Learning How to Pray

When I die, I will practice the humble submission 
of folded hands and lowered head, 
swarming forward in that endless line of familiars,
inching on my knees toward the gates.  

No doubt I will be sent away to school, 
a beginning course in patience or compassion, 
a lower level internship that won't lead 
to feathery wings or a gold nimbus.

I wonder if I will be held to the bodhisattva vow 
I made only half awake-promising 
to come back to this sad planet, again and again, 
until the last sentient being is free? 

I will wish I had prayed more, not those long winded 
babblings and desperate pleas for things 
I thought I needed, but small prayers, 
their crumpled faces teary eyed, bleating thank you.

I will unravel the bone mala and wooden rosary
to pray the old beads of adoration,
roll the smooth round words of love 
over and over between my fingers and thumb.

Maybe as I float up out of this body it will become clear
-the name of that guardian angel at my shoulder, 
the smell of earth like frankincense and myrrh, 
all creatures tumbling under the canopy of clouds.


 

© Jan Lee Ande