Archive | Prayers

To The Table Of Thought. . . Beggar’s Prayer. . . again

To The Table Of Thought. . .

I talk of the Essence of God because in Quantum Physics becoming is the key word for all of us in the present stages of Is, Am, Are.  Some of us freshly wrought,  others centuries in the harvest.

I plead to my god within to see the way to go, because I stutter my way with words and thoughts and do not dismantle but perhaps nudge into some evolutionary progress that my mentor, the Nazarene spoke.  What we do for one, he said, we do for all. 

We need help for this planet.  And for worlds watching what happens with us that we do not contaminate the rest of the planetary systems.  It is more than just us.  Or we will be walking the Cosmos again and soon finding ourselves with boots on in dry ash.

Beggar’s Prayer. . .

I come with the Grace
of all those I beseech, quietly.
In all names holy.

My work done with love,
in prayerful attendance to Life,
to acknowledge the birdsong
extolling the morning and awakening
the sun in triumph over night.

Sending the mist to dissipate
over the Mount, to nudge
the sleeping sages into activity,
to secure the earth’s roving
in this sea of tranquility.

I acknowledge my blessings where I am,
but I beg,

extinguish the desires of the old who miss
their spoils of war, and if allowed would
set fire to the hearts of the young
to do their bidding, negating the work
of the parents who taught their children
to love one another from the first time
a sibling invaded their space.

I beg for lives to be spared
so families can again sup together,
that children will again
have parents on the premises.
Begging you again to hone the values
that would have us carrying one another.

I beg this beggar’s prayer that man
who denies his own godliness will one day see

the common ground of his divinity.

 

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Emma E . . .the best of blends. . . .

She said wait and I will get my hat on and be ready to go!  And her hat is on and she has her bag and is ready for fun!  For our little one who is the best of blends. . . like good coffee or fine wine, she is a sparkler.  Weighing in early last Thanksgiving time at one pound 12 ounces, she is holding her own bottle and her grandfather said that driver training is next!

I am fortunate to be her grandmother great though I have not seen her in this world.  I need escorts to the car in the driveway because my legs are as wobbly as Emma E.’s are yet.  Her legs will grow sturdier and mine not, to be sure.  Her life will be filled with awe, as mine continues to be.  Her complaints will loom large in irritation to restriction, as surely mine do.  Both of our heads know what we desire to accomplish, though the surroundings differ.  We both will do what we need to do for the greater good.

Thank you all for your good wishes, thoughts and prayers.  Good has no boundaries and we have been grateful to see our Emma E. responding magnificently.  Your wishes have been a salve for our hearts.

 

photo by Merideth,  mom
of Emma E.

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Dear Emma E. . .

Dear Emma E.. . .

We know each other although we haven’t put our arms around each other yet.  But we know the shape of our hearts.  And that is most important no matter what world we are in.

I am a big person,  but if I were little like you,  I would want a teddy bear  who sings from her heart.  I would put the bear nearby and before I would go to sleep,  I would wind up her tummy and listen to the music that came from her heart.  And in the music, my heart would answer and we both would be happy.

It would be a party in my most secret place and when I was lonely or unhappy,  I would remember this music.  That would make me happy again.

I hope you get to know this teddy bear as a warm friend.  She is sent with much love and a happy heart.  We are never too big for a heart that sings.  We both know that.

I have loved you since before the world ever was and will continue to love you forever.

Your Grandmother Great. . . . .

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A sorrow hushed. . . the holocaust. . .

 

 

A sorrow hushed. . . the holocaust. . .

My ears cleaved to the door frame
of the dining room. Her whisper was hoarse,
were there many?
Lots, he said, lots, as he held the letter
that told him what they saw.  Speaking
in broken English, he continued.
They pushed for space, women and children
and their men. They wanted to see.
My people saw he said.

