In this latter part of life, my prayer of the heart is most often without words. My tongue is stilled. My mind is stilled. The prayer of the heart becomes the heart's own respiration. I breathe in and I breathe out. It is God's breath. God breathing in, God breathing out. It is God's breath breathing me.
Work is work and there's harmony in it when the dignity it deserves is allowed to thrive naturally. The greatest teaching manual labor provides a contemplative practice is that there is no separation between work and prayer: work is prayer and prayer is work.