I will share a habit.
I do not like God, but I like to pray.
Praying is bread and Bach.
Well, it is a creed. I say I pray,
because a creed is a weird old man in an office,
and a prayer is a murmur in a book
that you stand and read in the sunshine.
I move between the words
like bells dividing sound
in the tower.
All musicians know prayer,
we run our hands or mouth
up and down sacred scales,
breathing.
Four times a day
I pin myself to the present,
and feel the prayer widen
and adjust the lens
of my inner visions.
I am alive with the fresh flowers and the blood.
I am focused on the endless path that I have chosen.
My friends are silence, love, joy, and the truth.
My enemies are selfish pain, crowding, and hate.
Help me to be good and to be great
help me to be wise and sincere
and to answer and heed the eternal call that I have heard.
I am a warrior; I will fight until I die.
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