Sleep story · travel, cozy
The night train, when you have just finished work — for the hours after a late shift
Somewhere between two cities, in the dark, where nobody needs anything from you.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. 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. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees.
Let your hands be completely still. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. The window is cool against the side of your face.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet.
If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice. If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let the mattress take all of it.
Leave it there. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Softer.
Sleep. Stay with the weight of your body. Let them.
The gap right after work is the easiest one to use.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.