WARNING: Occupying Myself blog entries may be triggering to some readers. At times I address the abuse in my childhood with humor, irony and sarcasm; this may offend many. Comments will be read and moderated.
We've been having a lot of fun watching the dogs pray. So does your Westie pray to an object of reverence?
The most likely Original Deity of our species would have been an archetypical version of Mitochondrial Eve. But our Greatest Grandmother, the First Of Us All, is dead. She cannot hear or respond to requests. She does not require that anyone admire Her glorious qualities, or rehash their personal failings. Indeed, since She lived long before spoken language developed in our species, words are pretty much pointless. To revere Her is to be minus the luxury of Objective, Live, Listening Presence.
But, similar to the followers of the various sky-gods, I can frame myself in reference to a psychological projection. I can compare my fortitude to the courage of a Woman entirely unique among Her people. She knew Aloneness more pure than any isolation felt since. She would have been acquainted, like we all are, with every physical discomfort and lack; every instinct and impulse; pleasure and disappointment.
I can see what there is of Her in Me. If that's prayer, then I do pray. And it feels more natural and safe to engage in these meditations without conversation.
As a child, any time I asked a sky-god for anything, as I had been coached to do, I received the opposite. When I found myself needing relief from unbearable circumstances, Conversational Prayer yielded...more circumstance.
Did a lack of positive response prove that sky-gods do not exist? Not exactly. But it was confusing, to say the least, that sincere, respectful prayer netted me red-hot, angry scorpions.* The great Masculinized Collective Psychological Projection seemed always in a mood to smack me back into the arms of bad people and painful circumstances. My wisest course of action lay in leaving off drawing attention to myself.
I sank into Silence. Watched my feelings, thoughts and wants arise, drift about and dissipate. Oppressive and painful circumstances revealed themselves to be in flux with beauty and aspiration. Everyone receives circumstances, rising or falling with them. Filtering random experiences through a cyclic, generative female body domesticated my terror and encouraged me to seek the meaning behind pain messages. It took many cycles to reunite with that awesome, circumstance-mangled body, my teacher. My home.
The Sheness of our origins ultimately exited me from the widely-accepted, abusive Way. Onto this narrow road where I move forward through circumstances one step at a time, all on my own.**
Some people employ prayer as a means of adhering to prescribed behavioral codes and prohibitions. Many use it as an affordable and ever-handy way of contacting archetypes and subtle ego projections (i.e., therapy). And some few slip in-and-out of tangible nothingness just long enough to verify the singularity of their journey. A metaphysical glance left and right to prevent them drifting into someone else's lane.
Be well - your Westie loves you!