The Transcendent Train

 

The traditional Orthodox prayer rope consists of black wool knots tied and fashioned into a circle.  The larger ropes typically have 100 knots and the smaller ones have 33 knots to signify the number of years Jesus spent walking the earth from his birth to his “death”.

I am most interested in this smaller one because it is easily carried around by way of your wrist.  It is unobtrusive in size and color which matches the proper spiritual tone of humility and modesty.

What does one do with a prayer rope you may ask?  It is for saying The Jesus Prayer which in its most common form is “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner” repeated at each knot in succession to engender said humility.

In my mind it is like the circular railroad track that I had as a child.  The railroad ties are evenly spaced and provide the “beat” of the prayer.  When I am riding on this train I imagine the interior of the track encircles a beautiful garden with all that entails: fragrant flowers, singing birds, welling springs, and shading trees in full sun.  The outside of the track is dark, desolate, and dry.

When I am on the train I can take in the sight of the garden and breathe it in through the slightly cracked windows, but frequently by my own poor choices I am thrown from the train into that outer darkness.  I find myself in the dirt and a bit bloodied by the fall.  The train sits still and expectant as I stand up and brush myself off.  Do I walk in this outer world or get back on the train?  Lost in disordered thoughts and passions I start walking - nay limping - and the train follows apace ready for re-boarding.

Today it was a consolation of sorts to think of it in this way; that the prayer rope remains accessible and can bring my mind back onto the right track when utilized; that it can connect me to something beautiful; that paradise can be glimpsed even now in the whispering of words.

***

Strange Little Room

 

Strange little room 

where I can store 

the things most essential to me.  

It is much bigger inside than outside

though who would know?

A cold and indifferent world

seeks entrance for the sake of destruction.

The door used to stand ajar

until indiscriminate intruders 

chose to trample precious objects

with boots dirtied by selfish concerns.

Time has fashioned a lock. 

It has transformed me into 

a more discerning curator of

these things of fragile beauty.

Strange little room 

where I can store 

the things most essential to me.

***

Waiting for Faith

Waiting, waiting, waiting 

for things to make sense. 

I’m trying to do the right 

things, to be patient, but 

it seems like I’m always 

waiting with answers or 

resolutions somewhere 

out there but not anywhere 

in my realm of knowing 

to the point I have to laugh 

at myself, at how absurd 

yet how essential faith is.

***