Scripps Sunday #91.5 Midweek Ushuaia edition

 

Anna, I read more of this gorgeous book on the plane today and typed out some passages that seem have been written just for you. There's so much good stuff, but I think it's best in smaller chunks so that you can really take it all in. So, here's Part One. You'll have to wait until Sunday for Part Two! 

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From her chapter on Rest:

….This is how we account for the restlessness of the world. By naming the oppressive, greed-stricken capitalistic culture that sowed it in us. By naming the stories of trauma and abuse our bodies have endured. By remembering that this anxiety ricocheting through your body at three A.M. has an origin. And the origin is not you.

I want sleep for you. Deep, dream-bearing sleep. But if the restlessness of the world has done damage that cannot immediately be undone, have compassion for yourself. It’s not your fault the dreams won’t come. Your body is doing the best it can in a world that has used it far more than it has loved it.

No healing is immediate, and it’s rarely ever linear. Some days you’ll dream your ancestors back to life, and other days it’s you and the cold sweats and the darkness and racing thoughts. It’s not your fault. Somebody should have told you it’s not your fault……

For Boundaries:

God of boundaries,

Reminds us that sometimes we need to walk away from people and situations for our own rest and survival. That when the demands of the world grow oud, we have full agency to choose silence and peace. The stories we tell ourselves about why we cannot do so are often grounded in guilt- a guilt that has been carefully implanted by a society that believes we are products to be used and consumed. We have pushed and pulled out of ourselves and our own desires. Grant us the courage to say “no” without apology, that we would meet the demands of this world with truth-telling and self-charity, knowing that our boundaries are holy ground. We will not survive by inching further and further away from safety. Show us that sometimes the boundary we fear setting marks the border between freedom and bondage. Be with us on the journey back to a solid voice. When we speak no, let us shatter chains.

For When Rest Feels Like a Risk

Rested God,

We want more than a life lived exhausted. That you have woven healing rhythms of rest into our minds and bodies reminds us we are worthy of habitual restoration. Keep us from apologizing for our own healing, that we would know that when we pause or rest, we are restoring not only our own bodies but the very condition of a world held captive by greed and utility. We grow weary of societies who view us as more machine than human, more product than soul. The fear that we won’t survive without overworking stalks our days. Liberate us from the depraved socioeconomic structures that require that the poor and vulnerable sacrifice their own rest at the altar of survival and opportunity. Protect us from fear as we rest with you, breath with you. Remind us that the beauty and paradox of our humanness is that we were made to close our eyes, that we might see. May it be so.

For Insomnia

God of the long night,

Every part of us is weary. The fatigue from sleepless nights is too much for us to hold. We are desperate for rest, yet it feels impossible to access. We have endured critique, unsolicited advice, and judgment from those who insinuate that we are to blame for our exhaustion. Keep us from any guilt that we are unable to care for ourselves the way we want to. Meet us in our bodies tonight, that we would become protectors of their needs in a world that does not always understand them. Meet us in the stillness, that we would become so acquainted with the quiet that in it, we could perceive your tenderness and love. Help us to reimagine what rest could look like for us, opening us to other forms of relaxation and meditation. Stay up with us, God. That even when rest seems so cruelly off course, we would be assured that the divine is near to us. Wait up with us until rest finds its way home. Amen.

INHALE: I deserve more than exhaustion.

EXHALE: I return home to myself.

INHALE: May I rest,

EXHALE: that I might dream.

INHALE: I’ve given enough.

EXHALE: I choose rest.

Confession:

God of the night,

We confess that we have chosen exhaustion over dreaming. We have been tricked and indoctrinated into systems of dehumanization that allow the most vulnerable to work far more than their bodies ever should. We have set up an economy that demands we sacrifice ourselves at the altars of productivity and utility, that says we won’t survive without our overwork. We have traded our own peace, our communion with our own interior landscapes, for the frenzied noise of an exhausted world. Even as we sense our own desperation for rest, we have still demanded exhaustion from those in our midst, welcoming them into the same chains that bind us. Forgive us. And have mercy on our weary souls, that we would locate the holy quiet, the divine lullaby that whispers within each of us. You’ve given enough; you are worthy of rest. Amen.

Forgiveness

Let your soul receive this rest: The God who sends the sun to sleep each night without apology, so too grants you the rest that has been withheld from you and your ancestors. She forgives us all our restlessness, that we would no longer be tormented by silence and stillness but find it a sacred reprieve from a world whose demand on our bodies in loud and unceasing. Amen.

Benediction

Go in courage to lie down, in sacred defiance of a world that would rather own your body than protect it. May you say “no” and “I’m leaving” and “I’m not saving this,” your boundaries never predicated on apology. In a time of frenzied activity, may you choose stillness, and this breath, and this silence… and sleep, that you might dream. Amen.