Sometimes the answer is in a bar of soap.
All the women in my family suffer from restless legs, that is to say, all the women in my family suffer from restless souls. Stuck for an answer to their unease for generations, they soothe their uncertainty the only way they know how. They tap the question against the mattress and fold their feet into the bedsheets. After endless medical treatments and internet scrolling, my mum finally found the answer hidden under the sink. She had read somewhere that the answer was to sleep with a bar of soap in her bed. Because sometimes the answer is right there underneath you. Sometimes it jabs you in the back when you sleep, or smells like lavender. Sometimes you lather it, when it works best dry. As her soul tossed and turned at night, her soles would find this little square of hope digging into her side. To wet it would be to lose it, effervescing over her body and away into the bedsheets. So she leaves it intact, unwetted by analysis or doubt, to roll around with her while she sleeps.
This session is inspired by the restless souls that may never be soothed.