Prayer, I have imagined is learned in practice,
alone, in a sense,
institutionally twisted
into missionary positions, mentally assented to,
as proper - to allow novices
the easily entreated task of
messenger that once belonged to angels,
back in Jacob's rock pillow dream days,
children were not seen going up and down
some other worldly escalator of answers
answered sooner than time
allows
too fast to breathe -
we've selah,
for moments of too
much old truth to process…
- trust the data, run the numbers … use pi
- go full circle
and the king called for his prognosticators
and magicians
all wise in the ways of infinity, a pre-post-usurious
required-mental state involved in de-evolving
suspended use of knowing -from the fruit,
the writing on the wall any fool can read…
------- 2021 admin, fine tuned prayer
-------- revisited, as in a day of visitation
{weren't we just saying that mankind of the
surviving only kind, the kind the prophets
spoke of, those who endure, to the end,
the champions, my friend…
}
we freely eat
the fallen fruit,
not low hanging,
fallen, to the ground ala Newton's apple,
because
gravity was a good idea.

- but not the first one. I the state of ego-being,
- in a word, was. In this realm you share,
- unwittingly, admitted ly, you stumbled into my
- private prayer time, I confess…
- {nosigint} real time is meaningless here…

a bubble, not a bang, burp not the other,
spirit that walks on wind and oceans of opinions,
mere whatifery left to heirs joint with Jesus,
the god who said, as a man,
I am the way - as mentioned in China sometime back,
I am the truth - as Platonic as Socrates, pointed as Euclid,
I am the life - look around, take a free breath of fresh heirloom
oxygen and nitrogen and pollen and leaven and dust
star stuff, if Sagan had that part right ---
we share a bubble of breathable air,
how is that not fair?...
the idea in which we live
and breathe and have our habits solidified,
with a glance
at sort  of attention magnet, mygawd-I can't
loook away,
--- there is a spirit of random usity making fools
find time to listen
-- did you just repeat the lie? look away, dixieland…

dixie, is that some shortening bread, fry-bread
word that once meant something other than
slaves and they who own them and them
that was never owned again, yeah,
it was not a place to rear free
thinkers who could read, dixieland back when
great gramp mack he read, go west
where a boy with a gun could feed a family,
So,
that we,
they went t' Texas, which was dixiecratic,
more and more, as Comanche land went up for sale,
while we waited for rain,
'til the rabbits and rattlers were memories
of better days.

In those days, we sang, but mostly for the kids.
Yes, yes, we shall
gather
at the river that flows by the throne of o' god

-- then a rushing mighty wind blew the land
into the sky and carried it away.

Leaving us, as but dust of what once we imagined
we was, free.
Owed no man, but t' love 'im, knew that true that
makes its knowers free, like
right from the tree,
y'know.

Did you think this another game, this is still
your only chance at today.
Your move…

so that we,
they keptamovin' all the way to
Nuva'tukya'ovi
high ground, well watered, good for bees.

All that, eventually led to me, and you reading
straight from the tree life flows through, in the
knowing the difference true holds
age of earth,
the exercise in godliness.
Where waiting is patience in practical terms.
It's in the book. Do the exercise. Angel says read,
you read everything, till he says quit.
It's a genuine joy juice release valve, when we say, amen.