A Brief History of Prayer

Our Father

Our Dad would sit as I'm sitting in his chair with a drink as my drink, his with ice and his smile smelling light of scotch and his kind eyes blue-shining like

Who art in Heaven

The sky as I would lay me down in my futon-converted bed in my upper room (the two sisters sleeping below with the spiders), crane-birds flying over the pillow under the inside-skull-world-- remember, the Norse held the dome of the sky was the skull of the first father, Ymir, who Odin Lecter-like sliced its edge and made his frosty, airy thoughts the clouds, glooming grey brains above us all, and below the brains the birds;

All-father Zeddies gently intoning the spells of Earthsea and Heinleinian libertarian litanies, and then, setting down the book, lacing his fingers while I turned and bowed my head and clumsy fitted soft hands to speak on their own

Hallowed be Thy Name

The prayers to What.  Don't babble like the pagans, the protestants repeat the Palestinian, not perceiving that this, this, this is not babble, this repeating, this rote,

Realize rote is full, not empty, the world is rote, the atoms of the sun rotely burst, the birds rotely lay their eggs, the small things fall to the large things rote, the beans fall to the soil and stalk the sun, the holidays come and Fridays end rote, and thereby a weary world is comforted at the end of the day by the speak that comes again, each iteration increasing in meaning, as every actor practicing their lines knows, so these yes Roman prayers fall leaf-like from my mouth in the fall of the day and sleepy wondering who speaking to do I

Thy Kingdom come

Sleep like everyone sleeps and dream like everyone dreams, incoherent life-chatter replayed with semblances of seeming gone and meaning broken on the giant's pate, when the separations cease and vision pulls meaning out of us like a faith healer pulls cancer-chicken-guts from the seeker's stomach; all sights, sounds, feinted senses robbed of intention and freed to us, the waking, to mean, and waking, semanticing the tongue flapping over the wind through our teeth

Thy will be done

I dream each prayer a bean planted, nourished by nutrients under, pulled up by their own cell's longing, inviting me to climb, climb, climb-- I always climbed, little Timmy grabbing tree-limbs as swinging up like any ape to the tops; no joy like the nestling at the tops of trees and spending the afternoon watching blue above from your human roost, and in dreaming going further up, grabbing green leaves to pull me up prayer-bean-shoots,

On Earth as it is in Heaven

Cloud-brain desires returning prayer-cloud electric fire through me again, growing in power, the rote steam sparks; fire returned down the yes-drenched bands stretched over, inside me as above me, infinite furnace filled with greater heat, white-hot glowing PLEASE not from me, coming from above and in and up again, small billowed early and breathed, breathed, breathed over over every night until seeing the castle above, the giants in the sky as we always knew they were

Give us this day our daily bread

Over the dinner, father-mother-sisters-brother, hands clasped and heads bowed, bless us, O Lord, in these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord, Amen, and even now I can recite without thinking this thanks, out of body into the small body I was, nose wrinkled at these, thy gifts, but remembering always the love and the peace and the reading at the table, and the knowing this was the only Heaven but still stealing from the sky-giants' mind

And forgive us our trespasses

But now I wake without a thing to show, the giant gold dissolved, the harp a cheap toy, the goose cooked, and the giant toppled, sky cracked open, rolled up like a scroll, fallen down the beanstalk

As we forgive those who trespass against us

But thank you to the real giant who filled my head with such fantasies


And lead us not into temptation
But deliver us from evil

But keep my feet on the ground now