Sleep story · sea, still
A lighthouse at the end of a long day, when nothing else has worked today — for a restless night
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 light goes out across the water and comes back, and goes out again. A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not. 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. The room at the top is small, round and warm, with a kettle on a ring. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
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.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your palms open if they were closed.
If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you. Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your hands be completely still.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Just the weight.
Slower. Let your breathing do the rest. Softer.
Nothing else has worked today. That is not a reason to skip this.
The end. Sleep well.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.
If this story does not settle you, try A field under snow, when you are too tired to try hard — for an overtired night, A bus at night (a sleep story), when you need to stop thinking about work — for the hours after a late shift or Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you only have a few minutes — for jet lag.