Prayer

Posted: September 24, 2010 in Uncategorized

I bowed my head to the ground and my forehead touched cool blades of grass. I was seated cross legged in the garden, the slight drizzle and generous breeze rushing over the back of my neck and breathing life into the trees.

It had been a while.

God is in the earth, I think. He is not a man or woman seated in a palace in the sky but the light flooding the clouds, the soil tasting the rain, the leaves stretching outwards from towering trees that look like they have it all figured out. You might call it god or mother nature or the system of the universe, whatever its name, there is a flawlessness in everything within it that can only be attributed to some profound divinity beyond our mere realm.

A bee sits awhile on a white petal before travelling heavenwards to its hive in some oak, to make combs of honey perfect in size, shape and texture, every day, for the rest of its life. I put my ear to the ground and listened to the rumble of cars outside. They were always moving, but where to?
There is something awe inspiring about the fact that the bee is so sure of the purpose of its existence.

Why am I here?
The wind picked up speed and grabbed a brown leaf off the floor and threw it into the sky.
Maybe if we watched close and long enough the rain’s run through fingers of vines, the ground breathing in dots of rain, the dance of the branches to their own rhythmic mantra, maybe they’d leave some hint.

Rational thought, they say, is what separates us from other inhabitants of nature. The bee does not have to make a conscious decision to go to the flower and back each day, it just does. From instinct? I wonder where did we put ours.

Heavy drops like drums, ba da ba da ba da, beautiful if you close your eyes and listen. Like the beat to a moving piece of bharathanatyam. They fell, the drops, expressively, purposefully, on the grass.
Sometimes, things that usually appear dead to you, secretly come alive when you’re very, very silent. Ba da ba da ba da. Palm leaves swayed, wild. Ground exploded with luscious fragrance of water-meets-soil. The sky was a ceiling of pale shades constantly switching back and forth like in morse code.

It was speaking. He was speaking. She was speaking. Or singing maybe. Some foreign melody so pristine.
I listened, intently, not wanting to miss a single note. Not because it was beautiful, though what I saw and felt indeed was, but I wondered what it was saying. Something I could save in my mind perhaps, for when I leave its presence, back to my people’s system?
A piece of advice, a hint. A comforting ballad to carry back, when I find myself noisy and searching, like the cars outside.

Can’t I sit here forever? I wondered in my head, palms outstretched over the garden floor that was feeding off the sky’s water. My ear was to the ground again and all I heard was the hush of a distant beat, soothing, like a mother’s kiss on a skinned knee. Don’t cry, she would say.

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Comments
  1. black says:

    wow. that’s beautifully written.

  2. My Acid Words says:

    loved it. very well written…
    sigh
    i love the smell of rain…

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