Prayer begins in us the restoration of the divine image, in all its hiddenness and wonder. It brings us closer to the "region of likeness" and every prayer is an act of letting the old self go. It involves "dying". The grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies. Dead, it is destined to bear much fruit.
Warm sun. My worship is a blue sky and 10,000 crickets in the deep wet hay of the field. My vow is the silence under their song. I admire the woodpecker and the dove in simple mathematics of flight. Together we study practical norms. The plowed and planted field is red as brick in the sun and says: "Now is my turn!" Several of us began to sing.