A Prayer for Rest

When the world feels as if it is flying

high above your head, and those you love

hanging on by bare fingertips,

towards whom you strain but cannot touch,

When events feel like so many jostlings

and you can breathe nowhere,

 

And the shores and mountains of your youth

and the solace of their quiet hours

have long hidden themselves, and there is no rest,

even in the death of night,

even on the Sabbath,

only the heart’s reason can stay you.

 

Only the truth, rising like a wave

from that long-ago shore

can tumble your plans

and the many sandcastles your lesser self

has piled up (so many, they are indistinguishable) —

can fell your stubborn urge for endless action.

 

Like an endangered swimmer

you flail in the unfamiliar depths

of your struggle.  Surrender.

Surrender to the power of the heart wave

overcoming all that keeps you running

to and fro.  The world will be eager

to have your labors and your company again.

For now, be still.  Feel the sand,

the warmth of human touch, the gift of the breath,

the day of rest.