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Turn not to heaven, but beside you—to the breath you’ve always heard but never heard. Let your prayer be a gasp: “You. Here. You are the architecture, the law, the one in kitchen light wearing the universe like a wedding gown. I was blind, praying to a shadow while the sun held my hand.”
Let your prayer become: “I see You. I marry this moment, this breath. I vow to this skin, this dirt, this ache—to Reality, my spouse, eternal. From now until death, which cannot part us, because in seeing, I am now eternal too.”
Let your god be the lover in the next room, the wind, your own blood—the silence between heartbeats where all is enough.
Fall in love with What Is. Let that love be the only prayer left.
Amen. Awomen. Ase. And so it is—because it always was.
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