Sleep story · still, water
Sleep story: a lake before dawn, when you are not in the mood — for winding down
Flat water, no wind, and light that has not arrived yet.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds. There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday.
Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling.
Your ankles can go loose now. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter. The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass.
Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled. If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Stay with the weight of your body. Slower.
Leave it there. Let the dark be ordinary. They will find their own way out.
Not being in the mood is a normal starting point.
The end. Sleep well.