Sleep story · travel, cozy
Sleep story: the night train, when the house is busy — for a racing mind
Somewhere between two cities, in the dark, where nobody needs anything from you.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea. The window is cool against the side of your face.
The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your cheeks let go.
The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. The window is cool against the side of your face.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail.
Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today. If you're replaying a conversation, let it play. It'll finish on its own.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Softer. Slower now.
Nothing here needs following closely. You do not have to count them. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the room get slightly further away. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
It works with other people in the house. You do not need silence.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.