Ruah Bull - Spiritual Director

 Whatever happens. Whatever WHAT is  is what I want. Only that. But that.

 Awaken me, O Mighty One, in your holy mercy, that I might be free of fear... With boundless confidence, I abandon myself to You... For You deliver me from illusion, and through Love, my heart open to Wisdom.

 Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.

 At the center of every crisis     is an inner space so deep, so beckoning, so suddenly and daringly vast, that it feels like a universe, feels like God. When the unthinkable happens,  and does not relent, we fall through our hubris toward an inner flow, an abiding and rebirthing darkness that feels like home.     

 I used to pray that God would feed the hungry,  or do this, or that. But now I pray that God will guide me to do whatever I am supposed to do. I used to pray for answers, but now I pray  for strength. I used to believe that prayer changes things, but now I know that prayer changes us and we  change things,

 somewhere between  terror and trust runs the deeper river  of resolve, and there we will reside, there the sun outshines the fires of grief a prayer rises up in a yet unspoken language of light

 At the stop sign in the city on a dingy block, there grew a giant clump  of purple morning glories- falling with abandon over a run-down fence.  In the midst of trash, a gray sky, peeling paint, this splash of color appeared. Appeared to be laughing, despite it all. Heart-shaped leaves and wide-open purple throats singing some kind of song to this dilapidated corner. Some hero planted them.  Morning glories are not wildflowers. Someone who wanted to cultivate beauty.  Someone who believed in this little patch of ground. Someone who had  a sort of faith. The falling down fence baptized, blessed, forgiven, resurrected.

 Gentle Me,  Holy One, into an unclenched moment, a deep breath,  a letting go of heavy experiences, of shriveling anxieties, of dead certainties, that, softened by the silence, surrounded by the light, and open to the mystery, I may be found by Wholeness, upheld by the unfathomable, entranced by the simple,  and filled with the joy that is you.

 We give thanks for another day on this earth. We give thanks for this day to enjoy the compassionate goodness  of You, our Creator. We acknowledge with one mind our respect and gratefulness to all the sacred circles of life. Bind us together in the circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and one another.

 We must not portray you in king's robes, You drifting mist that brought forth the morning, Once again from the old paintbox we take the same gold for scepter and crown That has disguised you through the ages. Piously we produce our images of you Til they stand around you like a thousand walls. And when our hearts would simply open, Our fervent hands hide you.

 Our hands imbibe like roots, and I place them on what is beautiful in this world. And I fold them in prayer and they draw from the heavens light.

 May anger ground me in the real Real- Earth speaks- I am here May Anger purify my troubled heart- Fire speaks- I wake May Anger clear my confusing mind Air speaks - I perceive May Anger couple with Being Water speaks- I gather May Anger proceed from wisdom Soul speaks- I act May Anger blossom with trust Spirit speaks- I release

 It could happen any time, tornado, earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen. Or sunshine, love, salvation. It could you know. That's why we wake and look out - no guarantees in this life. But some bonuses, like morning, like right now, like noon, like evening.

 Sometimes, when it is all, finally, too much, I climb into my car, roll the windows up, and somewhere between backing out of the driveway and rounding the first corner, I let out a yell that would topple Manhattan. How do you pray?

 No, no time for this the outside clamours to be heard, the books, you see, the books. In here it's dark, the sun has slid away. There are necessities. The cars are travelling at speed, with me, fast; the days, my days, must be pinned down,  accounted for and coloured in. I need to go, I need to go my way. to which my soul said Stay.

 Every day I want to speak with you. And every day something more important calls for my attention---the drugstore, beauty products, the luggage I need to buy for the trip. Even now I can hardly sit here among the falling piles of paper and clothing, the garbage trucks outside already screeching and banging. The mystics say you are as close as my own breath. Why do I flee from you? Help me. Even as I write these words I am planning to rise from the chair as soon as I finish this sentence.

  God give us rain when we expect sun. Give us music when we expect trouble. Give us tears when we expect breakfast. Give us dreams when we expect a storm. Give us a stray dog when we expect congratulations. God play with us, turn us sideways and around.

 I abandon myself to You, O Living Presence, my strength. You are my stronghold, my freedom, Almighty One, the rock and foundation of my life, Just One, tower of strength, the source of truth and light, I call upon You, Heart of my heart, singing praises to your Name, and fear no longer holds me.

  Sometimes, when it all is, finally,  too much, I climb into my car, roll the windows up, and somewhere between backing out of the driveway and rounding the first corner, I let out a yell that would topple Manhattan. How do you pray?

Our prayers break on God like waves, and he an endless shore, and when the seas evaporate and oceans are not more and cries are carried in the wind God hears and answers every sound as he has done before. Our troubles eat at God like nails. He feels the gnawing pain on souls and bodies. H e never fails but reassures he'll heal again, again, again, again and yet again.