Silent Prayers

When everything gets to be too much, I go to the Little Chapel of Silence.  And I sit and read but mostly sit, and I look at the carving on the wall, and I pray.
I ask for help.
I ask for everything to work out.
I ask for one to get through this episode, and for another to get through this illness.
And for another to find direction so they don't feel lost
for another to find the strength to go after what they want
for another to find compassion and let their defenses down
for another to overcome feelings of inadequacy
for another to be granted the ability to see how beautiful they are.
I ask for that guy sitting behind me to be provided with the strength he needs to get through whatever it is he is thinking about, praying about, writing about as I sit here encroaching on his space.  I ask for him to come out happy on the other side, and for his loved ones to be healthy.

I ask for everyone to be happy, for everyone to be kind.

And for me, for me I ask guidance and energy.  I ask to be opened up, to be welcoming, to avoid being a bitch, but always to be a Bad Bitch, to listen intently and hear with purpose.  I apologize for my arrogance, and I ask for the guidance to use it well.  I ask for the help I need to reevaluate and restructure, to help everyone that I can.

And I thank, I thank endlessly, for the people I get to love, my family and my friends, for the education I am receiving and the people who afford it to me, for the opportunities I am given that I do not deserve,  for the massive inspiration that is nature, for a warm place to sleep at night and enough food to eat.  I thank for the challenges I am given, the ones that tear up my insides and make me pull my hair and hide in bed.  I know they are of such great use if I can find the understanding to face them.

I don't know exactly what I am thanking, what I am praying to, but I ask to get closer to it, to G-d, to nature, to the infinite, whatever it is.
It's been nature, mostly, recently.  G-d still.  But nature.
Because what is more natural than G-d, who lives in the stars and the trees and the dirt?  In my blood, in the way that hemoglobin attaches itself to my erythrocytes.  That is my G-d.  In there.  Out there.  Doing work, bringing things together.  Giving me this little infinity to work with.
And why do I have this weird guilt attached to my fingers every time I type the word "G-d?"  As if it were a sin to believe, as if it were possible for me not to believe.  Call it what you want, nature, evolutions, physics, I don't care, I just need somewhere to put my questions and I like to call it G-d.  I ask to get rid of that guilt.  I ask for the energy to keep persistent in finding answers to those questions I store in G-d when I don't have time to answer them myself.

I ask for the guidance and energy to make a tangible, positive difference in the world.  And I return to the Serenity Prayer in the end, because that's what it comes down to most days.

I look at the carving again, and I think about the person who carved it, and I thank G-d for their talent and I ask for the best for them and their family, and I hope they are doing well and creating more art if they are still alive.  And eventually, I gain the strength to stand up and leave.