Calling God
May 1997
By Surinder Sharma
The ways of prayer are many but the aim is one
What could be more harmonious and elevating than the turn of the prayer wheel or the stillness that follows sonorous Buddhist chanting? Who cannot but be moved by the frenzied kirtans of Iskcon devotees that create a hyper-kinetic energy field like Osho’s celebration dances?
A prayer is born anywhere: a temple of fire, a majestic cathedral, a roadside mosque—wherever silences merge with silences, spirit with spirit, whenever minds melt in devotion and hearts open to God’s grace.
For a Sikh devotee, doing kar seva (service) in a gurdwara is prayer. A single note of a flute-player can rise heavenwards in prayer. For a Zen monk, prayer is poured into the painting of a single blade of grass.
Or, when moonlight shines off his face and he hears the sound of a frog leaping in a nearby pool, prayer can become a haiku. In the silence of the prayer is heard the whispers of the gods.