Sleep story · sea, still
Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you are on your own — for an overtired night
One light turning, a kettle, and weather you are on the right side of.
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 lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it. The light goes out across the water and comes back, and goes out again. The wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass.
A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not. The room at the top is small, round and warm, with a kettle on a ring. The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it. Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
The window is thick and slightly green at the edges. There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts. Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times.
Feel your wrists loosen. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Stay with the weight of your body. Nothing here needs following closely. Let it all get further away.
Let them. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Sleep.
Being on your own is not required, but it does make this simpler.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.
If this story does not settle you, try A field under snow — a slow story for the end of the day, on a day that started badly — for a restless night, Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, when the house is busy — for an overtired night or The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are short on time — for a restless night.