Prayer

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It’s been a long time since I’ve prayed, at least in the conventional understanding of the word, as in petition or supplication to One who, as this image suggests, might put the fires of life out. Indeed, I feel as rusty in that regard as this out-of-service hydrant, and if I am honest, at times my interior landscape can feel fairly frozen because of that, too.

I don’t know exactly what to do about that.

There is a book on one of my stacks entitled, “When God is Gone, Everything is Holy”. That title pretty much sums up my experience of life as I have known it now for these last many years. My sense of the sacred has become one with what is. And so , I can ‘commune’ with all that is in Love and Wonder, be touched by incredible Beauty in the midst of the Terrible, be filled with deep comfort in the Goodness of Life on Earth, with its deaths and despairs, its tenacity and elegance, even be overcome by gratitude each day for the opportunities for learning and growth in Love.

But there are still times when I miss the reaching OUT, the dialing 911 so to speak, for something to hold onto that feels more immediate somehow. And by immediate, I do not mean closeby, for the sacred has never been closer than this ‘all-that-is’, but immediate, as in quick to act, to change, to ‘fix’.

It seems that God-as-Everything-that-is, is as slow-moving as evolution itself — and, while that is a Beautiful, Marvelous, Amazing thing , Hope, on such a large scale, can feel more like Quiet Patience. And at times, patience, on a small human scale,  can feel fairly close to despair.

Sometimes I long for the personal, something small enough .. outside of myself…to hold me when I am weary, Something Big enough to hold me….

when I am weary.

Oh, I know to access regions of deep peace and joy within ( as my yogi tea bag tag reminded me today) , how to cultivate tenderness and extend lovingkindness and compassion, and there is still some part of me that believes that tending these warming fires within is to stoke the sparks of the Divine embedded within the embering coals of my very cells, that this is what it means to be a human-bearing. When I am weary, these fire-tending practices do help to melt the ice, but a little warm rain from above might also be nice.

I have long understood that the Mystic is not very far from the Agnostic in the wheel of faith. The Agnostic holds that God and the essential nature of things is Unknowable by human minds; The Mystic experiences  God and the essential nature of things as a Mystery sensed, (perhaps she would even say ‘known’)  but too deep for human minds/words.  Perhaps one is empty while the other is full, but it is a paradox that fullness itself can at times feel quite empty, and No Thing can at times feel like nothing.

This fire in me needs some tending. In lieu of a lightning bolt, I suppose it is time to gather some tinder.

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