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| Kuan Yin. Photo by Molly |
Lately I’ve been praying to Muhammad,
Moses, Krishna, Buddha, Baha’u’llah, Zoroaster, Jesus—
why be choosy?
I ask any source of true love
and great joy
to throw me as many bones
as they might.
Sometimes I prayer to Mozart, Bach or Galileo
to pour music or the stars
through me.
Often I pray to Tahirih,
a great Persian poet and feminist
of the 1800s who would remove
her veil when addressing men
and was martyred for truth
at age 38.
Her final words were,
“You can kill me as soon as you like,
but you will never stop
the emancipation of women.”
I often ask Hafiz for a dance
and we go for the most poetic whirls.
Sometimes I ask Rumi
that he pluck me an ancient,
everblooming rose
and I crush its scent
onto the page.
I have a crush on Khalil Gibran
and ask that he pass me
inspired love notes.
I pray to Joan of Arc and Einstein
for badassery and great ideas.
Inspiration is not elitist.
There is no muse
that is off limits,
no genius you should not approach
and ask to be yours.
There are no copyright issues
with what you receive from prayer.
No one lays claim
to certain frequencies
of light.
Oh beseech whoever you might
that the master keys
that open all hearts
are put in your care
that your particularly necessary
style of expression
may open new portals of beauty
to the eyes of the world
Hobnob with all the great
dead poets,
thinkers,
lovers,
artists,
leaders of truth.
They still want a place
to pour their wonder
into the world
and you are a great vessel.
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