Prayer

Almost always, I am grounded in the physical.  One of my favorite internal "games" for years has been a mini-analysis of my physical state and that of everyone around me.

For instance: Jane sat in the back seat, reading Thomas Aquinas's Treatise on Law.  Her little brother and sister sat in the middle seat and squabbled over a mini toy computer.  Up front, her father and mother were conversing quietly while Willie Nelson's crooning voice softly enveloped the car.

It sounds like the beginning of a story, no?  But the story stops there.  It never goes any farther.  All my energy goes into the setting and then... the story is kaput.

I also often make a mental analysis of myself - This is my name.  I am twenty-three years old.

Why?  You tell me.

One of my college friends once told me, "You are one of the most self-aware people I know."  Not self-conscious, but self-aware.  The same friend joked that I provide verbal "status updates" on my well-being at any given time.  With the same eye for description, I am quick to announce that I am happy.  Hungry.  Tired.  Grumpy.  Cold.

Nowadays, my fiance likes to comment on the way in which joy grips me physically.  I wriggle; I jump; I actually do squirm with excitement.

So for whatever reason, it can be hard for me to separate myself from the physical world.  Metaphysics and philosophical thought do not come to me as naturally as they do to others.  They are an acquired taste, and one that I struggle to expand in myself.

I chafe in helpless envy when I see the ease some of my friends experience as they delve into the rich world of metaphysical thought.  To them, books of philosophy are a delight and are preferred.  To me they are a task of self-improvement and willful education.  They are not "fun" although they are good. 

My spiritual life has ebbed lately, and there are many reasons for the change.  There is the physical change from a religious campus surrounded by churches and chapels, with ample free time for both, to a demanding work schedule in a smallish town with only one church nearby.

Always, my prayers have arisen with the greatest ease from the situational tasks that confront me.  "Pious aspirations," as they are called, would flow swiftly from my lips for help with a stressful co-worker or a demanding project.  A prayer request from a friend would elicit the same quick reaction, "God be with so-and-so!".  But sustained, demanding prayer?  That is becoming more and more rare.

To some degree, my near-constant focus on the physical - what's needed now - may obscure what my soul needs long-term. I am, after all, composed of body and soul.  To neglect a really sustained effort in one area will lead to overall dissatisfaction.  Worse than dissatisfaction, it will lead to my detriment in ways not yet clear.  "And in the lowest deep, a lower deep, still threatening to devour me opens wide - to which the hell I suffer seems a heaven."  -- Milton placed these words in Satan's mouth, and I am suffering no hell at the moment, but the lesson remains that our own agency can lead to undreamed-of wrong. 

Will increased and better-quality prayer improve my understanding of the metaphysical and non-corporeal world?  Will my facility with ideas gain from a cultivated relationship with their divine Author?

It seems plausible.  That is, of course, not a reason to practice - note that word, practice - my faith and prayer better than I have thus far.  It does, however, present a nice corollary.  Like philosophical inquiry, prayer may not be fun but good it certainly is.  And without it, how will I ever hope to escape my corporeal bonds?  Without it, I dare not hope.

My strong sensibility for the physical may impede my ability to ascend in prayer.  But without the growth that prayer provides, I suspect that any dreams I may have of metaphysical success or wisdom are as ethereal and vanishing as this passing world will, too, someday be.