sunday energy #15

on rest in the wake of Black death

I’m trying to figure out how to not be performative about rest to day. How to sink into the feeling of writing from bed, making tea, cooking lunch, cuddling with my partner, chatting on the phone with a friend, living life slowly as all around me, us, the world continues its rapid spiral. It’s days like today, days in the wake of yet another (there have been so many) reminder of the perilous reality of being Black and alive in America (anywhere, really) that I’m not sure what to do with rest. It feels imprudent, to rest. It feels too pat and convenient to frame my rest as a kind of resistance. I suppose I’m trying to say that I feel anxious and keyed up and I don’t want to be still, because all I can think about is Tyre Nichols, and so many other dead Black people who simply should be alive. I want to scream, but I’m afraid of the inert silence that will come after to taunt me.