a permanent residence for joy

perching lines, no. 20

rose j. percy

Jul 16, 2025

Here are my blessings:

Update #1: Travel funds for my songwriting fellowship have been covered by a grant! Whew. I paid the $210, holding on to faith that I would raise it back. Now I don’t have to and I will get a refund!

Update #2: Thank you to the folks who have donated so far! Whew! I have feathers to make! I am also thinking of something to give to you all in return. I would appreciate ideas if you think of any. Maybe I should bring back the “Survival Mode is Not Our Inheritance” campaign merch?

There is one update I am burning to name, but I will sit here in my giggles about how good it is. I cannot wait to share it soon.

Just hold on with me! There’s more than enough joy in the post below:

Hello gentle-people,

I got to preach this past Sunday, drawing from my almost five years of engaging poetry as a spiritual practice by highlighting Lucille Clifton's poetry on nature. If you're interested in poetry, ecological justice, womanist theology, and embodied practice, you can listen to the sermon here.

Whew. So okay—

I am feeling a different kind of fatigue in this season. It is the kind that comes with being so happy you are physically exhausted.

As I have been letting myself experience this joy and share it with my friends, I have struggled to suppress it for fear that, in sharing my joy, I will annoy someone or remind them of what they do not have, or just reach a calloused heart who can't hold my story well. But I soon found that suppressing my joy was causing me more pain. And I found myself crying by a river. Sitting there, I took my glasses off, wiped my face, and thought through how happy I was. In that moment, I really wanted to share it with all of the people I love in my life. I cried through my lament that it felt like I couldn't do that—until I had a realization: I need to have a party.

I was reminded recently that Lucille Clifton signed books with “Joy!” followed by her name. Her poetry was shaped by the presence of her persistent joy. I want my poetry and poetics to be filled with joy, too. A joy I want to experience in a gathering with all my favorite people—

I have never planned a party for myself. Not in the way that I'm imagining for the celebration I want to have in this season. But I'm letting myself—as I work my way through the process of organizing a gathering where I can celebrate with my friends and people who love me—experience many moments of celebration. I'm allowing exuberant exclamations and spontaneous gestures of joy—like randomly walking through the house with a fan and clacking it in our dining room.

In one of my various group texts, this one appropriately called “Black Girl Softness,” I shared my concern that I don’t have the capacity to hold this much joy. One of my brilliant-sister-writer-friends prayed over me, saying, “May God expand your internal territory.” And in another conversation with a different friend, I arrived at the understanding that if joy is to be maintained and sustained in a way that does not overwhelm me I need to find my equilibrium. In order to do this, I must build a permanent residence for joy in my heart.

perching lines: what is percolating

Today’s perching lines are from this little notebook that I’ve been carrying around to catch inspiration. Sometimes I use it as a filter for thoughts I think are good in the moment but I want to linger on to see if their meanings shift or grow with me. If you’re curious about this approach, let me know and I might do a newsletter on it. This is my favorite switch up since my intentional break with content creation this past year.

These thoughts span June 20, 2025 - July 10, 2025.1

A state of unrest is an injustice.2
You know you’ve arrived at a good place in your spiritual/creative practice when you can maintain “tender awareness without added drama” in your life.3
Metaphor: Sensible shoes are a picture of a gentle landing—asphalt a systemic harm. (In another note: If I can’t wear sensible shoes, I’m not coming.)

This is a glimpse into how I write and weave in the metaphors that I do. A glimpse into what words I cling to and the ideas come together for me as I read. Sometimes they are lead to the pieces I write and sometimes they don’t. But I enjoy that they have a place to settle before I present my ideas to the world.4

Explore Archive

a contemplative moment: “I sat by a river and it made me complete”

(First of all, if you recognize the song this title comes from, good on you.5 )

There was a feather there before I sat down. This is where I was sitting when I decided I should have a party. The feather is a reminder to me that even in celebration we need a gentle landing.

landing track:

What does it look like for you to build a permanent residence for joy in your heart and life? What things do you need to make your heart a safe place for joy to dwell?
Who helps you celebrate when you are struggling to do so for yourself? What does a collective celebration look like, one that feels like a gentle landing? Imagine…even if you’re not in a season of celebration now—imagine and prepare.
What grief6 are you holding right now? Where does it live in your body? How do you move through it? In a gathering that might not looks less like celebration and more like a lament—who is holding you in the weeping? Is it the same crew that comes around you when you are rejoicing?

Thanks for reading A Gentle Landing! If this post resonates with you, feel free to share it.

I was invited into a conversation that will be part of this lovely Faith and Flow Summit, put together by Queen Robertson, an alum of one of my cohorts! In my interview, “Wholeness Remembered: The Sacred Rhythm of Breath,” I talk about how Lucille Clifton’s minimalist poetics invite us into a relationship with breath that calls our attention back our sense of purpose and humanity.

Whether you’re new to yoga or deep in your practice, there’s something here for you!

This is my affiliate link! Registration for the summit is free, but if you end up signing up for the VIP package, I get a lil something something.

rose is reading sisters in the wilderness by delores williams. — Once again, my brilliant brother Ro took this photo. I am “posing” with a Delores Williams book, Sisters in the Wilderness. **This is a foreshadowing.**

The “new bones” Fund & tender work

I’m raising funds to support a season of transformative fellowships and cohorts that will deepen my work as a writer, artist, and spiritual leader. This includes travel, lodging, tuition, and integration time for four opportunities: the Better Selves Fellowship (August 2025), which offers rest and renewal in nature; the Rest & Reimagine Cohort from Nevertheless She Preached, which nurtures justice-rooted spiritual leadership; the Made for PAX Fellowship, which will ground my songwriting practice in contemplative activism; and a research fellowship at Emory University’s Rose Library, where I’ll study Lucille Clifton’s papers and further develop my framework of archival devotion.

This campaign, The “new bones” Fund, is an invitation to co-create with me as we imagine future spaces where spiritual creativity and rest-centered ministry are offered to the restless dreamers who find this tender work.

I love a word with beautiful interlocking meanings and “tender” is one such word for me. I am tender—soft. I am tender—bruised. I am a tender—mending. I invite you to join in the tending that is supporting me in sharing from the overflow in these newsletters.

If you can’t become a paid subscriber yet but want to tend monetarily you can Buy Me a Feather. You could visit the Bookshop, where I earn a 10% commission and buy a book for yourself or for me.

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