Water Horse Writing Studio

The behemoth medical machine spit me out and I am just returning to myself. Radiology is no joke. I managed to sit still while poked, injected, scanned, and assaulted with ungodly noise. The headphones at max volume playing Opera music was drowned out by the violent disruption of the space around and inside of my body. A soprano belting out an aria that can be seen on a richter scale could not hold a candle to the power of the MRI machine. The staff looked the other way when I took off my Covid mask, a nurse said “it is hard enough to breathe in there with out a mask” It was a kindness that I appreciated but made me question myself and wonder if it was a safe thing to do. Twenty minutes is a long time to be under assault and a day later I am still exhausted. Here is an except from my poem Coming into Prayer

Turning toward the darkness

Walking though my body,

Completely alone, singled out

I found myself

Coming into prayer.

Not through the door of an imposing cathedral,

Not on my knees at my bedside,

But through a softening

Given by time

A lens to focus my breath

Prayer is not a universal language like music or beauty,

Prayer welcomes the unknown

Prayer is the call to listen

Prayer disarms the mind

Prayer creates form from loss

It is the labor of the soul turning inside out.

It is the

Seed sprouting

Bud opening

Fish splashing

Bird singing

Tree swaying

Wonder

Where the visible is given to the darkness,

The hidden and held lost in light.