I no longer pray for what I want, or what I’ve lost.
Not for what needs to happen, or what must not.
I pray now for my heart to let go of its attachment to these wants.
I no longer pray for what I want, or what I’ve lost.
Not for what I crave to happen, or what I desperately fear might.
I pray, paradoxically, for the dismantling of my own prayers.
I pray to be released from my attachments. For the release of any desperate plea.
I pray to become someone who is okay, even full, even brimming, when things don’t go my way.
Yes, I yearn for the eradication of yearning itself.
And in the shattering, in being brought low, stripped bare — there it was — A surprising fullness.
The feel of autumn air, the warmth of a mug in my hands. The fact that I can still find love and passion in my heart.
When I lost what I thought was everything, I found everything: The sweet, sweet joy of a beginner’s mind.
I yearn to find fullness in the small, in the is-ness of what is, even when it is not what I willed it to be.
