Prayer is the process through which our soul connects with the Divine, with all that transcends our being. It enables us to converse with things invisible, forming connections that at times defy the rational but often calm the spirit. It can be the language that tickles and soothes, itches and scratches, touches ever so gently the soft spots deep within. Prayer, like words or even complicated mathematical formula, is a language to be mastered. And in doing so, we open gates that are usually closed and often locked.
Kay and I went to Walpi, maybe the oldest continuous inhabited village on the continent... Near a stole altar lives an ancient great-grandmother, over a hundred years old, some say. She asked us to come in. Her hands are arthritic but she is a working potter. She not only throws the pots, but paints them afterward. I asked her how she manages to do it, since her knuckles are knotted by arthritis and she is nearly blind with cataracts.
She said, "It's not my hands that make the pot, it's my spirit. My hands are broken by my potteries hold my soul, and that's whole."
~ from THE THEFT OF THE SPIRIT by Carl A. Hammerschlag
