My Life is a Prayer

 
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Let us remember our body now for one moment. Let us remember our body. Here is the body. This is where I am right now. This is my body. Let’s allow the body to breathe in a very simple way. When we breathe deeply we feel the body and we let it relax. Here I am. I don’t have to be anywhere else. Here I am. Now is mystery. It becomes mystery when I decide to give up my possession of it, when I decide I do not own it. How do I think I own things? By laying claim to them with my definitions.

What if it was required of us on this path to trust the surrender of all of our definitions? What if in the ego space we were to think somehow that in order to trust we had to get all of our definitions in place and make everything appear a certain way, according to certain rules, in just the right amount of light? And that’s what the ego thinks is trust? What if we recognized, as we do sometimes when we are honest, that such a version of trust brings nothing but fear!

We heard somewhere, we weren’t sure what it meant, that to fully trust meant to give up everything we thought we knew: all the names, all the games, all the limits, all the boundaries  –  and therefore all the pain. Is this  where are we now? What does it mean to say we are on the earth? Isn’t that simply some crutch we use to put aside the awesome understanding that we are floating in some vast immensity amongst the stars? Why, we don’t know. Where, we’re not sure. When is too big a question to even begin to answer. Yet, when we say, “I am on the earth,” we think that means something. That means nothing. Let’s put aside such a trivialization. Where are we? I don’t know. Who am I? Is my name enough? Human being:  does that make me feel safe?

Look at this form: Where did it come from? Who gave it its name? What is this form? Am I this form? Am I chained inside this form? Is this form all there is? Why this form? From whence did it come? Look at my life and all the people I know. Do I know who they are? Do I know where they came from? Do I have any inkling of why they entered into my sphere and why we share? And my family:  why we eat together? Why we live as one? Do I have any idea? And my feelings? My God, my feelings. What is this continual stream within me? All the names I use to define, and describe. Is there any meaning in any of these names? Except the frantic search for safety where safety cannot be found?

My life is a prayer when I finally feel it that way. And everything around me prays when my illuminated vision is clear. The trees are praying. The birds are praying. The stars are praying. Let us not interpret prayer as some limited position we take when we are in despair, or some religious doctrine we embrace. But rather as the way in which we empty ourselves of definitions and take on a sacred space, the way in which trivialized positions become sacred energies.

It seems that only by allowing ourselves to create a context of quietness in our lives, in whatever form that means, can we begin to understand and see the way in which we are often reacting instead of listening. Ego guidance is panic because it is based on time, and the belief that time is making a very specific demand. Ego has an inverted experience of everything we find in the experience of Grace. It has its guidance. It has its wisdom. It has its own prayer. It may be required that we move through that in a forthright way in order to come to the wisdom of Grace which has a different kind of feeling to its space.

Copyright 1993: Estate of Stephen Robbins Schwartz

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