PRISM: What Rest is Teaching Me

PRISM is a storytelling series amplifying the experiences, creativity, and imagination of Black, Brown, and Indigenous storytellers based in Kentucky.

By Maya Black

May I introduce you to a few versions of me? 

Hi, you are meeting “Ms. Do it All,” “Ms. I’ll Make A Way,” and “Ms. I Can Do It Better.”

Borderline perfectionist, overworking, and determined. Most importantly, passionate. 

For a few years, I have been having internal conversations with myself about being and doing, and what exists in the in-between.

 “Ms. Do It All” often finds it hard to just be. 

“Ms. I’ll Make A Way” wants to do, do, DO until there’s exhaustion and no more to be done. 

And “Ms. I Can Do It Better” always has something to prove. 

The past couple years, I have witnessed my relationship to being and doing falling into the patriarchal binary of this or that. A binary that restricts the imagination to be like water–flowy and easeful. A flow that honors effort, yet makes space for a breeze. The binary that is often stagnant, controlling, a forceful hand that persists itself on your mind, body, and soul. The binary that is so stuck in its ways, its cycle harmful and familiar. 

In this moment of my life, I am unlearning what it means to be. To exist. Right now, I am leaning on the mantras that my existence and my worth are not tied to a state of productivity. However, it’s difficult to fully believe that in the binary of BE and DO. 

I am learning that there are no requirements to be worthy of rest.

Rest has claimed me, and continues to. Rest is what exists in between being and doing. 

 

Reclamation – the process of claiming something back or reasserting a right 

 

Invitation – a request to be present or participation 

 

Rest will always come and request a visit. You can be chilling or out with family then boom, a yawn appears. Maybe a wiping of the eyes with a little stretch. Sometimes it’s an abrupt change of plans that requires you to just go home and do nothing. It’s innate, a birthright, our nature. It is something that doesn’t need to be permitted. When rest enters the chat with an invitation, it invites you to lie down and to stay a little longer. The refusal of its invitation is where its quiet storm appears. We snooze the invitation. We mute and do not disturb until we are ready and willing to lie down on our own. We do this time and time again, ignoring the friendly invitation until we don’t recognize it anymore.

 

From my experience… 

 

If you don’t accept an invitation to rest, it will make a reclamation.  

Rest will always take its claim.  

There will be nowhere to hide. 

It’s a claim on your body and soul. Rest will become more demanding–still gentle and nurturing but with force and diligence. Think Big Mama. It will require a surrender that will make you feel like a child, similar to having to retreat down South to Big Mama’s for the summer. 

Rest will hold you…accountable and firmly in its presence. It will remind you that you declined the invitation–when, where, and how. Then it will remind you that rest is merciful and abundant. Now you will have to stay put for a while. Rest will replay the moments when you didn’t listen or accept its invitation. It won’t allow you to hide because at the point of reclamation, all your shit is out, baby. If you’re like me, your shit will be things like stress, anxieties, bad health habits, people-pleasing, energy vultures, etc. Your shit will show itself and just lay you out on the bed looking at it all. Tired with no choice but to be reflective. That is the reclamation. 

The reclamation is soul work. This work is listening to myself, to my voice, and my needs. 

When I was invited to rest, how did I respond?

The reclamation is a listening session, tuning into the denial, delusion, and disintegration of soul when I didn’t accept rest’s invitation. It also involves listening to the hope, strength, and peace of our soul when it is rested. Rest is a practice of self-respect. Anything that bothers that practice is a threat to self-respect. It gets personal. Rest is choosing yourself. Its reclamation brought a consistency of prayers, silence, stillness, a depth of slumber. Rest made me be alone, and it lingered.

It told me it wouldn’t go anywhere. Rest’s invitation started coming more frequently than normal or I just unmuted the notification. Nonetheless, rest and I were building a relationship. When choosing myself after the reclamation, I had to slow down.  

 

S    L    O   W 

 

Movement. Time. Response. Slowing down allows the nervous system to catch up to itself. Slow in tempo. Slow in deliverance of yourself, art, voice, or your response. It is “moving at the speed of trust” and on your own. What muscles are tense right now? Where in my body can I soften? What…if…I…take…my…time? What if I place all ten toes and all four corners of my foot onto the floor before I stand? That is one of many practices of slowness. 

As I move through my reclamation into a steady new relationship with rest, I have to remind myself to retreat to that feeling of surrender. I imagine it’s like that paced-out walk up a rural road in the South that leads to Big Mama’s porch. Sometimes I imagine the ball of tears I released when I had nothing else left but to surrender to the nothingness yet fullness of rest. The humility was a reward of surrender. I remind myself of that feeling and replay the ways and voices that denied the invitations. 

 

A way to rest 

 

Rest is active and passive. It is doing nothing and everything at once, at minimum, and at a  sighful pace. Rest is a rhythm of your soul, it lays in the undertone of your breath. Rest is approaching and you don’t need a flight or $$$$ to do it. It is communal and self work. 

 

… a journal entry 10/26/24 

Rest. Do Nothing. Lying down/Being catered to by loved ones. Permission to reschedule. Laughing and staring into the abyss. Journaling. Whatever comes to mind. Drinking water. Reading. Dozing off. Covers and pillows. Drinking tea. Asking what’s for dinner. Picking greens while lying down. Listening to music. Admiring my handwriting. Yelling for a kiss. Deep sighs. Rest. Choosing me. Knowing I’m not missing out. Watching others shine. Celebrating others’ wins. Rest. It didn’t come as expected but what an on-time lesson. 

My restorative yoga practice: 

 

 

 

Maya Black is a cultural worker, yoga teacher, and researcher based in Louisville, Kentucky. Learn more about Maya and her work at www.mayablack.org or on Instagram @mayab1ack