Prayer is not a language
I speak.
My words get tight,
jumbled, stilted,
I'm never
too sure who I'm talking
to
or if
they're listening.
I get stuck
not knowing how to
address
the person to whom I am
speaking
-- if it's he, or she,
or they --
I know God
is probably that
10-year-old genderqueer kid
who already corrected
me once last week
when I used the wrong
pronouns, and didn't think to ask first.
I mess up
every prayer I utter
in spite of my best
intentions
But I want my heart to
be good at blessings.
I want my blood to be
made of hallelujahs,
want my cells to form
themselves in the shape of active love
till it's the only
thing I'm made of.
So even though my bones
tremble when I speak,
may it be only because
I took what was broken
and used it to fuel a
fire of intensity
and the pieces --
they sometimes rattle
when I get going;
there is no place
for shame,
disappointment, being small,
this active love is
bigger
than my tendency to be
complicit
silent
passive
in the face of
injustice, so
here
is the hallelujah.
Here
is the ferocity,
the intensity,
the whole-hearted
being without apology
this active love alliance is
the hallelujah.
So hallelujah.
My love pulls my spine like a
rip cord
that parachutes the
broken open umbrella of my heart.
My heart
prays
on street corners with
signs and loud voices
in quiet circles
in conversation
in conversation
in how do I help
in listening
in standing up
in listening
in standing up
speaking up
showing up
showing up
showing up...
I was not taught pray.
Was not taught to
engage this type of love -
I was taught to be
quiet.
To look away,
to not speak,
to look for love in all
the wrong places -
can't find my own body
holy enough
to hold her whole and
sacred,
there are so many layers
to stepping in
but Brave is just what
we call
Scared when she's
holding hands.
So let's hold hands.
Hallelujah for the discomfort.
Hallelujah for every
time we pull back the covers on our still-sleeping hearts
to feel what we
couldn't feel before,
hallelujah for the pain of light entering
our
too-long closed eyes
let's throw open the
shades
and bless the
uncomfortable
we'll praise the surprise
hear the sadness
the rage
hold the tears
cherish the anger
let's bless this holy
voice
turn our anger into movement
that breaks
ground on this moment
of truth-building.
Let us build ourselves
into promise-beings of active
love;
let us break the truth
so when we speak again
our voices shake
and we let them
tremble.