Sleep story · water, slow
Sleep story: a boat at anchor, when you are waiting for something — for an overtired night
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. The rope to the anchor creaks as the boat turns very slightly. The harbour is behind you, with three lights still on and the rest dark.
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. There is a torch hanging by the hatch, and a chart folded on the table.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
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 the weight of the blanket on your legs. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way. Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it.
If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else. Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Slower. Stay with the weight of your body.
Let them. Let the room get slightly further away. They will find their own way out.
Waiting is dead time you can spend on this instead.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.