A prayer is an invitation to rest or abide in what is most essential in our being. I have tried here to express my own version of a prayer:
I don’t know, sweet beloved,
what to do with my fear, my anger,
all my overwhelming feelings
and the limits I impose on myself.
So please take them into your loving lap,
tender them till they melt
and are taken away to be
one with your infinite being.
It is my plea and my wanting,
rather my offering – for I’m asking nothing,
to be rid of all my clothes and be seen
naked in front of your most naked presence.
Let your constant outpouring of love
be my daily inescapable anchor,
let me I be you and you I
and feel no more the pain of separation.
You were so unnoticed,
at best visited from time to time,
let me now be the absent, unnoticed one.
Let me be whole and one with all things,
let me find in the pain, in the ache,
your most gracious presence,
Text and photo by Alain Joly
– Fragrance (on the role and nature of prayer)
I love, during my walks in Paris, to stop in one of the many small parks that you find in the capital. I sit on a bench and rest while observing, listening. Some children are having some fun a little further, pushing each other on the slides, playing on the swings. I hear the gate slam from time to time, when a mother arrives with her child, an old man leaves with his dog. All the benches are not occupied. Some old ladies are chattering on one of them, two lovers are kissing tenderly. Some older men are playing pétanque and the balls are slamming, breaking the joyous monotony of the carousel music. Some children are shouting with joy. Suddenly, a din of flapping wings falls on me. A swarm of pigeons, lured by abundant crumbs of bread, swoops down on the nearby bench. A few scattered sparrows come to join in the feast. A couple is passing by, stopping for a moment, while their little dog is stretching in the lawn. A young woman is walking fast. Friction of wings. All around, the trees rise majestically and protect all this little world from the warm rays of the sun. They are like big umbrellas and their tall rough trunks spring from the ground, sometimes seeming to counterbalance their bending choice, like big tensed muscles. …
Share with me a poetical promenade in Paris (READ MORE…)