Great Big Prayer

Lingua aqua

POET, OPEN WIDE THE WINDOW



The Little Mermaid



Poetry’s the language of the heart and mind in sympathy, and such a tidy way this is of saying it’s a shame this isn’t all there is, but it gets messier because there’s something altogether more, I find, when sweet and simple lines occur to me — a kind of calling, quiet, firm, and not to be denied: O Poet, open wide the window. So I try, oh, yes, I try — the kind of word smug masters love to pounce upon (“Don’t try, just DO”) — Do you not see, the window’s stuck, alas; I almost give it up and start a nap, but there’s a tapping at the pane.

I try again, with better luck this time. And then I couldn’t say at all which spirit comes and carries me away: a rogueish ray of sunlight, free to sail the skies above whatever sea or continent we fancy – where the zebras are, perhaps, or Bimini or Madagascar. But if not the sun, the sigh, then — breathing out and breathing in, each exhalation stirring in me an infinity of possibility; the IN breath offers comfort, intimate, as if I were a baby in the womb and knew the mother’s heartbeat as my own.

Spongebob's Underwater Kingdom

If not the womb, the rain, creating rivulets upon the old brick path, creating streams that grow with heaven’s generosity and wend their way to greater streams and thence to oceans, thence to clouds and mist and I have only floated on the rivers to the sea with pelicans and fish for company, and  mermaids genuine as you and me. The mermaids led me to their underwater universe no human on her own could possibly discover.

Effortless my movement is on air, in water — everywhere on earth, in space, I go, loose-limbed and unafraid, conveyed by ships or chariots of grace; and what began as mutterings of love undisciplined and tapping on the windowpane, an invitation to embrace eternity, became the language of our common soul. But I am not an angel yet and have let Ego’s pen distort the pure, clear vision I was given, and corrupt the soul’s impression.

So I pray that something fine, a slender scraping of divine resplendence, might escape this poetry of mine and drift like thistledown into your willing spirit. May you find whatever it contains of heaven’s truth, in heaven’s time.





...a slender scraping of divine respendence





Sunlight

Sunrise from Pike's Peak, Colorado. Image: wallpapers-diq.com

O God, Make Me a Lantern

 

Sunbeams and goldenrods, Edwin Warner Park, Nashville
Image: wallpapers-diq.com

O God, make me a lantern... a light and not a shroud. Help
me to sing out loud your praises in a clear voice, crystalline
and bright with joy. Fill me this very day with levity and
laughter, and may everywhere I go be better for my having
been there. Lift from me the heaviness that grows in layers
and immobilizes me. O let it rise like morning fog, dear
God, and float away upon the wind.

O Father-Mother, send your angels here to keep my
lantern clean and clear. The fuel is pure, it is your own
abundance; smoke cannot obscure the flame. But
sometimes I feel small, and fear that I cannot be seen amid
the throng. Then may your angels carry me upon their
golden wings to where the steeples, tall and proud, point to
the endless sky, and keep me strong and bold and
unafraid to hold my lantern high.

Sunrise on Wizard Island, Crater Lake National Park
Image: wallpapers-diq.com

Dear God, I pray that all your children know what flame
they carry, be it hidden deep within or fearlessly
uncovered, shining steadily, the light of love and life, uniting
everyone. Is this too much to ask of you, Almighty God?
Can this thing, call it harmony or peace on earth, be such a
weighty task for your omnipotence? We daily pray “Thy
kingdom come,” so certainly it can be done, dear God, if
you will show us each and every one our part.

O God, your kingdom is not far away; there is no limit to
your generosity. We cannot fail to shine; our lantern light is
infinite. It warms the heart and lights the path that leads
unerringly to satisfaction — in our work, our fellowship, our

Sunrise from Newfound Gap, Great Smoky Mountains
Image: wallpapers-diq.com

service, our communion, gracious God, with you. Now may
my lantern guide me to my place in your Creation, God,
and may it shine not just for me but for the blind whose
prayer, sincere and offered with humility and trust, it is that
they might see. Amen

--------------------------

Big Stone Gap at Sister Alma Rose
Has the Last Word


 

The Big Prayer on Write Light

Terrified of Bliss

Angels with the Blessed Virgin -- Botticelli



 A PRAYER TO MY ANGELS



O ye angels, fly to me
and lift me out to sea, above
the waves that rest but never sleep
while there is work undone.
Perhaps the sea’s an angel too;
it has the timeless job to do
of cleansing this untidy earth
and birthing it anew.

