Book of Hours/ 1:00a.m.
A finger pointing at the moon is not,
the moon. The finger is needed to know where to
look for the moon, but if you mistake the
finger for the moon itself, you will never know
the real moon. The teaching is like a raft that
carries you to the other shore.
~~~Thich Nhat Hanh
An hour passed…what is my prayer? Drizzle upon drizzle of
star dust paints the lashes keeping watch over my eyes…
WIDE OPEN. I stare wondrously, and observe how
You have folded back light’s cover only a smidgen.
I see a glimmer in your shadow. How can a shadow
glimmer? I ask questions uncertain of a need for
an answer. Bathed in mystery, I remain fixed to
this hour. Again, the presence, without revealing
itself enters the space. Where? How? No words
can adequately express this stirring I feel.
Like the soft sheet folded back, it is my soul
uncovering. Hid-den yet exposed—searching, holding.
With my fingers grasping for the very edge, I
will not, cannot let-go of this moment. So real,
and yet, it vanishes…lost, but alas found.
My fingers uncurl, hands no longer folded. A new
prayer posture…each finger lifted, reaching,
extending…the ‘deep’ reaching back…no space between us.
Pray with me in this hour…
2:00am will arrive next Monday—
Promise you will stay…invite another! No worry if
you pass. I hold you in all the hours remaining.