A piece of peace. A bit about prayer.

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I’ve discovered the power of prayer.

Did I just type that?

I’ve known for half of my life now, the blessings that meditation can bring. In just a few moments of silence, questions can be answered and next steps can be made.

 Since the birth of Wildflower, who is now 8, I’ve discovered the benefit of believing in something more than myself. And when Moonchild made his entrance almost five years ago, I  suddenly realized that the earth’s energy felt real. I could see the rhythms of the year, the seasons coming  and going. Having lost my father prior to the birth of my son showed me first hand the dependability of the circle of life. I could count on that energy, though I had learned it was useless to hope to control it. When the time came to give birth, that was the power, the connection that I could focus on. It’s a magic that feels more tangible to me than the stories I knew growing up. Perhaps it’s the blood that I share with my ancestral tribe, or perhaps it’s all just crap, but it works for me. 

As a child, I believed there was only one option. Living in a Judeo-Christian society, there weren’t many selections to be made in regards to faith. Whether or not I ticked the box as Christian, had nothing to do with absorbing the subtle messages surrounding me.

As a young girl growing up in rural Ontario where my high school English teacher described our class as ‘a marketing campaign for bleach’ (whitest white!), I hadn’t had the opportunity to connect with people of various religions, the way those in city schools may have. Although the teachings of Jesus contain stories of kindness and sacrifice, they have always been to me, just stories. The cross that I wore around my neck was merely a gift, given to me from a parent who loved me, and hoped to offer me a piece of the peace he often found in biblical readings. I know these figures have brought many people peace and strength, but to me, the teachings of Christ bare the same validity as stories of Moses or Mohamed, each whom I’d be interested in understanding better, but neither whom I plan to ‘find’.  Fast forward to this day. Like any old Sunday, mid-February. It’s cool, sunny, and quiet-ish in our home. Thanks to a life-altering book I’ve picked up this week, while I nursed my toddler, I closed my eyes this morning and gave it a go. IT doesn’t need a name, this Great Spirit who comes to my mind, but she feels like a SHE.

I asked her for guidance. I need help. I am, after all, still learning. I want to heal some of the hurt I’ve tucked away for a later date before I share much more of it with my children, and since my time for meditation is quite limited (I’ll get to that tomorrow, I always say), these few minutes to connect to something within or beyond and ask for peace, gave me the ease that normally comes from many minutes of meditation. It didn’t feel religious, and it didn’t feel churchy. It felt comforting. I felt the warmth of golden light around me, and in a matter of thirty seconds, I was back in the comfort of my living room.

For those who know me, when I read an awesome book or try a great recipe, I eagerly share it with anyone who I believe could appreciate a slice of the joy. So here I am, apprehensively laying this glimpse into my world here, in hopes that maybe someone else might require a piece of the peace I felt this morning.


Hay Mama




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