Their words burned my brain
as I strained to listen, afraid I wouldn’t
catch a sorrow hushed.  It didn’t last long
he said, because they fell.  Matko Bosko she said.
Remember our history he said.
As if that could explain what I heard.

And I knew the god they called
upon to save them from whatever they feared.
He whispered again, somehow trying to
make this horrid time an all right matter.
My people saw them, he kept saying.

And I loved those parents who made things
seem right yet what my heart knew was evil
and my head fought them and argued
till I would vomit.  We would go
into holy week and pray just as
my cousins across the waters who saw
what was done went back to their tables
and supped as if nothing had happened.

These were friends and relatives
whose prayers were different and
they said that made them different than us.
And the us that I was born into made me
ashamed and sick to my stomach and I kneeled
in front of the toilet and emptied my shame
washed with the tears of I am so sorry
and threw up all of my ten years

and so went my trust.

 

(Much of what was happening at that time was what I overheard to be Poland’s part in the holocaust.  Relatives wrote what was happening there.  Being an ailing child at home led me to listen carefully to everything.   The whispered conversations were fewer and not fully understood until as an adult I happened upon Winter Journey by Diane Armstrong. The impact on me was visceral.  The memories connected with family at that time rushed to surface.  These events were deep in the knowledgeable ten year old I was who was frightened and ashamed.  How does one live with shame?  )

 

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Love and Beauty. . .right to life. . .

Emma E. has been promoted to a step down to less intensive care.  She is at 37 weeks and two days ago was at 3 lbs 13 oz.  The camera could only catch what was in the heart of the photographer.  The love and beauty of both are palpable.  They should be every child’s right to life.

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A Time For Making Peace. . .

Our Prayer. . .

When words have been shouted and have struck hearts forever changed,  we gather our resources from within and count on Grace Given by thoughtful minds that harbor goodwill.  We pray to what we hold highest and best that we meet challenges that bring the changes needed. And we do not discount nor dismiss our part in those changes that count on us to be the example.  We begin now to pull our actions and words through our hearts so there will be no doubt to our intentions for good.

 

A Time For Making Peace. . .

It is time for making peace;
for actions that struck
the core of the heart. . .
for words that sucked life
out of a body still intent on breathing.

Those were actions and words
that should have been vented
when anguish and outrage
stole the child’s innocence.

And now with the ends
of the circle tightly knotting
we quietly say our thanks.

For the Grace given
by understanding hearts
in the heat of the fire.
Of love ventured into arms
needing the close embrace
of a forgiving Other.

It all comes full circle.
And we step out and
the merry go round stops
for a time.  Until again

our zest for life is renewed.

 

 

photo by John  Holmes

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A Cosmic Experience. . .

From a past journal entry. . . emotions become a burden needing to be understood before they are shrugged.  Once understood they become integrated and no longer need to be carried.

To understand the fullness of humanity is the first step toward the cosmic experience.  When the feelings become more than the human body can carry,  the heavens step in and with one fell swoop,  open the understanding toward greater truths.

And those truths need to be examined and placed in context of the person who is exposed.

A Cosmic Prayer for Mankind

We would wish for much.
We would wish
for the sublime love
that was preached
from every mountaintop.

We would wish
for a mother’s love
to be there for the infant
and the father’s hand
to caress the brow of every child.

We would wish for peace
within the human psyche
and learning to be brought
to the dinner table
and the breakfast table every time.
And love to be served
as the main course.

It is much that
we wish for;
much that we yearn for.
But peace is designed
for the human in mind
from birth to the grave.

Bring peace.

 

photo by
Joe Hallissey Sr.

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With Peace As Natural As Breath To Us. . . .

From my heart to yours,  I send my Christmas message.  In this holiest of seasons, where the desire for peace nudges all hearts no matter their persuasion,  let us give way to these highest and best of all emotions and act upon them.  By acting upon them until they are second nature to us,  in time they will be what they were meant to be;  peace as natural as breath to life.  Blessings,  Veronica

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