Autonomy, a Prayer

A meditation on the week after a prostatectomy.

Athens, Georgia

September 7, 2011; revised May 13, 2015

To be free from tubes and holding tight, with taut skin stretching staple-free, my belly humming blissfully beneath a bandaged five-part scar; to sneeze and laugh and like the twinge; to feel akin to fountain boy still en pissant in Brussels square; my body, unattached and free – 

              my freedom brings autonomy.

To step outside to open sky and feel the sun inspiring sweat; to swerve and crunch September leaves and smell the summer stored inside; to stand in shade air-cooled by breeze; to harbor strength to stride with ease to where I will; where will is strong –   

to will belongs autonomy.  

To pay due heed is prayer indeed, or prayer enough for one set free from climate-cooled sterility, from pumps, procedures, hardened tools, precision cuts that take out lumps and treasures of vitality in trade for time and open space to fill with what, that choice is mine – 

my choice defines autonomy.

To walk away from death each day, each step a prayer and prayer’s reply; each dawning light, a night behind, a morning more to hear the score of tiny tongues in praise of life; those chittering skittering prayers told by insects, birds and hurried souls too busy for reflective ways – 

through deepened thought, autonomy.

To claim the time to redefine my way within the sacred web, receiving life more graciously and giving back with equal ease, enraptured in the dance of grace, transforming old conflicted ways; a daily task, to drop what chains me to the past and reattach with what will last – 

in life of love, autonomy.

Photography by David Noah, Winterville, Georgia: 
"Birds and Wires"