rest in the wake of american modernity
*this was written as a spoken word piece.
most of the time i don’t know how to say “no” until my body does it for me-
with a fever or a cough, with achy bones and a cranky voice
the reality is, is that though i’m failing to slow myself,
i need rest more than i’d like to believe
but i can’t not go, do, be; it’s in my thread, my culture-altered DNA
i’m american and smooth and there is cream in my coffee and leather on my seats
opportunity slips off my cold shoulders and dies on my bed
firecracker evasions invade my day and are forgotten in the evening
it’s sad to say that most dreams never take flight-
dreams for the kingdom, for the city, for the life i want never take flight because i’m always too busy and tired and without rest
all i know how to do is shut my eyes in between commercials
and drift off in movies i’ve already seen
all i know is that i keep looking for rest in all the wrong spaces
can i get it on a shelf or put it in my cart?
will they ship it to my house or do i need to pick it up?
my mouth feels open too much, saying too little
i’m tired from all the telling
tired from searching for the words that neutralize and numb
and i’ve been up through the night and frantic through the day
pressing bandaids to a world that doesn’t need anymore bandaids
i must confess that my weary hands are cracked
and in my exhaustion i’m barely healing, creating, producing anything,
especially not myself
to be some kind of solution, to wipe the dark circles out from under my eyes
i would need a break because eight hours of sleep is not enough
when your days are full of such self-prescribed fullness
like only eating fast food, busy without rest, will never satisfy
and my mind feels distracted like too much work
a prisoner of war that keeps asking my body to breathe-
asking for new light- away from the glow of the television screen
asking for a sound that isn’t powered by batteries or cords or plugs
but the lie is so heavy, so deeply convincing
the lie that says i must keep building a kingdom comprised of legos and self will
i must keep playing slave to the schedule on my desk
in irony, i fight the tired by getting more tired,
how silly it must seem to the God who loves me best and wants me most
how small it must feel when i proclaim the texture of the world too hard to swallow,
the chaos of this place too difficult to absorb
still, the refrain, even in all the anxiety is all the more strong:
“rest your eyes, sweet child”
the refrain says, “be still and know that I hold you as my own.”
and so i propose that we all just rest our talking, doing, consuming selves
and recover from too much of everything,
so we can breath a little better and feel a little better and move forward a little faster.
i propose we take up arms against our reverence for preoccupation:
we become the antithesis to a society that won’t quit jamming us with junk.
we’ve got to sit and be so we can see the good news that is here,
so that we could get real life (we’ve got to divorce the illusion of progress)
let’s look for the blue of the sky and the green of the garden
let’s feel the hand of our lover and the music of the sea
courage it will take, in this blindfolded age of busy
to cocoon our used up hearts in the what is good and be filled once again
we must let our lips gather dust so our bodies can find sacred, hushed calm
that’s only found in the holiness of quiet, in the mansion of the Father
so let’s all be a little more still
and rest.
