Wrong side of bed, anyone?

I feel so demanding of attention. I want your attention.

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Okay, I answer myself. You can have my attention, dear.

I like to be the center of things.

That’s okay. Sometimes, you are.

And if I’m not?

That’s fine too.

But I feel like I could disappear.

It’s all right if you disappear.

No, no it’s not. You’re wrong. I am the center of the universe. I’m important, right?

You matter sweet one, and it’s all going to be fine just fine.

I feel like crying. I am a wide open mouth begging for more—more love, more mercy. I am a cavern and the baby who cries inside. I have no choice but to love it all, but I feel really depleted. I can’t tell if I’m tired from expanding or I’ve got stomach cancer, or the planet’s fracking juices poison me. Or it’s all just right, exactly the way it is.

I wither, turn inside out. Egos plummet to the Earth as their handmade wings are seared by the heat of 1,000 suns. Riffs sound along the ocean. I forget the noises it makes, that we made together that one summer. I forget a lot of things. I am a burning cathedral. I am the sound of minstrels back at court. I am every misdeed I’ve ever done and they burn before my aging eyes. I have been all of that and more and yet right now I wish to step off the wheel of samsara and into your divine eyes, God.

 

God looks just like me. Her eyeballs are my eyeballs. I’m almost HER, except that I fight HER with the rage of a queen overrun. I will not go gentle into this good night. I will rage, rage, put up a fight. Everything hurts and the world burns. I watch my egos die, and place them in an urn high up on the shelf. I would be my better self, but it’s the Russian doll, another me…how can I emerge in God’s destiny? No matter how many cantankerous evils spill their fluid, I cannot seem to find my inner druid. I’m sane and sound and mad as the flames. Watch me, reveal me, I burn with fame. Twin desires, to hide and never be seen; to control you all with a look that beams. Let the giant beams fall. Underneath is nothing of me at all. I am born, oh, Lord, larger in thee. And at last, the I that’s thee is freed.
I sip my tea with more of me. If I can rhyme it, sublime it, maybe it’s all fruit for knowledge, the apex of insubordination. We smile and it goes to our eyes.

She’s down for the count. I ride around in the rowboat with sleeping beauty here asleep in the prow. I look with binoculars out onto the open ocean. I sigh, eat my tuna fish sandwich. I wonder how long she’ll sleep. It’s heaven out here without her lashing out at me with her verbal constructions. If she could just sleep forever, God and I would be just fine. Still, there’s something about her. I lay down beside her big sleeping flesh. I nestle in. Can there be a greater happiness than watching the stars with our beloved? And just like that, I die. Another ego goes. And I don’t know who I was. I can’t remember.

Wikimedia Commons: Frances MacDonald, The Sleeping Princess, 1896

I try to remember that I am a daughter of God, but I feel terrified. And pissed off. How am I supposed to function like this? Just make this shit up as I go? I remember: Ask for guidance, but I resist that. I am used to being in charge here.

I become my friend John as a little boy: The preacher was yelling and terrifying everyone about all the bad things that would happen to them unless they took Jesus into their hearts. So John said, “OK, Jesus. You better go ahead and come into my heart now.” And suddenly the room filled with light. And he could see right through that raging sad preacher man and all the others. Peace and love overflowed everywhere.

I say: OK God, I have no idea what comes next. How to live my life, what to do. I don’t know how to do this without all those egos yelling and controlling and fighting and…

Will you come into my life and heart and mind and spirit and guide me? Please? I’m so scared and so tired and I don’t understand anything that’s happening here. I’m so afraid for our country, for democracy itself to survive, and this blessed Earth and I don’t know how I can help any more than I am, but that seems pathetic because I’m barely helping and I’ve got nothing to offer anyone, least of all this beautiful Earth that raised me, and I’m so sad for all the immigrants, for all those suffering the injustices of wealth inequality. I feel like I’m worthless, but that’s my ego again just being selfish. It wants a pass. If I’m worthless, than I might as well just watch TV as the Earth goes down in flames, pass the chicken wings.

So, I’m willing to let it all go, Goddess, all the detritus that’s been how I’ve lived, who I’ve thought I am, and who I’ve thought I am not. I know I still reek. But I would like very much one day to rise from the ashes and be the daughter you know I am. Call my name, and let me hear and heed. Follow until there is no separation and you can enjoy using me anyway you’d like. Hmmm. Ravish me, Lord, with your love until even my toe cheese is of service to feed humanity.

This is my prayer.