Strike a match, and watch it burn
I woke up last Thursday
and my entire image of God
had changed, not all at once
God, the word, is a piece of slick paper
my soul cannot grip any longer.
God had always been something–Someone–
I prayed to, but now, somehow,
God was something–somewhere, even–
I pray from.
Such a deep awareness
empties me out of whatever
had filled me in the moment
just before this one.
Now, I sit quietly as the birds sing
the day into life.
Water pours through cupped hands, and
what is left open can be filled–
emptied of what,
and filled with what?
These are the questions I carry gently,
a fragile creature I could crush
in one thoughtless moment of grasping.
Take the prayer card out of your pocket,
strike a match, and light it on fire.
Watch the flame dance; only then
does it become truly alive.
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