instead of studying

or writing my 20 page paper, or organizing stuff for hack-a-class, or doing anything that matters in real time, i am reading brian doyle. because after spending the last month in my class making my students read things that are hard and tragic and reflect only the worst and most ugly parts about being a human (that torture, war, bitterness, hate, and anger happen daily), i wanted to find something that could soothe all the ragged nerves, all the ruptures that may have pocked their personal definitions of what being human means. so i've assigned dave eggers' rather wonderful "when they learned to yelp." but that is not enough. so i think we'll spend most of the day talking about the human connections that can come from tragedies. in that vein, we will read out loud brian doyle's perfect "leap"(the one that ends "Jennifer Brickhouse saw them holding hands, and Stuart DeHann saw them holding hands, and I hold onto that"). we will read "kaddish" (aramaic for "holy"--used especially during mourning rituals in judaism, ends with a supplication for peace), which is a list of one-line biographies of all the people who died in 9/11 and i will make them write one-line biographes of themselves and of someone dear to them.

and instead of stressing about the work that is not done that needs to be done and the snow that is falling fast outside, i will read "a prayer for pete" because it is lovely and good. it ends like this:

Do I really think that my prayers will save Pete, or cut his pain, or dilute his fear as he sees the darkness descending? Do I really think my prayers will make hs wife's agony any less, or reduce the confused sadness of his little boy?

No.

But I mutter prayers anyway, form them in the cave of my mouth and speak them awkwardly into the gray wind, watch as they are instantly shattered and splintered and whipped through the old oak trees and sent headlong into the dark river below, where they seem lost and vanished, empty gestures in a cold land.

Did they have any weight as they flew?

I don't know.

But I believe with all my heart that they mattered because I was moved to make them. I believe that the mysterious sudden impulse to pray is the prayer, and that the words we use for prayer are only envelopes in which to mail pain and joy, and that arguging about where prayers go, and who sorts the mail, and what unimaginable senses hear us is foolish.

It's the urge that matters--the sudden Save us that rises against the horror, the silent Thank you for joy.The children are safe, and we sit stunned and grateful by the side of the road; the children are murdered, every boy and girl in the whole village, and we sit stunned and desperate, and bow our heads, and whisper for their souls and our sins.

So a prayer for my friend Pete, in the gathering darkness, and a prayer for us all, that we be brave enough to pray, for it is an act of love, and love is why we are here.