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My prayers are becoming more deliberate and specific. It has occurred to me that it's not much use to send prayers out to the universe that are lazy. Every morning before meditation, I kneel in the temple and talk for a few minutes to God. I found during the beginning of my stay here at the Ashram that I was often dull-witted during those divine conversations. Tired, confused and bored, my prayers sounded the same. I remember kneeling down one morning, touching my forehead to the floor and muttering to my creator, "Oh, I dunno what I need . . . but you must have some ideas . . . so just do something about it, would you?"
我的禱告愈來愈慎重而具體。我意識到，送出怠惰的禱告給宇宙，發揮不了什么作用。每天清晨禪坐前，我跪在寺院里，對神說幾分鐘的話。我發現初來道場之時，在這些神圣交流時刻，我經常腦袋遲鈍。對疲倦、疑惑、厭煩的我來說，禱告詞聽起來總是一成不變。我記得某天早上跪在地上，額頭碰地，向造物主喃喃地說：“喔，我不曉得自己需要什么……但你肯定有些想法吧……請你看著辦，好嗎？”
Similar to the way I have oftentimes spoken to my hairdresser.
類似我對美發師的說話方式。
And, I'm sorry, but that's a little lame. You can imagine God regarding that prayer with an arched eyebrow, and sending back this message: "Call me again when you decide to get serious about this."
但是很抱歉，這不太有說服力。你能想象，神對這段禱辭抬了抬眉毛，送回這則訊息：“你決定當回事的時候再來找我吧。”
Of course God already knows what I need. The question is—do I know? Casting yourself at God's feet in helpless desperation is all well and good—heaven knows, I've done it myself plenty of times—but ultimately you're likely to get more out of the experience if you can take some action on your end. There's a wonderful old Italian joke about a poor man who goes to church every day and prays before the statue of a great saint, begging, "Dear saint—please, please, please . . . give me the grace to win the lottery." This lament goes on for months. Finally the exasperated statue comes to life, looks down at the begging man and says in weary disgust, "My son—please, please, please . . . buy a ticket."
當然，神已知道我需要什么。問題是——我自己知不知道？在走投無路的情況下，跪倒在神面前，是無可厚非的事——天知道我已經做了多少次——可是如果你這邊能夠采取行動，則可能從經驗中獲得更多。有一則古老的意大利笑話：一名窮人每天去教堂，在圣像前祈禱，請求：“親愛的圣人——拜托、拜托、拜托……請賜予我贏得樂透彩的恩寵。”他的哀求持續了數個月。最后，被惹惱的圣像活了起來，低頭看著乞憐的人，輕蔑地說：“孩子啊——拜托、拜托、拜托……去買彩票吧！”
Prayer is a relationship; half the job is mine. If I want transformation, but can't even be bothered to articulate what, exactly, I'm aiming for, how will it ever occur? Half the benefit of prayer is in the asking itself, in the offering of a clearly posed and well-considered intention. If you don't have this, all your pleas and desires are boneless, floppy, inert; they swirl at your feet in a cold fog and never lift. So now I take the time every morning to search myself for specificity about what I am truly asking for. I kneel there in the temple with my face on that cold marble for as long as it takes me to formulate an authentic prayer. If I don't feel sincere, then I will stay there on the floor until I do. What worked yesterday doesn't always work today. Prayers can become stale and drone into the boring and familiar if you let your attention stagnate. In making an effort to stay alert, I am assuming custodial responsibility for the maintenance of my own soul.
禱告是一種關系；我負有一半責任。我如想轉變，卻懶得表達自己確切想要的東西，那將如何發生？禱告有一半的好處是在于請求本身，在于提供一個姿態清晰、思慮成熟的意向。若不具備這些，你的請求和欲望都將軟弱無力；其只會在陰冷的霧中在你腳邊打轉，永遠無法升空。因此我現在每天早晨都抽空找尋自己真正想請求的特定東西。我跪在寺院里，臉久久地貼在冰冷的大理石上，制定道道地地的禱詞。假使覺得不真誠，就待在原地，直到想出來為止。昨天奏效的東西，今天可不見得行得通。如果讓自己的注意力變得遲鈍，禱詞可能失去新意，變得枯燥乏味。我努力保持警醒，承擔維護自身靈魂的責任。