Galatea — Raphael

O ye angels, carry me
upon thy wings, a brief escape,
then stay a bit, I beg of thee,
and help me concentrate.
My mind, it likes to creep away;
in vain I order it to stay
and serve the purpose I’m about;
but it’s gone out to play.


O ye angels, lend thy power
to my responsibilities;
I seek the effort of an hour
before my labors cease.
I have no gold to save or spend,
nor do I want thine, angel friends;
instead I need thine energy
when lethargy begins.


At last, ye angels, when the task
is finished and the cottage neat,
I’ll have but one more boon to ask:
my prayers lay at God’s feet.

THE JOY OF THE LIGHT OF GOD



Alleluias rolled from the east



What are we waiting for? Why do we

hesitate? For here and plain as dawn

when every demon of the night has

fled, we see the joy of the light

of God. We need only step out of

the mist—no odyssey have we

to undertake or foe pursue, no

secrets to discover. There is only love to

be accepted, met with gratitude... now

only happiness to claim. Anxiety, regret

and shame—these were the evils

that evaporated as we watched. No

sooner were they gone than Alleluias

sweet and strong rolled from the east

and would have swept us off our feet

and carried us aloft, had we not clung

to earth, so terrified of bliss we are if it

should cost surrender of the shreds

of skin we still identify as “us.” The

lungs, the bones, contorted hands

and feet; the pain, disease, decay are

us, we say? As if God meant us to be

temporary, having used up our

allotted days, too old and slow to

overtake the measured plodding step

of entropy. But we are woven of a

better fabric, one that grows more

durable with wear and time and testing.

Still we hesitate, though faith has been

replaced by certainty.

St. Francis of Assisi with Al Kamil -- 15th century

With reluctance mixed with fascination

do we draw a little nearer, inches at a time.

We cringe when light falls full upon us

and the unfamiliar frightens us. We are

accustomed to the cold, the dark, and sink

into delirium as we might fall upon a rotting

pallet in a beggar’s squalid inn, when our

soul’s comfort and security, clarity of sight,

the soundness of the body, heart repaired

and spirit whole are certain, not mysterious

as once they were, remote, the whisper

of a promise too ethereal to tempt the

desperate, the wanderers in need of solid

benefits, of food and shelter. Isn’t it more

sensible to hesitate? God isn’t going anywhere.

 LOVE STICKS

Love comes later, in the wake of pain,
like rescue after piracy. Sometimes the

buccaneers escape with their ill-gotten
gains and damn the bodies and the sailors
who survived. These are forgotten or
outshone by treasure seized according to the
code of honor thieves and brigands go by.

Guardian angels

I have love. Sometimes I keep it chained but it escapes eventually. The chase is
futile. I pursue it anyway, at
least to see where it alights. I’ve little
hope of catching it but I can sabotage
attachment anyway until it flickers
out of sight.


Both love and I know which of us is wiser,
stronger, and more patient. Truth be told,
I’d really rather give the game up, let love
lead, but ego won’t permit me to, not
yet at any rate, though soon, I’ll wager.
It feeds on my weakness, and I’m weary
now, as one becomes from filibustering.
Its loyalty is oddly given, not bestowed where I would choose. It forms unsuitable
alliances and clings tenaciously. I
win, it says and flashes me a saucy
grin, and so do you. It’s only face you
lose. I’ll get it back to you.


Love is like a tireless suitor, one who
could have gone away for good but stays to
tease me, plays a waiting game. I
wonder if it plans to catch me up in
some transgression. Hardly likely, as it’s
had a million chances. Still it sticks as if to
lure me, which is curious. It surely knows
I don’t deserve it. 

Living in a River of Prayer

A Place Where Prayers Are Answered


Worship-service anthem, solo or 3-part SAB

When I say a prayer, I close my eyes;
my spirit reaches toward the sky, and
then I open up my eyes
to see the wonders of the world
surrounding me

Once upon a time, it grieved my mind
to perceive a universe so unkind, and
so I tried to be the one who cared,
the savior of the world,
my cross to bear

Floating in a river of prayer—
it carries me to where
all things are possible
By the grace of God
there is a place
where prayers are answered

Never could I do enough to change
a world that seemed so disarranged.
Beaten and defeated, in despair,
I sent to God a faint and hopeless prayer

and from the heart of heaven there appeared
an angel of the Lord to claim my fear...
first a spark of hope and then a flame of joy
undimmed by guilt or shame

Now my tethered soul was led to freedom;
on its own, it fled to be with Him


Living in a river of prayer unceasing,
ever renewed, forgiven, baptized.
Now I see the world with
eyes of the spirit,
love undespairing....
Now I live where prayers
are answered