12/27/2025
~The Prayer That No Longer Asks
Author unknown
She does not fold her hands
to ask for anything.
She folds them
to remember
what has already been given.
Her eyes close
not to escape the world,
but because she has seen enough
to trust what comes next.
Around her,
the air carries quiet patterns
threads of stars,
lines of connection
that were always there
long before she learned their names.
Her breath moves slowly,
as if it has learned
the language of eternity
and no longer needs to hurry.
Every bead at her throat
holds a moment:
birth,
loss,
forgiveness,
days that refused to be easy
and nights that taught her
how to stay.
She is not praying for herself.
She is praying through herself.
For the children still learning
how to listen.
For the land that remembers
every footstep.
For the grief that needed
somewhere gentle to rest.
Her hands are steady
because they have released
the need to control
what was never hers to hold.
Inside her chest,
faith is no longer belief.
It is familiarity.
She understands this final truth:
a life lived with attention
becomes a blessing
without trying.
And as the smoke lifts around her,
the ancestors do not answer.
They simply arrive.
