Julie MacAdam

In the early hours of morning,

When ravens gossip and coo in a language enticing yet hard to decipher,

Like sounds of speaking underwater or babies first meeting their tongues,

It is then in that newness,

I move my body in all directions and go within.

The sun has risen in the east; highest peaks catch and reflect its glow,

As I scribbled thoughts in my journal.

Insights come from a breathing body that prays through shapes,

Prayers are dynamic, they have to be, alive.

Awareness and longing deconstruct what was mechanical,

They initiate; responsibility and choice spin wheels.

My mind like a wheel with many facets, I think to myself:

I might as well believe there is no God If such thought returns me to my God within.

It is a fantasy, a fairytale as white as snow That if I pray long and hard I will get just what I ask for.

That prayer is this way and not that.

That it is an obligation rather than a spontaneous act of devotion and love.

The idea that prayer is enough; is it true?

Praying is only a step up the staircase of the spine,

Choice is another,

Waiting for the reply takes two,

The action that aligns is a prayer being born,

It is through becoming responsible that my life transforms into an offering.

There are no magical wands that cure with one swift swing, but there is magic.

It is in the ordinary moments of each day,

The moments when I decide which way to turn,

And walk with my own two feet, one following the next.

God does not give answers. It would only disempower to be told what to do.

God wants you to choose.

To trust in your own resources,

To draw upon your wisdom wel

Solve the riddle,

Discover the problem,

Apply the solution,

All of this we are told since youth.

Answers are limitations and we have enough of those already.

What if questions led to more questions?

Questions that enliven wonder and curiosity,

Questions that open doors and keep them open,

Isn’t life about evolution?

What if people just want to be heard and not fixed?

If understanding comes through being with,

If we knew all this then would we see the miracles?

The forces here to aid:

They come in the forms of hollyhocks and Artemis,

Cold water and schools of fish,

Seeds moving on the wind,

Seeds that fall into my fingertips at just the right moment,

They come in the form of chestnuts and thistle, motherwort and roses,

Those sharp thorns that call my attention,

Stay alert, Stay awake

They come in the form of what I don’t want to hear, but need to,

Of being let down and disappointed,

That is what dispels illusions, revealing expectations set too high,

They come in the form of dreams of spiders,

Altars and candlelight,

Cats that teach of independence,

And she who sits on a Lion.

Life is my own invention,

Someone told me that,

Life can be re-invented, and those are called moments, She told me that.

What makes my life worth living?

What kind of person do I want to be?

Questions such as these are guideposts pointing me towards my heart beating,

What are my answers?

Only I know.

They are verbs.

In action.