Stars Glide the Satin Sky
On Contemplative Prayer
We pray to the searcher not of voices
but of hearts.
—John Cassian 365-433 A.D.
Dear One,
Just up the road from my house there’s a forest that feels like a cloister. This place is bright with its own activity, but hidden from the bustle of everyday life. It’s a place I go to find solace and immerse myself in the smallest, daily happenings of the microseasons. I love to study this wild beauty and forget my own concerns for a while. It’s a way to breathe deeply. And who of us does not crave a breath of peace, right now? We ache for it.
I’ve written before about my practice of contemplative hiking, and today I thought I might share another layer of this life. I’ve also kept a practice of daily Christian contemplative prayer going for more than 20 years now. For me, contemplation is a natural, simple, and humbling way to pray. It predates the 4th century Desert Fathers and Mothers, who adopted silence as a way to “pray without ceasing.” Its ancient roots are still meaningful for modern Christians.
Contemplation is a silence of the heart, and like all prayer, it’s experienced uniquely by each person. We live amidst the constant activity and distraction of our chattering minds—yet, we’re always in God’s presence, where all moments are equally sacred. Though we desire steadiness in an unsteady world, time and our planet are in constant motion. There is only now, and now, and now.
We are always beginning again.
The microseasons remind us to stay awake to the beauty of this particular day, because soon it will vanish into tomorrow. In every ordinary moment, we’re given a fresh invitation to live in a more contemplative and compassionate way. And I find this a great comfort.
For this project, I’m very thankful for the generosity of Mark Rico, who writes his original poetry at Mimesis Kinesis and who so kindly shares it here. It was Mark’s poem, Vigil, that first inspired this essay and is excerpted throughout. The entire poem was originally published here. We’ll end with a gogyohka of Mark’s written in December, still evergreen now.
The aim is to reverence and celebrate God’s beauty and extravagant love revealed through the natural world. It’s our hope to share this in some way that might be helpful. And if it’s not for you, please know that’s fine.
You are always warmly welcomed here.
Let’s begin in a nighttime forest.
Vigil
by Mark Rico
This eastern forest clamors
dusk to dawn, textured
as jute netting laid out
overhead and underfoot,
the fabric of the living
demanding answers.
It’s as though we are rushing through our lives, and in our hearts there is the flame of a candle. Because we are moving at such high speed, this essential interior flame is always at the point of going out.1
—Fr. John Main
Screams of owl and prey; atavistic earth’s basest impulse flung against the screen of the occulted night.
Here in the dark, I breathe my prayer, inhaling and exhaling slowly. I chose my prayer word because it is Aramaic, which was the language Jesus spoke:
Maranatha, come, Lord.
We should pray the mantra without impatience, without force or any intention of violence. The purpose of the mantra is not to block out thoughts. It is not a jamming device. If thoughts attack us while we are meditating, we turn the other cheek. In saying the mantra gently, we learn from Jesus who is gentle and humble of heart… Our lives will, day by day, become the commentary on our prayer. Our prayer will then no longer consist in endlessly commenting on our lives.2
—Fr. Laurence Freeman, OSB
The goal of contemplation is simple and clear: one tries to be still and generously present to this moment, to sit with one prayer word for 15 or 20 minutes at a time.
Your prayer word can be whatever would help you pray. Some choose the name of Jesus, or Abba (father) or Hineni (Here I am). You could also use a short Bible passage. The choices are endless.
They say the west sleeps silently, dreaming like an icon hidden between the pages of a book. I have heard that silence
The mind can be restless and has a tendency to drift into the past and the future. When you catch your attention wandering, do not berate yourself.
Return to God, gently.
white flowers open
in darkness, vines and tendrils—
glad songs have begun
.
-Song of Solomon 2:12
Contemplative prayer is not a self-wellness project, more of a willingness to be of service. It is a practice of humility. All that is asked is my full attention: to be silent, still, and fully present to the moment God has made. The silence is inward. A silent room is nice, but isn’t required to pray in this way.
Through the years, I’ve practiced contemplative prayer in many places filled with stress and noise: in a busy Intensive Care Unit, at the grocery store with a screaming toddler, and in the middle of a North Carolina hurricane raging outside my door. These are some of the places and times I most needed to remember God’s love.
