Skip to main content

PRAYER by Ruth Calder Murphy


“The Dance” has become for me a metaphor for life –

 For existence as a whole, in fact, where Life includes our physical deaths and whatever might lie beyond them. Many of my poems refer to the Dance, or dancing, and my complete poetry collection is called “The Dance” (with “Ghost Dance” and “Sun Dance” being the first two volumes) because for me, “The Dance” is a metaphor for life and my poetry is the way I express it.

This poem, Prayer, is saying something that’s at the core of my perspective. Firstly, that prayer, worship, connection with the Divine, is not only about one-off rituals or events, but about the whole of life, our whole experience of living. It’s what the Dance is all about.

Secondly, that…

 Everything we are, everything - and everyone - we see or hear or touch, in whatever way, is an expression of that Divinity.

We and the world around us ARE the Dance and the Dance itself IS Divine.
~'Ballet' photograph by Phreik (Emily Rose)~

Prayer

I will dance the dance of the ocean.
I will dance the dance of the trees.
I will dance with the surf-capped waves
and the breeze-crazed leaves.
I will dance the dance of the meadow,
the dance of the mountaintops,
I will dance with the blood-red poppies
and the lichened rocks.
I will dance the dance of moonlight,
I will dance where sunbeams play;
I will dance with the stars at midnight
and with the golden day.
I will dance the dance of living,
I will dance the dance of prayer.
I will dance to the dancing centre
and meet you there.
~

Ruth Calder Murphy is a writer, artist, music teacher, wife and mother living in London, UK. Her life is wonderfully full of creativity and low-level chaos. She is the author of one published novel, “The Scream,” several books of poetry and one or two as-yet unpublished novels. She is passionate about celebrating the uniqueness of people, questioning the unquestionable and discovering new perspectives on old wonders. She is learning to ride the waves that come along—peaks and troughs—and is waking up to just how wonderful life really is. You can visit Ruth and view more of her art on her website here, or on her Facebook page. Her latest book is available on Amazon here, and here


~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~  

Comments

  1. In the bhakti yoga tradition the center of divinity is marked by a dance between the Divine Feminine and the Divine Masculine. It is called the 'rasa dance' and all souls are meant to energize it. This dance also reverberates all around us nature, as it does in your poem. So naturally, your poem resounded with the dance images written into ancient, Sanskrit poems, and I loved that about it! Thank you for sharing your beautiful poetry with us, yet again, dear Ruth.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The cadence of this poem / prayer had me swirling to a tune and it brought up Leonard Cohen singing "Dance me to the end of Love". Yes.

    ReplyDelete
  3. For me to dance is to live- I cannot go onto the next project without dancing into it.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Discovering these comments more than a year late, so I'm sorry for the delay - but thank you, all!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

  This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with.  I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC    by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night.  I am the tough green

WINTER SOLSTICE: A GIFT OF LOVE by Carolyn Riker

I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me   slow down   until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without