Sleep story · sea, still
Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you have been meaning to start — for jet lag
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
Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing. The light goes out across the water and comes back, and goes out again. A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not.
The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not. The window is thick and slightly green at the edges. Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Feel your cheeks let go.
There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person. The wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting.
If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important. Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Slower. Let them.
Just the weight. Let it all get further away. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
You have been meaning to start. This is the least intimidating way in.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a field under snow, when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for a restless night, Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, if you have five quiet minutes — for the hours after a late shift or Sleep story: a fire dying down, when you are at home and cannot settle — for a racing mind.