the rest of my life

perching lines, no. 23

Hello gentle-people,

I am thinking about the rest of my life. This means I am thinking about my future, and the “night vision”¹ that shapes it. But this also means, more importantly, I’ve experienced the rest my soul must have.

I do not have the words to translate what I have experienced this past week in full—in fact, I may never fully express it in language and I feel liberated in that.

All I can say is “finally.”

perching lines:

This past week, I saw things I imagined. So I am sitting in the realization of new names I can now call myself. Old names I have forgotten how to respond to also float into my ears now as I turn to the life they are leading me towards. That is how well I rested.

I am working on letting go of old gods. It became easier once I was far enough away from them to now see their chipping gold paint when I returned. I now see the cheap imitations that they are…I once learned to study so I could fight them, but I was unprepared how hard my hands would hurt and grow callused from holding the sword too long.

I saw a glimpse of who I get to be on the other side of having my needs met. On the other side of running. On the other side of a break from having to explain myself.

Here’s a bit of what I look like, as I stand unarmed:

Given the chance to pause and dream
the chance to release an unfolded scream
I found myself with my hand pressed against a tree
Releasing my longings, finally
So now I understand the path of peace
Looks like a deep sigh of relief 
As all the pressure to be sharp falls
And only softness remains 
To explain 
How I'm still here

---

a contemplative moment:

Pictures do not do this place justice. Absent from the photo are the many new people I have met and now adore, the folks who have storied and continue to story this land through their work and their rest. I sure hope you get to meet them in the spirit of my work as I live and breathe.

A familiar song from my childhood came up to from out of me when I saw these mountains every morning:²

"Non pa pouvwa
Non pa puisans
Men pa lespri", dit le Seigneur

"Non pa pouvwa
Non pa puisans
Men pa lespri", dit le Seigneur

"Montay yo va deplase
Montay yo va deplase 
Montay yo va deplase  
Men pa lespri", dit le Seigneur

---

landing track:

• As you sit with Solange’s “Things I Imagined,” and the original poem I wrote in response to my rest this week, can you tell the story of how you are still here, through softness? Or, how you might imagine a life for yourself if you could have more spaces to take off your armor? What is holding you back? Take these questions into a conversation, a moment of silence, a walk, or a journaling practice. Maybe dance your way through them.

catch me outside this newsletter

I’m teaching a class this fall! It is called “Digital Ministry as Contemplative Practice.” If you found yourself intrigued at all by the ideas that shaped my Woven series, here’s an opportunity to dive in deeper. We will be talking about how we ground ourselves in our bodies and practice mindful use of digital media. We will talk the revision tools that shape simple and beautiful messaging without sacrificing depth. We will de-emphasize platform-building and follower-focused strategies, learning instead how to use these tools to shape connections that build sacred community.

Meeting dates are Wednesdays for 6 sessions beginning on Wednesday, September 17th. Subsequent sessions are on September 24th, October 1st, October 15th, October 22nd, and October 29th. Sessions run from 6 – 7:30pm Eastern.

Click here to learn more & sign up!

Here’s a picture of me literally outside from this past week. I may have to stop calling myself an “indoorsy” person.

The “new bones” Fund: Supporting Tender Work

In case you’re new here, I’m raising funds to support a season of transformative fellowships and cohorts that will deepen my work as an artist and spiritual leader. This includes travel, lodging, tuition, and integration time for a research fellowship at Emory University’s Rose Library, where I’ll study Lucille Clifton’s papers and further develop my practices of archival devotion and plain speech. Update: I did apply for a pilgrimage grant for this, but I am waiting to hear back—

I am also participating in a Rest & Reimagine Cohort from Nevertheless She Preached, which nurtures justice-rooted spiritual leadership. This cohort will help me deepen my practice of social weaving and offer me a space to connect with those who are interested in breaking down the hierarchies we find in traditional church spaces—folks committed to reimagining sacred connections. My church generously covered the cost of registration and this counts towards my professional development, so I am just raising funds for travel to the retreat in October in Austin, TX.

The Made for PAX Fellowship, which will ground my songwriting practice in contemplative activism is fully funded—including travel and lodging for the retreat in September! I am looking forward to engage in songwriting practices that center contemplative activism. I have been longing to expand my offerings to include creating spaces for spiritual healing through music…I especially want those spaces to be playful and collaborative.

So in this campaign, The “new bones” Fund, I invite you to co-create with me by helping me shape a future where I am out in the world where I am fully released to do the tender work I am called to do—which includes creating spaces for dreamers to lean into sacred rest, healing and play.

I love a word with beautiful interlocking meanings and “tender” is one such word for me. I am tender—bruised and worked to the bone. I am a tender—mending and stewarding softness. I invite you to join in the tending that is supporting me in the latter definition, knowing that I will share 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.

Want to explore collaborations, connect or share a resource for A Gentle Landing? Feel free to click these helpful Substack buttons below.

1. We will dive into what I mean by this someday, but for now you must know it comes from this Lucille Clifton poem:

night vision

the girl fits her body in
to the space between the bed
and the wall. she is a stalk,
exhausted. she will do some
thing with this. she will
surround these bones with flesh,
she will cultivate night vision.
she will train her tongue
to lie still in her mouth and listen.
the girl slips into sleep.
her dream is red and raging.
she will remember
to build something human with it.

2. I edited the lyrics to switch the first two verses because that is how my family sings it. But I found it in a different form.