some say the heavens. All I know is – prayer occupies an important place in my life; my every day life. Blame it on my adoptive family’s ultraconservative fundamentalist religious (organized religion that is) upbringing, if you must assign blame.
Over the years I have shed and rejected much, if not most, of the hell-and-brimstone rhetoric spewed from the preachers’ mouths who stood behind the Sunday morning (Sunday evening and Wednesday night) pulpit. I have, however, held onto the prayer thing.
There were some years in my late teens and twenties when I even let go of prayer. Actually, it was more like I believed even more in the ousting of myself from God because of my chosen lifestyle which included consorting (carnally and in other much more meaningful ways) with women. I felt sullied. I believed that God put in special earplugs when prayers from sinners such as my lesbian-identified soul were spoken.
During those years of prayer-less-ness, I felt bereft; alone in the Universe so to speak – or not to speak, in prayers at least.
Somewhere along the way I woke up
my faith. As the saying goes my newfangled spirituality wasn’t (and isn’t) “my father’s religion.” Through the years my faith has grown and/or receded depending on what I’ve placed at the head of the line, importance if you will, in my life. Prayer, however, never strays far from the center hub.
I pray when things are rough, when I need direction,
when life is going smoothly, when I am happy,
when I am reminded of my love for my familia,
when I catch a glimpse of the shimmery green of a hummingbird’s tiny bird body,
when the rain drops ping and bounce, hard, off of the west facing skylight,
when I feel grateful for a particular moment in my life, when sadness and grief threaten to sweep me down a river of tears,
when I cannot forgive someone – especially myself,
when I am swirled up and on the hamster-wheel of circular worries and what-if’s, when I crave inner peace and cannot find it on my own,
when I lose faith in my own abilities to cope, when I stand in the reality of needing help,
when I am madder than hell and want to scream so loud that a mountain cracks open,
when I see the depths of human suffering, when I have acted in shameful ways,
when I remember and return to my center. I pray.
Prayer is a constant in my life. Now at the age of 50 I cannot imagine my life without prayer. Prayer is a balm and a comfort to me and I am grateful to claim it as a touchstone in my life.
Yesterday and this morning I have prayed for the ability to let go of my comparison game of my intelligence. I have prayed for the ability to be positive about my disser. I prayed for the ability to step into my hard earned wisdom when it comes to my disser topic. I prayed for the ability to feel how lucky I am.