The Field That Prays - Patria Brown

[Larry Robinson]


The Field That Prays

Prayer weaves its colorful strands
As we wander around the field
Inside the circle we cast in awe
Of the center where nothing resides.
We imagine our souls go there
After we die alone or perhaps
We land in this empty field
To dream of wild black horses
While we are asleep.
The young ones wonder
If we elders will survive.
Why not? The goddess has plans
For us, even as we stand here
And wait to see what will happen.
This field unites us as we watch
Dry lightning and thunder meet.
The trees dance and the winds
Insist we change. Will the fires
Teach us to walk outside the path
Of amazement? While inside
This field, ancient stones cascade,
Inscribing the events of our tumbling
Lives. All that matters now is 
The field’s magnetic force. “This is
My body and my blood,” they say.
“We receive and give to you our all.”
What if this wait is of our own making?
Surely the facts will not lead us out
Of this morass. We are part of something
Far greater than ourselves. Winding around
The field’s edge, we stumble into the realm
Of prayer. Outside the field is the fire,
Inside prayer, the flowing vessel of love. 
We wait, engulfed by feelings, the emotions
Not of our own making. 
The prayers are making us.

	- Patria Brown

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