I bring the flame to compressed dry aromatic plant material, a long stick attached to a red handle: incense. After a few tries, it finally catches flame. I rotate the incense between my index finger and thumb to have the temporary flare burn into an even ember.
Legs together, hands clamped, back straight. I bow once to start the prayer, then in silence, I pray. I’m not sure if you look at the idol or not, but I always find myself staring at the point of the incense. As I think and pray, I watch the ember eat the joss stick, seeing how much of the ash stays on before it drops. It takes about a minute to burn enough where the ash would drop. I stood immobile for three.
What is it that I pray for? A combination of things. I wanted to express and organize my ideas to a being that would listen. For the first minute I thought of all the things outside my control, and how I wish it weren’t so. I wonder how I came to where I was, and how I wish things were different. But I wasn’t praying to a time machine, and I wasn’t asking for one to happen. As I release all my troubles, my victim mentality, and how nothing is in my control, the first of the ash falls.
As I stared at the piece of incense that remains, I notice how fresh the ember is. With the shedding of the ash, the fire burns brighter. With my second minute, I think about all that I can do. How everything is the result of my doing; my life as the product of my cataclysm. What really is or isn’t in my power. What do I know better now based on the mistakes of my past, where am I helpless and where am I just believing so, as to not confront these issues as responsibilities of my own. My human faults, my process of learning, my continual manifestation of my personal Phoenix, and the charring rebirth it brings. The ash falls again.
In the last minute, I just stand there. My mind is empty, drained out. I feel the position of how my body is slumped, my calves a bit sore from running in the morning, and my back not as upright. I correct myself, pay my attention to the idol and his piercing eyes; piercing, but kind. After the silence, I bow three more times. I move the incense towards the pot. The ash drops again, and I insert the fresh flame of prayed incense for the universe to witness.
I step back, pray three congenial times with my hands pressed together and I leave the house with a drift of smoke. The scent isn’t strong enough to stain my clothes, but I know it’s there. With the embracing prayer I walk into the world. With every minute I know I am reborn. As the smoke fills my hearth, dissipating into the walls, sanctifying the air; I have faith, I know, that somehow somewhere, someone hears me.
