Prayer



My friend asked me to make a very special bread for our dinner last Saturday night.  She described a light and airy loaf that would sop up the sauce from a layered noodle dish that we were trying for the first time.  Most of my hardy homemade whole-grain breads are on the heavy side and often more of a crumb texture rather than a sponge type loaf that you might buy in the store.   I truly had no idea how to approach the challenge.  But on the morning of the dinner ….  I looked at the ingredients and tried a few slight changes to my standard recipe and kneading procedure.  I decided on three varieties a standard plain loaf, one onion and fresh herb and an Ethiopian honey bread that I created based on a pallet memory from 1988 when I tasted a bread by that name in a local bakery.  All three loaves turned out light and airy just like my friend described.

I realized Sunday morning as I was sitting zazen, that the loaves of bread were gifts from Grace.  My friend first spoke the Word and the Word spoken in the presence of two or more becomes a prayer and when two of more come together to pray the answer comes from God.

Long ago I read Larry Dossey’s anthology of the prayer research to date and was impressed by the quality and scope of data that has been collected.  I have participated on many occasions in the Global Prayer project inspired and offered live on the Internet and Teleconference by James and Salle Redfield.  There is something very powerful and uplifting when we pray as part of a critical mass.

But on this occasion as we broke bread on this special supper, it would be my first awakening to the power of the spoken word as it is transcends into prayer.  At once I became aware of the great power that my own words carried.  Sarcastic remarks, double entendres, chastising words … not only was I speaking my mind or spouting off in the presense of another sentient being, but my words were all of the time being channeled out into the Universe.

I remember Sunday night my young teen telling me she “didn’t want to wake up Monday morning for school.”  I hushed and told her not to say such things out loud because the power of our word takes its toll.  No surprise at 6:30 a.m. there was a frantic knock at my bedroom door that she had over slept through her alarm clock and needed an urgent ride to the bus stop.  Not once had this punctual perfectionist been late for the bus in all the years I could remember.  Power of the word.

The power of prayer became an important lesson for me this past week, as friend after friend reacted to my relapse back into a difficult POTS-hole.  Funny how I had just been thinking that I could “do more” lately.  Like hanging laundry on the line without immediately fatiguing or walk up and down the stairs in my house without needing to lay down immediately.  It was one of those dare I say hopeful times when the life limiting part of the illness was giving more wiggle room to have some semblance of a life.

Then unbidden the hyperadrenergic flares started coming and gripping long and hard.  Just a day or two here and there, not everyday at the start.  My mind immediately goes into CSI mode to look for forensic evidence as to the cause of the aggravated assault.  A week went by and the internal tremors joined the POTS-party.  The hyperadrenergic flares are coming with waves of heat, pain and high agitation and now rolling in several times a day.

Decidedly beyond my Zen head, the frequency and intensity of the POTS fallout pushes me up against my perceived limitations.  “Enough!”  I scream inside.  “I can’t handle any more.”  Yet more comes and each day my eyes open once again for another drag through the undertow.  I remind myself to be mindful how I talk about the relapse so as not to put a prayer out into the Universe that I did not want to be answered.

My father has often shared with me his favorite prayers.  In times of need I find them very comforting, not because they are Catholic but because they come from my father.  In fact he called this moring while on his treadmill to let me know that he had said three special prayers for me and my healing.  I was so touched, what a powerful prayer to share with me.

This week I am keenly aware, that which we say out loud to another sentient being is a prayer.   We must be mindful and choose our words carefully.  As I have said before …. Life is not what you make out of it, it is what you make UP about it.  Choose your words carefully and Enjoy the illusion.

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