O child, your father is kindly indulgent,
viewing your cigar box treasures.
You hope to catch God’s ear with imaginings
garnered from the teachings –
proud of your knowledge, your disciplines,
your rock-ribbed faith. O petitioner!
You have to be broken to pray –
drop to your knees as if from a blow;
broken, not like a horse – but, irrevocably,
like an egg crushed underfoot.
You have to bring to your father
your most humble possessions –
ignorance, trepidation, disbelief;
helplessness and bewilderment.
You have to bring Him the truth
sans adornment or elaboration.
O child of God, when will you view yourself
through the eyes of your father?