from life line to party line

perching lines, no. 21

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Hello gentle-people,

In this season, I feel like a walking exclamation point. My joy has been pretty loud. Or, should I say my joy has reintroduced me to my loudness? Remember, ebonyjanice wrote a whole chapter in All the Black Girls Are Activists called “In Pursuit of My Loudness.” In that chapter, ebonyjanice talked abouta cousin, who was the embodiment of "What are you going to do for freedom today? And I really do feel like, in this season, that description sounds like me as I a walking with a stride I haven't seen in a long time.

I made it
I am here 
I am back in body-spirit
I left it to survive 
but I have touched the ground 
and it did not end me

I checked my morning pages and this season began around mid-June—I told one of my best friends that I am exhausted of being so happy. She cajoled me, as only a best friend could: it's only been a month.

So somehow, I found myself signing up for the gym--to help my body carry joy. Wild, isn't it?

I keep thinking people are annoyed with me. I can't shake the feeling that my happiness is creating...distance? This feeling persists, even as each and every person I've invited into my celebrations has only said encouraging and congratulatory words (see below).

Somehow I went from life line to party line in my gentle landing—somehow I still write to be witnessed—but with a smile on.

My hope is that to bear witness to one another in rejoicing can form the basis of deep solidarity. Come bear witness to my joy:

perching lines:

From Black Liturgies by Cole Arthur Riley:

• “If you are called to anything, it will sound like freedom.”

• “Exorcise the lie that naming our worth could somehow compromise it.”

From “In Pursuit of My Loudness” by All the Black Girls Are Activists by ebonyjanice:

• “What I have learned is there is no freedom to be found in an inauthentic version of myself. There is no safety there. There is no liberation there. There is no revolution there.”

a contemplative moment:

This is where I have been walking in the mornings (when I am not at the gym). I go so early that there are no cars around and not a lot of people out. It’s beautiful. Usually I am sitting with my thoughts without looking at my phone but on this day, I couldn’t help but record this gorgeous light.

Also a contemplative moment:

I enjoyed the Charles River Jazz festival a couple Saturdays ago. Jazz is a continual source of wonder for me. I don’t usually go to places like this by myself but I deeply enjoyed myself. Jazz is one of the many reasons I practice vocal improvisation in my music time. Jazz often reminds me that contemplation does not always mean quiet.

Every time I remember that I can sing my lungs out in the safety of my home, I feel another surge of joy.

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landing track:

• Are you still working on that permanent residence for joy? How is that going? what have you laid down as the foundation? Which room has the best light?

• Field Note Prompt: Pay attention to contemplative moments throughout the week—keep in mind that contemplation does not have to be quiet. As you note the moment, consider which of your senses is engaged. What happens to your breath?

• If you are holding on to grief, please hold the poem above rewritten:

  I am getting there
  back to the body-spirit
  I left to survive 
  
  may i touch the ground
  with a faith that endures

catch me outside this newsletter

Old news I am still excited about: 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.

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.

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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