Prayer becomes a connection to those we do not know. As we intervene for people all over the world, we become mysteriously linked with them. So, when we enter the sacred space of prayer, a crowded, jostling, colorful procession accompanies us.
Sometimes, when a bird cries out,
Or the wind sweeps through a tree,
Or a dog howls in a far off farm,
I hold still and listen a long time.
My soul turns and goes back to the place
Where, a thousand forgotten years ago,
The bird and the blowing wind
Were like me, were my brothers and sisters.
My soul turns into a tree...