O Oracle, I am tired

O Oracle, I have been in the streets for weeks and I'm tired. I'm afraid my rest will hurt the movement. What words do you have for me?

Dear chronically fatigued comrade,

During the opening shots of the caterpillar painfully dissolving its own body in a chrysalis that we call 2020, I read something somewhere I wish I could attribute but don't have a source for. It compared movement work to holding a note inside of a massive choir. If you were to drop out to take a breath, the absence of your voice would go unnoticed. Your body would still be there amongst the movement. You could inhale, deliciously, for as long as you wanted to and rejoin when it felt good. No one would notice that you had dropped out. Your fellow singers have you covered. No one would blame you for needing to inspire.

god of gold

master of the firm yet malleable metal scepter. skin gilded, crown unneeded: the king knows no want. desire reverberates through every cell anyway but this is not sex with midas. less is more. enough is too much.

Especially if you are Black, and also if you are Brown, your rest is a radical act. Under capitalism, embracing ‘less is more’ as a life philosophy is revolutionary. Capitalism requires that we always do more, move more, buy more. Our dark bodies demand that we do less in the era of COVID. Because your Black life matters, you must guard your life with all your life. White supremacy told you that you were only valuable as a body. But this Life you have—that more than matters—your Black Life that is vital for the universe to keep spinning its web around the cosmos, your Black life happens also when you luxuriate in stillness. Taking time to feel joy is the. best. f***. you. to white supremacy.

You are already sovereign, Queen. Already regal, King. Rest. Be at rest. Drape yourself in purple velvet and know a state of not wanting for anything. You can long for a future for your people that places crowns on your heads in the material world while knowing that you are already in possession of a scepter—a wand, if you will—made of precious metal that is both hard as a stick and soft as a carrot.