Prayer.
Tell, me – what’s the first thing that came to your mind just now?
For me, it’s that slutty Madonna video I loved as a child.
The irony of it, like most of her work (rocking cone bras and talking god) appealed to me because even as a kid I seemed to get the general idea about religious hypocrisy. Even now, the word “prayer” always brings to mind the ominous and foreboding stained glass windows of my youth that were meant to be peaceful. Children left and right, fidgeting and shifting from one knee to the next in front of their pew. Parents surreptitiously balancing their checkbooks and hoping no one sees. Events celebrating some messiah’s milestones in meaningless ways.
All of these unfortunate images and associations are indelible for me when I hear the word “prayer” ‘cause much like the meaning behind god or spirituality – it was all taught to me wrong and I had a sense that was the case long before I could communicate it. And you were probably taught wrong too.
Still, recent studies claim it can be an anxiety reliever – and some critics chime in with the rebuttal, “well, yeah and playing bingo can relieve anxiety too.” That’s a fun comparison for the traditional wishing-machine method because it puts a fantastic spotlight on how most of us pray – each one like scratching a genie lottery ticket, hoping we’ll get bingo, shuffle up, collect our trinket, and then go back to our corner of the nursing home for our between-bingo prayers of wishing for quick death.
So why bother praying? And to who?
The “why” is to verbalize and make concrete what we’d like outta life – and yeah, that can include things ‘n stuff – but it can also be about how you wanna change or just being grateful for what you’ve got. If that sounds eyerolly, try the following exercise: think about which would you like more: a Maserati? Or to carry on breathing and not dying slowly by asphyxiation?
If you’ve got one of those things, then you’re doing alright, my friend.
There are a shiz ton more rungs on that ladder of needs, but the hierarchy gets muddled in our overstimulated brains, and can be tough to differentiate and prioritize what we wanna do in order to flow better through life. If you’re trying to do that with Judge Judy playing in the background while Facebook alerts are dinging off on your phone, it’s like getting tossed an anvil when you’re already juggling four chainsaws. But if you close your eyes, calm the fluff down, and try to quietly sift through that inner twister static, that anvil suddenly isn’t a horrible weight. It’s more like an anchor that grounds you back into the reality that exists when you’re not trying to live up to expectations and impress people with seasonal purses or next-level Apple gadgets.
So that makes the “who”, in a way ourselves.
Wait – What? I’m praying to me?
Sorta. But not the self that acts like a two year old – the one that’s there when we strip away the bullshit facade. You know, a long time ago, a bunch of groupies wrote letters about this famous revolutionary dude they hung out with who had long hair and great abs. And you know what happened when they compiled it into a how-to dogma novel? The same thing that does with gossip on the internet or facts in the news – probably a lot of telephone game truth filtering and definitely the fact that some of the shit that did happen didn’t make it into the post-production.
(Verdict on this one awaiting snopes analysis.)
So when all the Jesus letters got packaged up and rebranded, there was some really salient shit that got left on the cutting room floor – of a cave. For instance, this dude called doubting Thomas (and this is getting back to my point) said that J-man said:
“If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”
Blasphemer! This was not a popular blooper to add to the god-novel during a time when you’re supposed to sit down and shaddup and be hypnotized slowly by the swinging crucifix in front of your nose. People can’t be trusted to quietly transcend their own concept of self and acknowledge their character defects! How can we control them? Gotta write them the rules and remind them the only way to the kingdom’s through god – and ♪weee have the keee-eeys – which comes with a super sick pad and popemobile, I’m told. (FunFact: The pope is technically the king of Vatican City.) So let’s listen to the dude who stuck his fingers in Jesus’ holes and bring our own shiz forth.
Call it what you want to. Meditation. Reflection. Spiritual masturbation. These words are all just metaphors for something you hafta do to understand – not read or talk about or be told how to do. So the terms matter not one shit-crement on the life yardstick so long as you shut out the distractions long enough to figure out what god really means to you. You sit there long enough, you’ll figure out that it’s mostly about trusting life happens like it should.
Prayer’s just setting an intention and meeting it halfway sans anxiety or guilt. Those latter two are pointless energy wasters. And once you understand that, you never have to feel annoyed about submitting to a god that fellow mortals try to captain like a crashing cruiseliner. So catch that anvil-anchor, jump ship, and be your own lifeboat from here on out.
’cause no one, including Madge PopQueen can “take you there” – except you.
