Monday, March 7, 2022

Through Stained Glass: Lent Word a Day -- Pray



On Sundays

After the sermon is preached

The cover is back on the piano

I pray

Slowly

Deliberately

Not with words

Not with a book

Or a pen

Not even my journal

But with my breath

In the woods

With my body

My palms touch the rough bark

Of oaks, maples

The softness of

Birches and sycamores

I flip my hand over

Their touch soothes

Oneness – bound together

In our

Breathing

Praying

The wind comes

And the wind goes

She shakes the leafless crowns

They wave; I pray

Sunshine streams

Into the forest

Woodpeckers

And Blue jays

Shimmer in the light

Messengers – angels

“He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.”[1]

A flash of red

A Cardinal, invites me

To be present

To acknowledge the ground

Of my being; and being grounded

Hummus -- home

Salt Creek
moves quickly

Months of snow

And rain

And ice

Run free -- the source

Of this life 

Remember, be thankful

Paws caked in mud

And on my knees

The dogs and me

Listen attentively

As the tiny Chickadee

Leads us in prayer

No words

Only our breath

Only our bodies

Being held by the land

“Who knows me,

Even when I’m lost.”

On Sundays I pray

With the wild ones

No words

No books

Only my body

And their bodies

In Love's embrace



  [1] Have you ever wondered why it is easier for us to believe in an invisible devil created in our image than it is to believe that birds and beasts can speak to us?

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