Little Altars Everywhere

Beyond all that pain has taught
me, the soft well at the base of
time has opened, and life
touching me there
has turned me into a flower
that prays for rain. Now
I understand: to blossom
is to pray, to wilt and shed
is to pray, to turn to mulch
is to pray, to stretch in the dark
is to pray, to break surface
after great months of ice
is to pray, and to squeeze love
up the stalky center toward the
sky with only dreams of color
is to pray, and finally to unfold
again as if never before
is to be the prayer.
– Mark Nepo, “God’s Wounds”

 

2 thoughts on “Little Altars Everywhere

  1. Thanks for sharing this poem my friend. Some days all I should be doing is praying. Yes praying and breathing. Thanks for this gentle reminder. 💕

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