"Do you pray?" asks author Jay Griffiths in her 2019 essay "Daily Grace" published by Aeon magazine. "Yes, I pray," she replies to herself, "earthwise rather than to any off-ground god-and, though I cannot tell you the words I use, I will tell you their core is beauty."
I may be embarrassed to admit it, but I pray earthwise, too. I learned to meditate over a decade ago now, and when motherhood made it sometimes impossible to find the time to sit for twenty minutes, twice a day, I found a way to distill a little of that experience. By closing my eyes, however briefly, and resting my thoughts on the core of my perception, I can gain some of the peace that meditation brings me. I have come to think of it as prayer, although I ask for nothing and speak to no one within it. It is a profoundly nonverbal experience, a sharp breath of pure being amid a forest of words. It is an untangling, a moment to feel the true ache of desire, the gentle wash of self-compassion, the heart swell of thanks, the tick tick tick of existence. It is a moment when, alone, I am at my most connected with others. I can feel entirely separate in a crowd of people, but when I close my eyes, it's as though I have waded into a river of all consciousness, bathed in common humanity.
December
Wintering
Katherine May
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