Poems And Prayers Need A Guardrail

POEMS AND PRAYERS NEED A GUARDRAIL (in response to Robt Bernstein's poem 'Guardrail by the River, Faith'*) ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Robt Bernstein's poem touches on a favorite idea of mine, namely that acts of creative expression are not fundamentally different from a series of prayers, though maybe not so regularly scheduled. As one moves down the road, one's prayers will keep changing to reflect accumulated understanding. As Second Acts Verse 20 tells us, even a heavy sigh may turn out to be a prayer. It may mark a turn from self-pity towards compassion. A person's creative expression of impermanence may also be a prayer, if it marks a turn toward resonance with our shared predicament. It takes faith to keep exploring that inclusive space. It takes faith to reach further than usual for meaning, and in prayerful moments, the significance of gain or loss is expanded. Faith is also like a guard rail that helps keep our eyes on the road, so we don't fritter away the weight of our feelings. The guard rail reminds us that going out on the road is risky; it may even prompt us to consider what is worth taking risks for. The guard rail sets an external limit, but it also sums up our resolve to go on living. As we renew that internal resolve, we reaffirm our reasons for living, and our hearts are open to broader reasons. It doesn't matter if the conceptual apparatus is theistic or not. Every time we reach for the source of creation, we gain a bit of distance from habitual emotions and judgments. At the same time, we get renewed traction on the road (and maybe we boldly re-scramble our metaphors) . To put one's head on a prayer mat is to put everything on the line. It's as if one is putting one's head on a chopping block.* Those moments of reaching for heightened intention and communion will eventually have to fall away, but if the guard rail is holding, we will be ready for the next encounter; we will be ready to do it the next time, even if we feel like part of us is dying in the interim. (Hence I like that image of the bed that Robt Bernstein carries along with him in his poem.) So those who offer prayers vs. those who crystallize creative expressions don't need to categorize each other as the 'other.' They are both uttering a sigh in their own languages, and both sighs resonate with our shared predicament as they come out of our mouths. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... *[Note: The image of laying one's head on a chopping block as a metaphor for prayers is borrowed from Idries Shah, 'Caravan of Dreams.] ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... *and here is the text of Robt Bernstein's fine poem: 'GUARDRAIL BY THE RIVER, FAITH Guard Rail by the River, Faith The guard rail, to which I prayed or said I did, cannot help me, not now, not now. I have no faith to send that prayer but only words that will not speed to roadside steel. The three-rib rail denies the plea, I have no trust and steel knows this. This river road that's guarded by this oft lost rail that washed by flood, high water now, is path that I must take with weakened trust, my prayer's a joke, not quite a joke, I have no faith, or, not this type. I myself, alone, alone, must do it all, and guide myself, and guard myself, and guide my soul in the black and salt-sprayed pickup truck of weary life in which I haul my travelled bed. And will not trust to w-beam, which I might hope to double me, at least increase my time, my time. My cab, my wholesome bed. The Friends were here, they'd come this way, they are not now. I carry my bed, am I the same I think I am, as those who lie down by the still waters in green pastures?