With the guests all gone, the dishwasher humming in the background, my son and his girl friend and I stand talking around the kitchen counter. In this time of tremendous transition, according to the Mayan calendar, the ending of a 26,000-year cycle, we discuss the ways we feel the world needs to change. Like the folks in the Tea Party and Occupy movements, we see what’s gone wrong with our country, with the body politic. We lament that too many people don’t seem to notice all that’s wrong in our world. The government, the corporations, religious institutions, the medical establishment; no one is spared our judgment and wrath. An hour or so past our usual bedtimes, we turn in for the night, hoping that rest will alleviate our sense of overwhelming frustration, and helplessness.
I awake with the words, “what part is mine to do?” I recognized this as coming from the Prayer of a Recovering Workaholic I wrote over 20 years ago. “May I do today the work that is truly mine to do and support others in doing their duty as well.
Help me to let got of my illusions
of grandiose accomplishments,
Of expecting of myself
impossible feats.
And, most especially,
help me stop fighting
the inevitable.
Another prayer, the salutation Native American’s use in their prayers comes to mind:
“Great Mystery, Great All That is.
Small that I am, I send my voice.
Hear my prayer as I come in a sacred way.
Perhaps that’s the secret, that coming in a sacred way.
