The Prayer

• 

All my life,

I’ve been praying,

Something I have not allowed

Myself to see

Until now.

For the caterpillar,

So that it could become

That most magnificent creature

Capable of flight.

For the sun-scorched grasses,

So that it may

Return to that holiest of green.

With the riot of flowers

Peppering lawns and fields

With reminders

Of what is possible

When we notice,

And even when we don’t.

With the cycles themselves,

The snow sitting heavily

On hidden ice,

The worms coming through

The pavement in spring.

The crickets,

Giving us our late summer hymn,

The fading leaves of fall.

I’ve been praying

With the trees,

Who were born into psalm,

And are unwavering

In their prayer for us,

That we, too,

Can find our way

To withstand the hurt,

Brush past our denial,

And breathe the good air

That is left

So that we may give back

The promise of tomorrow.

I have been praying,

Small as a scampering squirrel

Running between the shrubs

Dividing households

With no sense of borders,

Knitting together a world.

I have been lovingly

In the throes of creation

Praying one word, one stich

At a time,

As possibilities arise.

I have let the sun

And moonlight bathe me,

Oceans take me,

And every submersion

Into what sustains me

Has been a prayer of gratitude

And belonging, and love.

And faith.

For we are here,

Imbued with great power,

And prayer has always had

The answers.

• Tammy Stone Takahashi

The World is Burning

What is a prayer

if not a question so deeply asked

that the body starts to tremble

as the tears fall,

and a heart that opens

like a flower under the love of the sun,

slowly but according to the rhythms

(the roars and swells,

the sighs of turning inward

in a world ever revolving)

ready, now, to hear, and to listen?

It is a time of burning, of flooding,

of maniacal sweepings through,

and we are afraid,

and underneath that, we know,

and so we pray.

We close our eyes,

and feel the ocean of suffering.

We bring our hands

that have reached for the world

back to ourselves,

where we turn to all this pain

with our ancient legacy of compassion

as we surrender,

and fill the space between us

with hope, that underside of pain

that in the shadows feeds from

the rich home of our earth,

the shelter we will love back to life.

 

– Tammy Takahashi

 

 

 

 

 

On a Morning Almost Spring

 

It is all for you,

That sweet smell

The rain-soaked cedar

Living out its last moments

Close to home,

The breathing earth-fire

Of the sacred mountain,

The new leaves budding,

The insects always

Finding their way,

Knowing where to rest,

And how to carry out

The meaning of their lives.

For you, that I drop

To my knees, to be close,

Too, to all that splendor

We forget to call home.

I bring hands to heart,

And the cave within

Becomes the whole horizon,

The sun, hidden before rain,

Still finds its way

Into the space between

Blood and bone,

Heart and mind,

And I don’t have to wait

Anymore, no, I find

That I am already here.

• Tammy Takahashi

 

A Prayer, A Soft Place to Land

Our prayers are not for we and they;
We pray because we want to know,
Finally, that the soft and loving places
Where prayers land know no division.
There are places all over the world,
Across the entirety of the map of one heart,
Where we can travel to, wayward at first,
But with increasing sense of purpose,
That will greet us like the loved ones
We now, after ages, know that we are.
They are shrines large and small
Decorating the most modest of habitats,
Honouring the dead and reminding us
That we have never walked alone;
They are the colours, sounds and textures
We can finally recognize for what they are,
Unique as the moon to our stargazing hearts
To our experience of being human,
So that we will never overlook them again.
We close our eyes, join hands together,
We stand where we are, in silent tears,
And know the prayer has brought us here,
The prayer is all around us, ancient, wise,
That it created the conditions of our lives.

– Tammy Takahashi

My Peace Anthem Today

Sometimes life

is just one big plush

nearly impossible blend of

gorgeous sunset hues, yellow too,

gathered not like armies but like trees,

not like missiles but like bamboo shoots,

not like things imprisoned but connected,

not signatures of doom but of wonder,

ready, haven’t we always known it,

to get fire, to be our fire,

to get lit.

 

– tt

Make it So (for Life)

Make it so,

the way an umbrella shelters

without removing the

experience of rain,

the way the flags flap

in the breeze,

giving away just a little bit

of their colour

with each passing moment,

so that we may pray

through and with them,

and it’s amazing

how long they hang on.

Make it so,

a full, bright, hope-filled

life. Take it all in.

Feel the breath

moving through you.

Know, too, that  the

fading of things

is also a reminder

of the fullest

expression of beauty,

at birth, in life,

and in the passing

of all things.

• TT

 

 

Prostration

Prostration
Bare feet

On holy ground

Ancient prayers

Seep into bone

 

Hands to heart

Head to ground

Chest heaving with

Love grace hope. – TS

Japan Photo Diary: 218 (prayer paper)

Japan Photo Diary: 88 (temple life)