Dear God, thank you for this day.
Prayers often begin with these words.
I heard these words in my parents’
prayers all the days of my childhood.
And now, I say them in my good-night
prayers with my child, often after the
day is breathed and lived and done.
The words have become such habit
that I don’t stop to think about the
meaning of them; the heaviness and light:
This day; this. here. now.
It didn’t have to happen, this day. At the
very least, it didn’t have to happen to me.
And yet, here it is.
What am I going to do with it?
What am I not going to do?
With whom will I do/not do these things?
Is it really a matter of doing, or can
I just be here in this brand new day?
And the thank you prayer-part? A deep
gratefulness for another set of full breaths,
heart pumps, visions, touches, sound bites.
The human body is a mystery-marvel. On the
outside, it is aging along with the rest of the
world; on the inside, it is aging more quietly.
At the very core, it is a living raging eternal star cloud
just waiting to be joined with other star clouds.