Thursday, August 26, 2004


Prayer at the Shrine of an Unknown Saint

"What might engage us in the face of a woman who stretches out her hand?" Craig Keen

Her body is all beauty. One hand grasps at her garment in a futile effort to conceal her nakedness. The garment slips to reveal bare breast; the chiseled cloth falls down her back. But the other hand, the left hand does not know (or care about) what the right hand is doing. It is outstretched to an absence, to a not-yet. It is a risky reach. Now exposed, the body is in a precarious position. She stands naked before the void.

Her fingertips extend to their utmost capacity and still they lack. She is waiting. It is as if all of her body—all of her being—were contained in those unfolded little pieces of flesh. That nothing is coming causes her to reach and wait for its arrival. And here in this moment she is unconcealed, revealed, true.