The prayer my heart cannot hold. It's a small one, one we all carry. To be seen, heard and understood. We desire it like we desire light on our faces, ignition, and grace. It seems I cannot carry it inward, nor can I walk with it exposed-- it is too vulnerable and sensitive to the cold. As I get to know it, I realize how involuntary it is, that I have limited control over its kind and gentle movements--but it is, always, moving. When I betray it, it uses tension as fuel, exploding outward into disarray, shouting to be seen and known, asking as me, for me; looking for the answers out there because I didn't do the work in here. I want to make friends with it, but I grew up in the wrong time. Instead of being taught acceptance I was taught dos and dont's and handed rocks and told they were wings. I don't know how.
So we wrestle, my prayer and I. We wrestle with ideas, identity, justice and hope. We wrestle over choices and stories and action vs words. We try and find a space where instead of accidental collision there is a rainfall, splattering in a million tiny collisions but bringing life to the common space. We try and float from ourselves, we try and give birth and pass away into the unknown. We follow life by not fear of death or pain. We unfurl our tiny wings and release into the fall. It's all we can do, learn to be fearlessly ourself, merged and moving purposefully toward an uncertain place.
The prayer my heart cannot hold.
13.5x17.5 in. Framed to 16x20.
Acrylic and gouache on paper, 2017
Sold. On display tonight at
, see you all there.