I have an interest in the word "you" — the address that intimates use for each other, that yearning we might have, that sense of addressing self, other, Other, the void, the past, the unknown, the deeply known. That word allows me spaciousness without definition, and I like it, so I regularly repeat the word "you", in Irish, with the in and out of breath, until I've forgotten who is speaking and who is being addressed. ("The eye with which I see God / is the eye with which I see myself", my bewildering friend Meister Eckhart says.)
Is this a prayer? Sure. Is it a prayer? Why not? Is it a prayer? No. Is it? Yes. Too many years of theological study have immunized me from any interest in definitions that ask the impossible of the intellect. I'm interested in practices and signposts to the present. And breath is such a signpost, such a practice, and such an infinity.
At times God seems to give us stones impossible to digest. In these moments think of the pearl oyster: it retains the accidental grain of sand within itself for a long time, constantly bathing in it with its secretions. In due time a magnificent pearl is created. In like manner the animosities and antipathies that make their way into our hearts are seemingly indigestible pebbles. However, if we keep them wrapped in prayer, they will become pearls of love. Prayer provokes this miracle of love. Indeed, what appears to be indigestible can become real nourishment for prayer.