This, then, becomes my prayer.

Thank you for the blessing of the dark night of the soul.

In the darkness, I can look up and contemplate the stars.

The path of awakening is a slow one.

It happens as I eat my breakfast, wash the dishes and the clothes, run after kids and cats, kiss my husband.

No, thats not quite right, I don’t eat breakfast.

But the sentiment remains. The Great I Am, that which contemplates us, contemplating it, is with us every step of the way, waking, sleeping, mundane, sacred, natural, spiritual, dirty, ugly, amazing.  The art of spiritual awakening is eternal and gone in a second, the grain of sand bouncing against the glass. It etches us in our scars and our growth and it is never ever over.

The path meanders. All that matters is we keep on walking, no matter the landscape.

I am blessed in the struggle

poised in the moment of belief and dispair.

I seek and in the seeking return to myself over and over again.

I seek and in the moment of setting my thought

I brush up against the edge again.

I seek and am blessed in the seeking.

If I did not long, did not despair, did not mourn that which I did not know,

I would not be on this path,

carving footsteps out of fog to find my way.

The heartache is my lamppost and I am blessed.