Prayer

Memorized prayers of the Rosary were a mantra for me, a chant that I used to keep myself together during my father's rants. Funerals included Saying the Rosary, a warm overstuffed room as the priest spoke the first part of the prayer, and we all responded, in an hour long ritual that truly did ease grief. The Rosary (other than said at funerals) is largely the Hail Mary at a ratio of about 10:1 with the Glory Be and the Our Father, often recited at speed.

~Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen.~

The other main prayer was Grace, said before every meal, mumbled aloud. It took me years to decipher it as it was slurred into incomprehensibility through three to a dozen hungry, hurrying voices reciting at once.
~BleesusourLord, Anthezigiffs, Wichwerbout t'receve, from Thighbountythewchristhourlord, AMEN. ~

I had no idea what I was saying until I was about 10. I had to ask, and my mother was astounded and a bit angry. "Why didn't you ask?" How could I have asked? It was magic words said over food. I do prefer it to the Mormon tradition of extemporaneous thanks, which can be protracted, belabored and excruciating. (Nice enough people, but, c'mon, let's eat.)

Living on my own, I did not say 'my prayers' at night anymore, as I could not find it in me to believe them. Gradually, finding my own path, I began to pray again, tough I found it difficult to develop a form. I no longer had any idea where prayers went, nor did I care, but like writing letters never sent, I knew they helped me to understand, to forgive, to heal.

I would reclaim one old memorized prayer from my early life after hearing Joseph Campbell. I didn't like him in many ways, and I think he has some critical flaws, but he laid out the evidence that all religion is myth and culturally bound stories, and that they are all connected, in such a comprehensive and convincing matrix. That myth is not an insult, but a way of understanding the flow of belief and the desire to understand what it is to be human in the world through history. He showed images of art and artifacts that I could never have seen, or seen in that light, in any other place.

He gave me the most cogent definition of God. I remember it as "God is the word to indicate that which is transcendent." Not male or female, but both and neither. Not good or evil, but all the universe, without qualification. Any duality deemed irrelevant, but included. Not me or them, but a way of seeing that does not differentiate, is one and many and all.


I wanted Hail Mary, untainted, consistent with my soul. I did some adjusting, trying to keep the meter, making it about Her. This is now my mind prayer when I cannot summon thought of my own. In a plane about to take off, or land, for instance:

~Hail Mary, full of grace, the Word is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb. Holy Mary, Mother and God, forgive us, thy sinners, now and at the hour of our death, amen. ~


I don't know if it means anything useful, but the old version is certainly jibberish for me. It's a love of the form, the rhythm, the ritual, the lost idea of family and connection. I like the idea of a rosary said at my funeral, using any words that will comfort any friends who might be left to care. For myself, well, I will be past caring I expect, but maybe those voices joined will comfort me even then.

Glory Be to our friends, our loved ones, and our holy spirit, as we were in our beginning, are now and ever shall be, no beginning nor end. Amen.