The word for this state seems to be both wild and domesticated. Venturing out of the confines of my monastic cell and beautiful chapel, I took a walk in the woods along the ridge. The route began up the steep gravel driveway, but first I observed the activity buzzing around a lotus plant that bloomed today. The bees and flies were gorging themselves on the apparently pungent and bountiful nectar. Flies joined the bees and the sounds and smell and color were fascinating.

The lotus seemed to be enjoying being devoured. I was quite sad that the bees and flies would soon cause her to be reduced to a brown dead honeycomb stripped of her beautiful pastel pinks and whites. The color and beauty of the lotus seemed to be carried away by the bees.

From the garden I ventured up the driveway into the path leading to the cemetery. And as I walked past the cemetery, two very wild turkeys crossed my path in their awkward run-flight that could be heard as crashing and smashing wings and turkey. That brought my attention to all the incredible most audible sounds that were like fragrances reaching filling the woods and ringing my ears. Even the sound of my feet prodding and hitting the ground and leaves blasted the air with harmonic discordance. Buzz of insects, tweets of birds and annoying crows overloaded my senses.

When I attempted to pray a traditional prayer as I journeyed onward, my excitement and fear overcame that notion. As the path seemed to be overcome with growth of wild weeds and collapsing trees, I proceeded on through the path that was only slightly speckled and spotted with sunlight and breeze. Aware of the chiggers and spiders and seed ticks, my prayer became wilder.

This once domesticated path had been rarely traveled this year and stirred up within my soul a prayer most wild and spasmodic. Nothing normal about this prayer but caused me to ponder. Most prayer is tough to get to.

Prayer is never suppose to be as easy as turning on a television or Internet. Prayer is a challenge for all of us. Just when we believe it to be manageable, it lures us like the lotus plant mesmerizing the bees and flies for her own purposes. No one can enter into the heart and soul of love itself, unless the Beloved invites. But just because we have an invitation, it doesn’t mean that the path will be straight and free of dangers. We are all too comfortable in our air-conditioned vehicles and homes. The air is quite tame, not too hot and not too cold. In the spring and fall we sometimes open the windows and doors…as long as there are screens in place.

Once, I gave a homily in which I brought my scuba gear to Mass and put it on during the homily (tank and all). Although a few people were offended by this preposterous yearning to reach out to the truth of Jesus’ response to the disciple’s questions about prayer, it was illuminating to many. There I was with mask, snorkel, heavy oxygen tank and BCD looking ridiculous. But when I tried to explain the unexplainable first time I jumped into the sea with all the fish and stingrays and jellyfish and sharks, the people went along with the difficulty. You see, once I entered into the water, I was buoyant and learned to fly in the water. My burdens were gone. I finally made it to the point of contemplation.

We can’t just jump into being truly aware and intimate with the Creator of the world. It took Moses over 80 years. The people who saw his face couldn’t stand the radiance after Moses spoke with God. He had to wear a veil. If you ever have the opportunity to climb the mountain figuratively to the fruit of prayer and taste the sweetness, hear the music, smell the fragrance, and see the glory of our Beloved God, you will strive to go back again and again. The pain and suffering and annoyances are worth it.

So as I finish typing this article out in the wild domestic Arkansas, the chiggers are getting worse and my aching bones are beginning to scream and complain to my longing heart. Yet, it was worth it. Just the desire to pray and become a little more intimate with God is indeed God’s delight.

Have a delightful, domesticated and wild week.

Love, joy, peace and itch,

Father Ron Moses +

www.tearinthedesert.com

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