Sleep story · water, slow
Sleep story: a boat at anchor
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 blanket smells faintly of salt and diesel. Everything in the cabin is stowed, so nothing rattles. 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. The harbour is behind you, with three lights still on and the rest dark. The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
The rope to the anchor creaks as the boat turns very slightly. The boat is anchored in eight metres of water, and the chain makes a sound as it moves.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
The cabin is low, and you have to bend your head to get into the bunk. The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
The water slaps against the side in twos and threes. Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
There is a torch hanging by the hatch, and a chart folded on the table. The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your palms open if they were closed.
The cabin is low, and you have to bend your head to get into the bunk. The blanket smells faintly of salt and diesel.
If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment. Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Stay. Nothing here needs following closely.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Slower. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Slower now. Let the next part go past without you. Let it all get further away.
It works best in the hour before something difficult.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.
If this story does not settle you, try A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, on a low-energy afternoon — for winding down, Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you have been putting it off — for a restless night or An attic room (a sleep story), after a long day.