To Pray A Storm

I once witnessed a prayer ceremony with a Lakota drum and songs in the high desert of New Mexico. I was dumbfounded when a thunderstorm subsequently appeared; we had just prayed to Thunder Beings and there they were acknowledging our invocation. It was a time when I was getting to know (remember) how to pray in one of the many beautiful and powerful spiritual lineages¹ of our world.

Right now, as I listen to the unexpected early summer rain and the occasional thunder outside, I feel the power of praying with the earth. The deep rumbling sound transports me to heartfelt moments of different ceremonial experiences, whether of my own making or in a specific tradition: head down, eyes closed, palms open, breath alive, feet rooted, heart pounding, belly quivering … the prayers, sometimes quiet, sometimes out loud, sometimes sung, sometimes in a foreign language, sometimes still and other times in movement or dance.

At the ripe age of 50, I am still finding my own way of praying - what I am praying for, how I am praying, and whom I am addressing in my prayers. As I live, learn and change, as the way I perceive and know this Self and this life keep shifting, so does my relationship with the Divine and how I address them. My own unique voice and conversation with the Sacred shapeshifts in subtle ways.

One of the things I love most about my relationship with my Beloved elder Debra (with whom I am co-hosting this Substack newsletter) has always been our mischievous and adventurous approach to living and praying. We have prayed together countless times, at any hour of the day, in aprons or pajamas, in front of altars, in temples, on sidewalks, in a car, on a plane, on the beach, in the market, with the bees, cats and dogs, dancing, singing, crying out loud, poetry’ing …

Perhaps prayer is a state of mind. A bending of mind. A mending of mind.
A supernova of presence. A commitment to love and to life itself.

Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer. It presupposes faith and love. Absolutely unmixed attention is prayer.

Simone Weil

And in that state of mind anything can be a form of prayer. Imagine all the ways in which we offer our undivided attention and lucid presence in our lives. Berrak Yedek, inventor of Somatic Dialogue, invites the practitioners to move on the floor by saying, “Let’s make a prayer”. Gabrielle Roth, founder of 5Rhythms wrote, “To sweat is to pray, to make an offering of your innermost self.” I often offer my tears when I pray. Tears are prayer beads of the heart. They wet and soften the dry and hard places in our bodies and psyches, helping gratitude flower in barren corners of our hearts.

A few weeks ago I invited Debra to make a prayer with me. I have been swimming in the woes of perimenopause for the past 3 years; where I once was a vibrant river, I now feel more like a lake, and sometimes like a puddle of stagnant water. A body of still water can also be robust as long as she’s fed with sources of fresh water from within and without. I desperately needed to find fresh water to bring movement to the lake of me, so I called in prayer and the greatest prayer whisperer in my life to my rescue.

Together, Debra and I made a prayer for my health; I prayed for healing because I long to be the nourishing water for this life as I was once before. I opened an underground channel for fresh water in the depths of my being through prayer.
And I realized this:

Praying involves both surrendering control and assuming responsibility simultaneously. Opening my palms, heart, mind and body to grace and speaking out loud with a vivid and clear language towards the One, I asked for healing/wholeness so I can honor my precious life and all precious life. And every day as I single-pointedly return to this prayer and ask for strength to keep it alive, I am gently knocked off my slouchedness and I feel fresh water moving in to bring new life into the staleness I felt stuck in for a long time. I then realized what I am doing is commanding my own psyche to stand upright in order to receive the grace I am a suiter for. I am creating ripples in the lake by opening my mouth and invoking movement, a self-blessing.

“Prayer is initially something you do and is finally something you become,” says storyteller Martin Shaw in his conversation with Stephen Jenkinson. Right now my prayer action looks like this:

A Prayer:
By Clarissa Pinkola Estés

Refuse to fall down
If you cannot refuse to fall down,
refuse to stay down.
If you cannot refuse to stay down,
lift your heart toward heaven,
and like a hungry beggar,
ask that it be filled,
and it will be filled.
You may be pushed down.
You may be kept from rising.
But no one can keep you
from lifting your heart
toward heaven -
only you.
It is in the middle of misery
that so much becomes clear.
The one who says nothing good
came of this;
is not yet listening.

I am lifting my heart to heaven and pray a storm right now. I speak to Creator and I speak to myself. It moves something. It is moving boulders and debris that have accumulated over a lifetime, stagnating the water, banishing the creative life force.

It is a time to pray a storm. No one is immune to the chaotic and unpredictable effects of the massive changes happening all around us. We need both poetry and prayers to keep the immovable spring in our hearts alive.

1. In the years 2011-2014, I attended Lakota ceremonies with a guide who was adopted by a Lakota elder and consequently given a sacred bundle and an altar.