quiet be boring. Just the breath.
Simple is the point. There is no advanced version to graduate to.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.
If this story does not settle you, try A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are somewhere noisy — for waking too early, A kitchen late at night (a sleep story), when you have more time than usual — for the hours after a late shift or A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for waking too early.