Prayer irrigates the earth and heart
– St. Francis / Love Poems from God – Daniel Ladinski
How does prayer water my soul?
How can it soften the cracks that have yawned so wide?
How can it fill those holes in me that echo with despair?
What part of the whole am I?
What is diminished when I turn away?
What holes do I leave in that leaving?
When will I learn to listen to your voice?
When will I open to your presence?
When will you come?
Where is the quiet space that lets life blossom?
Where are the thin places in my life, in my soul,
Where I can find you, if I’ll seek, knock, ask?
Why does my prayer sound echoes in my soul?
Why can I not connect to your grace and fullness?
Why won’t you answer me, this morning?
Does prayer answer my questions, or, in acknowledging them,
Do I open myself to the rain of your grace?
Can you sneak up behind me and catch me with a hug?
I so need your embrace, and with my prayer, this morning,
I embrace my need as the very opening that makes the space for you;
The crack in my soul where you can enter.
Will you enter?
[photo by Anjan Chatterjee per cc 2.0]
A sigh at the heart of the universe;
I am in a cold wood. The wind is brutal, but I’ve found a small enclave where the rock and brush surround me close enough to form a shield. I hunker down and hold myself close, burying my head between my knees, leaning back against a large tree. I breathe. Once. Twice. Now a deeper breath. My heart slows a bit. I begin to relax. 
May the wonder of the stable find its way into your heart.
My fingers are cold; my whole being is cold. The warmth of my own blood has retreated deep within me and I so I sit, cuddled up beneath the oak tree at the top of the meadow. My blood runs slowly through my veins, sluggish. It doesn’t want to venture out to bring life to my limbs. I huddle down, and try to draw warmth from myself, but there is none to draw. I feel tired. Sleep beacons me, calling to me to retreat from my day before it has even begun. 
Quiet Hope 