I was in the hospital recently, and walking the halls, I came to a series of glass compositions created by a friend of mine, from college. Cappy Thompson — Seattle glass artist; and she is still exploring and experimenting — the same, since our connections in the 70s, at the Evergreen State College (see the breadth of her explorations, and her, here:

These are a beautiful and inspirationally created series of treatments. They are very quietly arranged, in a subtle and meditative array — a southern corridor of ideas, words, translucent stories. Very simple, emotionally compelling, intentional — but they are more than the one — the art alone — they are the frames, the supporting glassed smelting, the acid etched text — the scratching of carboned engraving, light coming through.

Light coming through.

I moved to the right indices of vista, light, refraction and reflection — and there was the light. And I shot it, then and there, standing in the wander (and the wonder) of that moment’s sight.

Walking the halls, a contemplation — I was thinking about the good, the life, the living and the dying — the life of the beginning, and the life at the ending. And the beautiful stretch between. Being in that sacred place of reflection, it was about that — prayer.

That word, what is the meaning: pray? That, the prayer, that is living: pray, live, question, ask — reaching back to the most ancient time, when words were sounds and seeds of magic: the proto-indo-european: *prek — “ask, request, entreat.”Sanskrit —prasna-, Avestan frashna– “question;”
Prayer, the meditation, the imprecation of questioning — an invoking: the voice within.

The beginning of any wander — is the start of the question. Which is the quest.

And the prayer.

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