The Breath that Lives: A Body Practice for Those Who Do Not Pray

What is it like to not pray?
A dove without wings.
A lute without strings.
And a sky without stars.

The midbar is my mouth.
When it opens, there is nothing
But dryness and dull aching.

But there is something forming.
A flood rising in the dark of my lungs. 

The tide, she whispers:

RuakhLit. Spirit. Some new versions of blessings call God "Spirit of the World" (Ruakh Ha’olam), rather than "King of the World" (Melekh Ha'olam). hayyim

The spirit
Moves here.
Quiet and dampened.

But alas,
She lives.