Dance was my way of praying, of listening, of celebrating, it wasmy way of being as beautiful as the life around me. Now I feel hideous, unloved, abandoned. I lie down and sob and I feel a screeching hunger for mil, for some essence to flow from the sky and reach down through my shattered mind and reconnect me to warmth and calm. And very gradually it happens. The life in the trees and grass and the warm rocks enters my body and joins me to them. One morning, I sit up and see the incandescent trees in silent communion with each other, immersed in love. This is the world, I think, the real world. Whatever happens to me, the world is still this luminous mystery.
We parked the car at the roadside and walked onto the grass. We stood together and sent our praises to the Most High. The prayer was sweet and when I dropped my head onto the cool, grass-covered earth, I felt myself truly a servant. For just a fleeting moment my heart was full of joy. As we walked back to the car, I began to understand. Prayer is service in the absolute. It is selfless service to God. Actually, one's entire life could be a prayer.