Sleep story · water, slow
Sleep story: a boat at anchor, if you have five quiet minutes — for the hours after a late shift
A small harbour, a rope that creaks, and a boat that moves about a metre in the night.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you. The rope to the anchor creaks as the boat turns very slightly. The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way.
The cabin is low, and you have to bend your head to get into the bunk. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes. The boat is anchored in eight metres of water, and the chain makes a sound as it moves.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your hands be completely still.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it. Everything in the cabin is stowed, so nothing rattles.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your palms open if they were closed.
If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks. Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind?
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Slower. Let the next part go past without you.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Nothing here needs following closely.
Five quiet minutes is enough. Ten is generous.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.