On Prayer

Uh oh. Don't get nervous. I'm not going to get all preachy on you. At least I'll try not to.

Someone asked me the other day whether I've been praying.

It's a good question. I normally pray on a regular basis. And I had some very good reasons to pray when I first got sick and was trying to figure out what was going on. And now I have some time on my hands... So?

I hesitated. "Well," I said. "Not the way I like to."

Let me explain. Normally I pray using a liturgy. I show up to a service, where I am surrounded by friends and by the community I love. That liturgy involves some standing up and some sitting down, some singing along and maybe a little mumbling.

Right now, I can't really do any of those things. I'm flat on my back. I can't even show up.

That liturgy also involves some silent, personal prayer. And I appreciate that. I like doing my own thing. But I like doing my own thing, knowing that other people are doing their own thing nearby. You know, just in case lightning strikes or something. I wouldn't want to be too far from civilization.

What I'm saying is that I've never been a big fan of praying all by my lonesome. And I've also never been very interested in praying while sitting still. And now, here I am, by myself, sitting still.

So yes, I've been doing a little bit of praying, but it's not the way I like it, that's all.

Sometimes I look over at my siddur, my prayer book, and then I just have to turn my head in the other direction.

"Leave me alone," I say. "I'm not in the mood right now. I think I'm just gonna eat another cookie."

As I learned on Tuesday from a New York Times interview with Syrian poet Adonis, and on Thursday from an audio clip sent to me by a friend, there are many ways of "reading" poetry. Perhaps it's time for me to expand my definition of prayer as well. Of course one can pray lying down, and sitting still. I have been doing it all along. But it goes much further than this.

I would venture to guess that the ways in which we can pray—like the ways in which we can read poetry—are endless. Each time, each person is different, depending on her relation to God or to the page, the sacred spaces she seeks, the places from which she came.

In the years and months I have spent with my trusty siddur, I have found that a liturgy is meant to be a framework, a spiritual practice, so that when you land flat on your back (hey, that sounds familiar), you have some words to draw from. Just to pick up a conversation with the Divine where you may have left off. Just in case the impact of a fall may have left you speechless.

A liturgy, a psalm, or a religious text, is simply meant to be an anchor, not a ball and chain. At least that's the way I see it.

But there I go preaching again, when I probably should be praying. Or eating cookies.

Shabbat Shalom. Happy Friday.