learning to pray

when i was a little girl.
i learned what it meant
to pray.

photo credit: groovycorner.blogspot.com

in sunday school.
we folded our hands.
and bowed our heads.
and tried not to let our eyes
sneak a peak.
to see if
anyone was cheating.

i remember feeling cramped.
feeling confined.
by the rules.


but.
my mom — my dad — my nana
my papa.
taught me to pray.

and it wasn’t about rules.
it was apart of 
everyday.
in the fluidity of the moments.
simple.
yet complex.
because it was important.

and even when i was young.
so young.
i knew
something i could not see
was happening.
something within me stirred.
ever so gently.

but as i grew.
and walked on my way out into the wide 
wide world.
i begin to see…

to see many things.
i began to experience truth…
truth that seemed to be 
outside the confines of what i understood
to be god.

so i decided to forget…
to forget how to prayer.

because it could not be
that important.
especially if there were
rules.
and divisions.

a few years went by.
as they seem to do,

i remember the first time.
in a mosque.
standing next to my friend.
our heads covered
with brightly colored scarfs.
we stood in perfect rows.
and together
with every woman present
we rocked.
…got to our knees
…pressed our foreheads into the rough carpet
…paused.
…slowly rose to our feet


i was awkward.
my friend’s hand
guided my movement.
she didn’t laugh.
she only smiled.


then repeat.
we rocked.
…our knees
…forehead down
…paused.
…to our feet


three times.

in the middle
of the moment i recognized something.
this praying
it was apart of everyday.
in the fluidity of the moments.
it was simple.
yet complex.
because it was important
and 
do you know?
something i could not see
was happening.
something within me stirred.
ever so gently.

and time passed.
as it seems to have the habit of doing.

just yesterday. my friend.
asked me if i would go to
temple with her

to pray. for something very important
that would soon happen to her.
“have you been to a temple?
do you know how to pray?”

i was not
entirely sure how to answer.


she interpreted by pause.
“i will teach you.”
she said.

so on a sunny, spring saturday.
we made our way to
Dongwasa Temple.
famous in this area.

as we approached temple’s door,
we removed our shoes
at the entrance.

the marble floor was cool
on the feet.
three small bows
with our hands together
in the center of the chest.
familiar to a namaste greeting in
yoga practice.


my friend
took my arm
guided me to stand next to her.
whispering,
she told me to follow her.
…we got to our knees
…we placed our hands palm down
…we turned our palms up
…and raised them toward the sky
…paused.
…slowly rose to our feet


repeat.
three times.

do you know?
i recognized something.
this praying.
the fluidity. the simplicity.
yet complex.
because it was important
and 
do you know?
something i could not see
was happening.
something within me stirred.
ever so gently.

and my soul told me.
you know this.
mom — dad — nana
your papa.
the mosque.
taught you this
long ago.
so long ago.


but this time?
the rhythm.
the repetition.
the movement.
made space within me
and i felt free. 


so very very
free.

three different religions.
history of divisions.
but i can’t help wonder at
the similarities.

to say they are the same.
is to diminish
what is.
and what isn’t.

 

and who likes it when everything looks
the same.

but maybe.
just maybe we aren’t so different
as we might think.

and i might not think
i want it
or even need it.

but isn’t that what friends are for?
to remind us?
to teach us?
to point us toward the light?

it’s a journey.
and sometimes it uncomfortable.
some days i
won’t think it’s important.

but some days
maybe i will feel that
something within me stirring…
ever so gently.

after all
i am learning.

learning to pray.