Sometimes I miss praying.
I miss the feeling of total honesty, of letting go, of defenses dropping.
“Guide me, Holy One, into an unclenched moment, a deep breath, a letting go,” Ted Loder prays.
And I can almost pray along. Almost. But almost praying is like almost singing. It’s just not the same. Yeah, sure, I can re-write the words in my head. Leave out the “Holy One.” But re-writing is a step back from experience. It’s a clench, not a letting go.
What I need is a practice of prayer that does not presume that prayer is directed to Someone. I need a journal, not a letter. A child wants a new bike, and writes a letter to Santa; an adult sees that her shoes are worn out, and plans to go shopping.
May I be still enough to see my life–joy, need, pain, fullness, wonder. May stillness become clarity, and clarity, action.
So may it be.