From THE HEATHEN MINISTRY SONGBOOK A PRAYER AT ELEVEN Forgetting there would be no mail on Veterans Day, the dog and i walked down the driveway to the road. The final eight logs of a six cord load of fire wood were scattered around the chopping block. I had shut off my chain-saw and turned my attention towards the towering white pine along the bank of Spirit Creek beyond the western meadow. Aware it was eleven AM, more or less, i offered a prayer to that forest elder filled with anguish for all of us, wounded as we are by war. Having prayed, i reflected while walking on what prayer might be - not turning from the world towards the Divine, rather turning towards the Divine through oneself. While i chewed on this, a young eagle heading north swept up the county road attracting my rapt attention. When i came back in the house to pick up a laundry basket to carry in a load of wash, i glanced at the clock above the sink. It was eleven fifteen. That prayer, that walk, the young eagle, all of it had honored the moment when slaughter paused to catch its breath. Ramon Flaneur
Posted on: Mon, 11 Nov 2013 15:12:21 +0000