In these moments, there is no time to pause, and my prayer has been as short as only one breath in and out. Sometimes that is all the time I have.
I let this one breath be enough.
Maranatha
On a quieter day, I’ve found it’s good to have an image in mind to get me started when I first sit down to pray. A beautiful image is simply an entry point that helps me settle myself, and then I can let it go after a minute. I like to imagine a scene from the Bible or from the natural world. I especially love forest images, because this is where I feel awe and reverence for God in my daily life.
Here, I found Mark’s poem offers an image of Beauty speaking its truth and goodness:
awakened in the woods to the moon’s interrogation as it moved through its stations embossing trees across the ground.
Silent prayer does not negate other forms of prayer in any way. It’s important to honor time-polished traditional forms of praise, thanksgiving, intercession and lament. Or more creative activities like writing in a prayer journal, penning a gorgeous story, a poem, or a song. These are meaningful expressions of prayer. Though we might remember how we’re still actively doing, accomplishing, and measuring ourselves. We are, to some extent, focusing on ourselves, even if it’s in a penitential way.
In contemplative prayer, you’re listening with your undivided attention. For a few minutes, your mind and body are unified in a posture of attentive stillness.
Nothing “happens.”
We cease thinking in terms of success or self-importance, of our own will, or desires, or failings. It’s a quiet surrender. Yielding entirely, resting in God’s love and God’s will. Change may come, but only as God, in perfect love, wants for us to change. Or does not.
From this Love,
you have
come.
But you have not yet
seen
your own face.
We try to pay attention. This is what people say in America, as if attention were something to buy. It costs us something to pay attention. But Jesus asks us to give attention as a free gift—joyfully—the sincere way a child gives you a wildflower, a special rock they’ve found, or a drawing they have just made. Here, this is for you! This is the model of faith we’re called to embrace.3
In a clear and beautiful poem like Mark’s, there are lines when I can hear the small voice of Beauty speaking directly, and I am drawn into the moment that is Now:
Unfolded in the vacuum of the clearing, I saw the trees standing vigil, watched the stars glide the satin sky— heard my breath and nothing more.
Someday, this simple way of prayer will be all I’ll have.
I’ll be on my deathbed breathing in and breathing out, hopefully surrounded by my family, and resting in relative comfort and peace. It’s not that I’m practicing how to die—quite the opposite. I’m remembering that I’m still here now, fully alive. Loved by God and ready to do my work in the world.
This is contemplative prayer in its simplest form, it is a prayer done in the hope of deepening one’s faith and continuous connection to God. To be loved. Not loved for what one does, or says, or even thinks. Loved simply for being oneself, in Christ.
Maranatha.
Thank you for your presence and your life.
I’ll see you in a new microseason.
xo Ann
Visit Mimesis Kinesis to enjoy more of Mark Rico’s poetry.
If you’re interested in Japanese poetry, I highly recommend Mark’s craft essay:
Slender Flames: A Study of Haiku & Related Forms
In 2003, I lived and taught ESL classes in Osaka, Japan. That summer began my love of the Japanese aesthetic, fittingly illustrated by the poetic tradition of haiku. Ever since returning, I’ve written these fleeting moments—even when other poetic inclinations were a dry well.
From Fr John Main, “Meaning, Significance, and Purpose” in The Hunger for Depth and Meaning, ed Peter Ng (Singapore: Medio Media, 2007), p. 149.
Fr. Laurence Freeman: Dearest Friends, WCCM International Newsletter, January 1997.
Matt. 18:3
Just reading your words has a calming effect, like time itself just pauses for a moment. It has always been like that from the very first Microseasons essay I read.
Thank you.
I have a decades long practice of daily contemplative reading and meditation, often inspired by Franciscan practices but also including the Persian poets and Buddhist writings. It is akin to your Christian contemplative prayer. It has been both a saving grace and a formative exercise.
Reading your perspective and experience felt like a comforting treat, reminding me how many of us are scattered -- yet connected. -- throughout this wonderful world. I am so very grateful for you and all that you share, Ann.