When I was a young girl of about seven, I would walk miles along the dusty road to the nearest church. It was for Catholics, and I wasn’t one. That didn’t matter. I would walk that road with utter devotion, always with an eye out for snakes. I was off to talk with the Divine Father!
My mother had sewn me a beautiful ankle-length turquoise taffeta dress for church.
The rural church was a white wooden building with a red corrugated iron roof and sat handsomely right beside the creek in Freestone, a rural community on the Darling Downs, near Warwick. (Queensland, Australia.)
In childhood, I’d wear my baby sister’s square terry cloth nappies on my head and pretend I was in a nun’s habit. I’ve since experienced past life regression which has shown me lives in monasteries and convents. I guess those memories were strong in early childhood.
Although I still delight in the nature of church buildings, my faith is far removed from any man-made religion. I pray regularly, but not in the way depicted in the movies or religious books.
Today a friend and I were talking about such matters as faith and loneliness. I said that even when I’m alone, I know I’m never alone. My connection with the Divine is a constant in my life, whether it’s when I stand under a dark sky illumined with starlight or have my hands in the cool dark soil.
I pray in gratitude for fresh air, and sunshine on my skin. I touch the face of God when I brush my fingers on the bark of a tree or hear the hooting of an owl or make love with my lover.
No matter how upsetting life can be or frustrated I might get with a certain situation, I always know that I’m not walking this life alone. I feel it, in the deepest cells of my being, that my Breathmaker and I are one. I may well disagree with Him/Her sometimes (okay, often), but together we walk along the path.
I pray when I read beautiful scripts by candle light, such as anything written by Kahlil Gibran.
I pray when I see a smile on my child’s face.
My first thoughts when I wake and the last thoughts I have before sleep are also a prayer: forgiveness.
I pray every time I have a thought, and am on constant Guard duty making sure that negative thoughts are quickly ousted. I’m a work in progress, and that’s a prayer, too.
I pray when I move firewood and when I wash dishes. I pray when I hug a friend and imagine our hearts connecting as one.
I pray when I am beside the crackling woodstove, with nothing but the sound of flames for company.
I pray when my heart moves to the haunting sound of cello music.
I am praying when I prepare my family meals or wash their clothes.
My life is a prayer, and I’m thankful that I have an inner church in which to bow down to the Universal Energy which connects us all.
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