Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you have tried everything else — for winding down

There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person. The lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing.

The window is thick and slightly green at the edges. The room at the top is small, round and warm, with a kettle on a ring. The light goes out across the water and comes back, and goes out again.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

The wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass. The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it.

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let the mattress take all of it.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not. Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders.

Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.

Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Your ankles can go loose now.

The lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it. The window is thick and slightly green at the edges.

If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather. Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

Softer. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.

They will find their own way out. Stay with the weight of your body. Slower.

Just the breath. Leave it there. Just the weight.

This assumes you have already tried the obvious things.

There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.