Sleep story · water, slow
Sleep story: a boat at anchor, after a difficult conversation — for jet lag
A small harbour, a rope that creaks, and a boat that moves about a metre in the night.
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 bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it. Everything in the cabin is stowed, so nothing rattles. The rope to the anchor creaks as the boat turns very slightly.
The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes. The harbour is behind you, with three lights still on and the rest dark.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
The blanket smells faintly of salt and diesel. Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Your ankles can go loose now.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
There is a torch hanging by the hatch, and a chart folded on the table. Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
The cabin is low, and you have to bend your head to get into the bunk. The boat is anchored in eight metres of water, and the chain makes a sound as it moves.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
Let the next part go past without you. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
Let the room get slightly further away. Let the dark be ordinary. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Almost nothing to do now. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Difficult conversations leave a residue. This is for the residue.
The end. Sleep well.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.
If this story does not settle you, try A garden in the rain, when you are cold and want to be warm — for jet lag, A caravan by the sea (a sleep story), when you want to finish something — for a night when you do not want to think or A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, on a low-energy afternoon — for a racing mind.