I know, I know, but hear me out.
I have still, a book in my library (for occasional reference to remember what I came from). The title is telling: "The Complete works of E.M. Bounds on Prayer". How far I have come/fallen from grace depending on the view.
The American, gay poet Walt Whiteman defines prayer and "god" for that matter somewhat better:
“Why should I wish to see God better than this day? I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass; I find letters from God dropped in the street, and every one is signed by God's name, And I leave them where they are, for I know that others will punctually come forever and ever.”
Then this morning, Katie's "God Poem" really resonates deeply with me. And Sylvia Plath does a smashing job of depicting life's fig tree. For context: see
And if you don't click above, well . . .
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
Katie's perspective taken from John 1:50 [yes I looked it up, it's not Luke] "I saw thee under the fig tree" was a stunning reminder to me. From my perspective of non-faith, it may seem strange to some that these words would not hollow me out, but fill me with hope.
I've found some newer language of recent, and it helps: I dug around this morning for a while and finally after thumbing through a new treasure, a wonderful translation of Rilke's Book of Hours...the complete book I've read through a couple of times, well I landed on it in the "Commentary" section. End-notes are meaningful, some real gems. You may agree with me.
Rilke, Rainer Maria. Rilke's Book of hours : Love poems to God. New York, Penguin Publishing Group, 2005. pg 247
Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy in the commentary have this to say:
"For Rilke, we exist in part to give God something to gaze upon tenderly. Our vulnerable relationship to God is more important to Rilke than God's objective existence. As the poet wrote in a letter to his friend Mimi Romanelli in 1910: "How far I feel this morning from the misers who, before they pray, demand to know if God exists. If he no longer exists or does not yet exist, what does it matter? It will be my prayer that will create him, for it is pure creation as it soars to the skies. And if the God my prayer projects does not persist, that's just as well: we'll make him afresh, he'll be less used up" (Briefe, vol. 1 1897-1914 Wiesbaden: Insel Verlag, 1950)."
I "felt far from the misers" this morning, and a prayer project spontaneously arose, to freshen my own interpretations of spirituality and human longing/desire/hope.
After the inspiration/nurturing of the inner parts of my beingness, I feel able to step into my world. Through my eyes, nothing need change, and I will likely notice other other "notes signed by God's name".
For anyone else that may know of E.M. Bounds, this is a completely different perspective on prayer, and I gently honor the hours spent reading about "prayer", and actually praying--from a small child all the way up until my late 30's, and then a transformation began to emerge, and I sat in the crotch of some other "fig-tree-like" perspective, and allowed something of a cataract surgery of my faith eyes. I don't know what faith is or how I should or should not have faith, and deeply inside, I know I am seen, by my inner wise self, and know deeply that this seeing under the fig tree and all the analogies wrapped up in Nathaniel's myth legacy, well so much to ponder and it seems like something akin to worship spontaniously arose. Maybe it was addressed to that "UNKNOWN ONE".
So very different from the hopeless/valiant and prolonged attempts at moving heaven and earth together (thank all that is good, that I did not achieve that objective!!). Now I let lay those notes, and gently return to the shelf a book that was created by a man who likely trembled to create god afresh. I think "god" embraced him too, and wept at the caricature of the likeness of a man-god. I honor my own journey out of that ponderous quagmire of a pharisaical complaint/superiority. I'm just a gay/publican who dared not lift his whispered agonies to a universe that seems unfeeling and lonely sometimes.
Something/someone saw me/heard me. Rumi talks about silence being able to speak, and I think I caught that whisper again. Nothing, nothing can describe finding that center of my being, and I may not find it again for a while. That is okay.
Maybe I was whole then, back in my EM Bound's days, but looking back now, not so much wholeness from this perspective. A lot of hard working and trying and never, ever knowing human humility. I don't know about god prayers and Katie and Sylvia get a bit closer as do Whitman and Rilke, at least these human voices resonate more truly.
Even in what I've penned today, what can I say I know? I only know the bonds of religious zeal clouded/blinded/cataracted god-view of my own faith eyes, to me now I think I may see more clearly, and perhaps less prejudiced. And less I forget my roots and what this living is all about I hope today, I perhaps embrace my fellow brothers and sisters with a compassion and empathy less weighted with dogmas that perhaps did die of natural causes over the years. I refuse to resuscitate the old worn out dead versions of dogmas that spark hatred and unkindness still to this day.
To me there is a huge difference in what Rilke creates in a few mere words over the certitude of 568 pages of fine print that E.M Bounds cobles together. Bounds (Bonds) is mind-numbing. Rilke restores my faith in my own "I Am-ness", and I do not doubt that god is refreshed to be so "less used up". He/she/it/Goodness/The Nameless, and for how long have we as humans conjured up names for god?
Maybe "God has gone green" --- a little less used up? A little more to go around?
Cheers from the Columbus Ohio, USA area.
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