when I pray,
I use words,
professing, confessing audibly
and sometimes silently in the native tongue of my heart
(which, as Nathanael ‘neath that fig tree, only I and God can hear)
my soul’s desires,
which, sometimes, before I spake, I hardly knew.
And sometimes in the Presence of the Great Silence
(when I, sometimes, wonder
and, at some other times, fear this is a Divine signal of a refusal to hear),
I fall silent and wait
and, sometimes, wait some more.
And sometimes, after some time,
an image will come to mind upon which to focus my attention
that stills my wandering, fearing mind or
a musical note will sound, then another and another,
and sometimes I hear a song that soothes my fears or
a tug will come, somehow, at my sleeve or a nudge, again somehow, for me to rise,
directing me to my bookcase to retrieve one or another volume of prayers
wherein I find a phrase or two that express precisely more than I had dreamed I desired.
When, sometimes, this happens, I alway find peace.
Note: The Nathanael reference is to John 1.43-51