Ten o’clock. Friday night. Washington, DC.
In the distance three krieg lights swing back and forth against the darkened sky. The Capitol dome, like a scoop of vanilla ice cream, glows white. The insistent beeping of a truck backing up can be heard. Voices laughing and yelling penetrate this darkness. The moon is shrouded, the outline is visible.
More laughter, more voices hiccup and guffaw against the dark. No stars are visible tonight. Only the lights from other buildings and from the street lamps wage a guerilla war against the darkness.
In this darkness the horizon seems more flexible, more moveable. In this darkness neither silence nor stillness exist. The distance provides a false sense of security. In this darkness the mind resurrects unsaid prayers, postponed acts of goodness, delayed acts of compassion. The mind struggles with thoughts of doing right, being good, and surviving the daily temptations and distractions.
The darkness has a coolness which is good for prayer and contemplation. Sitting in solitude is easier when nothing can easily be seen. Some people fear the darkness. Others fear prayer. Some people fear that their prayers will be answered. Some fear that their prayers will not be answered. Some people are happy in the darkness. Some people are happy in prayer.
Prayer is simple.
On the horizon fireworks appear. Red, blue, green, silver and other colors in different shapes, with different amounts of smoke. Fireworks attract attention, both please young and old. Even when expected the first firework explosion bursts into the eyes, ears, and imagination with a raw suddenness that postpones thought for a minute. Expectation and enthusiasm create anticipation.
Prayer sometimes contains the suddenness of revelation, the suddenness of unconditional love.
Different prayers are said in the morning and in the night. In prayer both words and thoughts are equally important as is the realization that all things need prayer even those which the mind temporarily forgets.
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