Replaying the day

Replaying the day. This track is for bed, when the day is running on a loop. The thing you said, the thing they said, the thing you should have done. Each time it plays, you watch it again, and sleep moves further off. Stay lying down. Lights off. Eyes closed, or open in the dark.

Put the phone face down, or out of reach.

Feel the bed under you. The pillow under the head. The weight of the legs and the arms.

Let the breath go slow. No big breath in. Out, long and quiet.

Again.

Now, the replay. Instead of watching it again, name it. A few plain words. The meeting. The thing I said at dinner. The message.

Picture setting it down somewhere outside the bed. On the table by the door. On a shelf. In a drawer, with the drawer pushed shut. It is there for the morning.

If the replay starts again, and it probably will, the same thing. Name it. Picture it going back on the shelf. Then back to the breath.

Breathing out, long and quiet.

The mind at night is a poor judge. It makes small things huge and finished things open again. What it shows you now is not the clear picture.

Back on the shelf. Back to the breath.

Feel the weight of the body sinking into the bed. Heavier with each breath out.

If a new piece of the day arrives, it goes on the shelf too. There is room.

You do not have to sleep. Lying here, breathing slowly, with the day on the shelf, is rest too. Sleep may come, or it may not.

Breathing out.

The day is on the shelf. The bed is holding you. Nothing to sort tonight.

Out, slow and quiet.