lying on the laundry with wet hair

Fixed earth: surrender, cocooning, deep rest

What do you do when you have difficulty relaxing? There are ways to achieve that state, to move beyond the pressure of immediacy, and into a different plane of time - meditation, music, psychedelics, movement, reading, having a crush, eating a whole bowl of cherries very slowly. Just to be able to relax, to rest, to take pleasure in rest: a truly radical act.

The last few days I was in pain, and then fatigued, feeling unable to do the list of things I had intended to do. I had faith it would pass, as it always does, but I surrendered to rest. The kind of rest where you lie down after a shower with wet hair bunching into knots. The kind of surrender where you flop down on top of unfolded laundry.

Everything I should have been doing felt far away. I vaguely knew I should stay on top of things but my body had other plans. I was reminded of the bone-deep necessity of rest, even if I ordinarily fight through this need to get to my tasks.

I lay, I breathed deeply. I read a whole book. I listened to podcasts about the Salem Witch Trials.

I once sent out a newsletter about The Hanged One that meditated on this very question of how to surrender.

When we are used to experiencing adrenaline, or the effects of trauma, rest and relaxation can feel counterintuitive: allowing our muscles to relax can give a stronger sensation than our familiar contractions. By contrast, The Hanged One is suspended by one knotted thread, acrobatic and effortless. The Hanged One is transcendent as a saint. Every time we surrender, we are saints. We can let the living wood of the tree support and nourish us, knowing we can test its weight with our bodies.

When I allowed myself to be suspended these last few days, I rewired my brain. My tasks have not disappeared, and my responsibilities remain, but my body is rested and I have recovered. The question now is how to bring these lessons back into daily life? Perhaps by learning to be tethered, not chained.

Rest is writing. Dreaming is writing. Lying on the laundry with wet hair is writing.

Everything is as it needs to be.