Prayers 1

2022-08-01 • spirituality

I enjoy reading the prayers and diaries of others. I can recommend those of Samuel Johnson, Soren Kierkegaard, and St. Augustine. But I enjoy just as much those hidden in random blogs I stumble upon. I thought I would share some of my own recent ones.

My eyes burn, my nerves burn, my feet burn, eating irritates me, dry food, rocks in my stomach. God, why do you permit these small and ugly sufferings?

Let me make this pact with you: whatever it is you're teaching me through suffering, I promise to learn in abundance.

Give me comfort and I promise to not become decadent. Is that your lesson? To remember you in the good times, instead of just the bad? Please walk by my side instead of dragging me by the wrists. Give me ears that can hear your whispers, eyes that can see your signs, and the strength to walk your path.

Dear God, I sit with you under the stars clouded by this ugly fluorescent lighting, silence pierced by sad pleading howls of chained dogs, legs tangled and burning, feeling decrepit, but I sit here anyway only because I told you I would.

I want to forget all these formalities and run into your arms, but I don't know where they are. I hope you take pity on me fumbling in the dark and light the rest of my path.

Already I feel better, just with the possibility you're listening. Why do I so easily forget?

There is no free will so what is your purpose in my making every possible mistake? You have all the answers. Is it that you wish to shroud yourself in ignorance in order to seek newer and newer paths? And something in me plays dumb along with you. Subjects who know they can stop the harsh noise at any time are more comfortable hearing that noise. It's just the knowledge of consent that makes it ok. And that there's always an exit.

I'm not asking you for mukti. Just clear my mind so I know who I am, what this is, and what is happening. Give me reassurance that all I need to do is to work and write and read and exercise and meditate and think of you-- that this is all I need to do for my dreams-- these dreams which you have given me, that are beautiful to me, that leave me with no doubts or mixed feelings towards them-- to manifest, so the Earth may prove to itself that such a thing is possible.

Give me the clarity to know what is you and what isn't. And if it's all you, then give me the sight to see beauty in failure, sickness, and weakness. Can it really be? Beauty in weakness?

Again I crawl to you, worse now than before, making no progress. If all you wish for me is to melt into a puddle under the beating sun then come and tell me yourself. I'm too tired to raise my heart and look up at the sky. It's only my neck that cranes back grotesquely, my rattling skull crookedly attached.

I yell at you for giving me these unpoetic struggles, but could I handle anything more? I am not afraid of pain or death. Only of suffering without reason. Only of suffering outside of your purview (which is what?) Give me something I can handle it.

Looking back five years ago my thoughts were so vapid. My life was so vapid. Maybe some suffering is useful. To sober me up to the necessary strife of this loka that straddles heaven and hell.

"Ask and it shall be given." My only job then is to ask clearly. To ask clearly needs will and clarity. Writing can give me both.

I spend all day swallowing the poisons of your creation, so please take them from me now, it's the least you can do. Soothe my burning eyes and exhausted nerves.

Is it through suffering that you push me closer to you or am I deluding myself? Is this worship or am I talking to myself?

Each person I've put myself aside to help, however trivially, leads me to the next remedy. Even S-- led me back to shambhavi. But each remedy you give me is temporary. They save me for another day then lose potency. So I no longer trust them. That's why I need you to come tell me yourself. To clear the constant doubts from my mind over what I'm supposed to do. When I get messages in my dreams-- how can I know it's you? How can I know synchronicity isn't just coincidence? I'm convinced you exist, I'm convinced you see me, but where are you? how do you speak? what are you like (is there wrath in love?)... without this knowledge I feel helpless.

Do you want me to go back to thinking for myself? I'm so sick of rationality now-- just take my mind from me and give me an earpiece to you. But if you really want me to think I'll try.