Thursday, December 17, 2015

Hallelujah for the Discomfort

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
in the face of injustice, so
is the hallelujah.
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 how do I help
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.

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