Emotional Hangovers, and other kinds of naps
My niece and I are in a routine where she falls asleep on me and I write.
Usually in public places. Under trees, in sandboxes, today in a gym locker room.
She is attune to picking up energy, and reflecting it back out.
This is a bit of a lazy Susan gift, I know because I share it, and it sends me to sleep as a release.
Not the kind of sleep that slowly builds, the kind that comes out of nowhere.
Like lucid dreaming, incorporating any moment of waking up into your inner dialogue, and later waking up one of two ways: with a headache or with a smile.
Her ballerina skirt blankets our legs on my lap, and I recall the interactions that have been my week so far.
Times of year that center nurturing and feminine characteristics tend to fuel patriarchy negatively, encircling you in micro aggressions of one kind or another.
Asking you to prove your experience, especially as it relates to or involves them.
Asking you to remain calm, while attempting to ensure that you won’t be able to.
The craft of absorbing energy that then doesn’t become you is hard to embody consistently, in a large part because the stress has to go somewhere.
I’m grateful for days like now where it can get channeled to a nap somewhere held safely.
Where the release isn’t pulled like a lever, but instead presents before you touch the ground.
The ground where kindling has the beginning of embers being lit, and those flames will increase.
The ground where energy cannot remain disparate, but where our bodies keep asking for that.
Asking because they know how we absorb what’s not ours, and because what’s ours needs somewhere to go too.