How Long Can You Rest?

How slow is slower?

How do you do… when time appears?

What does it take to say no?

I’m going to lie down. Sit down. Close my eyes.

What does it mean to rest?

Does it mean to relax your muscles?

Does it mean to allow your body to tell you how it’s doing?

Is rest an exotic or revolutionary concept —

something you think is meant for other people?

Is it almost unimaginable

where you might install, widen, or invite rest into your life?

Is rest always connected to other people —

do you only want to lie down when your partner does?

When your children do?

When someone else says, “Come on, sit down”?

Is rest always tied to interaction?

To sitting together for a tea,

for a coffee,

for connection?

What if nature could be your partner in this?

The sun —

dialoguing with you as you lift your gaze to her.

The wind —

whispering across your skin,

inviting you to feel the moment.

The earth —

offering you weight, temperature, gravity,

a grounded feedback.

And water —

waiting to receive you.

A cold river,

a warm hot tub,

a bathtub,

even a shower.

What if rest isn’t an escape…

but a reunion?

What if there is so much more than just you

that waits quietly,

gently,

for you to rest?