Sleep story · still, water
Sleep story: a lake before dawn, when you are short on time — for a restless night
Flat water, no wind, and light that has not arrived yet.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft. The mist sits about a foot above the surface and does not move. The water makes a small sound against the posts, once every few seconds.
The air is cold in a clean way, and smells of water and cut grass. A single bird crosses the water low and slow, without calling. Your boat is tied up and moving just enough to be noticeable.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel your wrists loosen.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
There is a coil of rope on the deck, still damp from yesterday. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Your chest can be still now. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
The far shore is a dark line with no detail in it yet. The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes.
Let your hands be completely still. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. The sky is the colour of unpolished pewter.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Nothing on the lake is in a hurry, including you. Somewhere behind you, a gate opens and closes.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
The lake is completely flat, the way it only gets in the hour before the light comes. There is a wooden jetty a few metres out, with one plank that has gone grey and soft.
If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather. If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the room get slightly further away.
Let the next part go past without you. Slower. Just the dark.
Just the breath. Softer. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Pick this one when you are short on time.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.