In the silence of an afternoon, sun through tree canopy, bright splotches of light on years-old crumpled leaves, branches unwavering in breezeless stillness, the ending of terce from France a time differential recording across Atlantic, this meditation cabin screened porch at foot of Ragged Mountain, solitude.
Moss-covered stone wall, bowsaw hanging around camping candle, photograph of Han from Hosmer Pond neighbor's house, clouds passing out of view cooling wooded stretch between cabin and yurt, brook not flowing but watered from 24 hour rain this week, no bell sounds from chapel-zendo.
This is how prayer sounds. Nothing to hear from no-one praying.
Glance and listening.
I suspect God is the the entirety of whatever is, well within itself, glancing and listening to whatever is seen whatever uttered with an interested reciprocity to each appearance each resonance each attenuation fitting the shape and size of beings in Being as they are.
I don't believe in a God.
I sense God is what is surrounding and embodying all which appears -- actually, surround-itself, embodiment-itself.
We walk through God moving within each thing glancing and listening as itself with itself to and as itself . . .
Psalmic love and compassion
as it is