Rest Is Resistance: A Manifesto

by Tricia Hersey

Rest is real-life conversations. I don’t know any other way to go. Rest is the road map. The guiding force—a truth teller. Rest is a meeting with self. With a typed agenda. Rest is on your knees whispering words silently, on the right side of the bed. Rest is lunchtime dreaming. The energy of the Rastafarian who showed me how to pray standing up, with my eyes open hands stretched wide. “Because how will you see and know when prayers are answered?” Rest is holy oil from my mama’s wooden dresser. Pompeian Olive Oil, the fancy kind in glass. Blessed by the Elders. Poured over our heads as we rebuke the devil. Rest is the laying on of hands. A force field all around you. Rest is a dream made real. A portal. An honest place. A trusting place. A sacred refuge. A dissertation-length longing. Rest works. Rest dreams. Infinite power moving. Care surrounding us. Rest is a gift and an antenna. An ancient call dangling on the tips of tongues, from a head lightly connected