A voice from the dark called out,
'The poets must give us
imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
the absence of war.'
But peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can't be imagined before it is made,
can't be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.
A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.
A line of peace might appear
if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned our needs, allowed
long pauses. . .
A cadence of peace might balance its weight
on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
an energy field more intense than war,
might pulse then,
stanza by stanza into the world,
each act of living
one of its words, each word
a vibration of light—facets
of the forming crystal.
~ Denise Levertov, "Making Peace", in BREATHING THE WATER
Before I left him, he said that we should pray. I tried to explain to him that I did not understand prayer, that I could not see the meaning of it. "Then pray that you will understand," he said impatiently. "Devotion is necessary in our path. The trouble with you is that you don't believe in God. You only think you do. If you knew what I know then you would pray ... a prayer beyond form. And where is your love and gratitude? How many times a day do you remember to say thank you? Until you can be truly grateful, you will always be in separation from God ... The prayer of which I speak is the prayer of your heart, the state where all life has become a prayer. Whether God comes with a thorn to wake you up or as the gentle wind, it is necessary that you are grateful and that you acknowledge God. For praise and gratitude are like the two hands of prayer. A great Sufi once said, 'Make God a reality and God will make you the truth.' Begin now. Do you not want to meet God face to face?"
