Can I pray with a sincere heart?
Sometimes.
But then, my foot slips and can't
find its place on the side of the
mountain.
I hang on, a cord holding me;
But I know I'm really held by
another chord which I praise in
each heartbeat whether I hear it
or not.
Yet, my feet flay and struggle
to find their niche.
 ***
It is said that one can still find
Indian holy relics left in niches
in the canyons and mountains.
These are prayer offerings.
So these mountains are no stranger
to prayer. The climb in itself is
a prayer, full of misdirection and
ignorance...and yet, a sincere prayer.
***
Catching a tiny niche,
I find some leverage.
Once again, I am in place.
I can pray sincerely.
***
I have found that a space--
inner or outer--
can be esthetically beautiful
with a proper placement
of objects.
These need not be costly
but often, they are rare.
So very rare that we miss
them.
To know these--inside or
outside--takes time.
Time and contemplation.
Time, contemplation and space
to hear the song that has gone
missing.
A mote of dust
can be that song--
the linchpin which pulls it all into
a perfect pattern whose
geometry is a mystery.
The dust mote can be seen
from a certain perspective.
For example, floating with other dust motes
in a ray of sun.
When time, contemplation and space embrace us,
we hear its unique song.
We become aware that the mote is a particle
in a galaxy of galaxies, held in thrall
to their sun's golden beam.
Thus we understand:
One's gift and purpose can be the same.
Like an artistic mobile, this galaxy of
galaxies also has its place, its purpose,
its sincere prayer.
This can be called Being.
Perhaps Being is the only sincere prayer.
Like bird song, or the frail, prehistoric shell
pressed into a stone from a mountain river.
Perhaps the puma's scream or the
wolf's howl is sincere prayer.
Like us and the mountain wall.
And the galaxies.
Priceless. Eternal.
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