Sleep story · travel, cozy
The night train, before something difficult — for waking too early
Somewhere between two cities, in the dark, where nobody needs anything from you.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The window is cool against the side of your face. Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet. The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery.
There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees. The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound.
Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again. Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind?
Let your hands be completely still. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Slower now. Let the dark be ordinary.
Stay. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Just the weight.
It works best in the hour before something difficult.
The end. Sleep well.