Prayer and The Vengeance Demon

I cannot pray.

I was watching an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer yesterday. In it, the Scoobies were having a birthday party for Buffy. What they did not know was that a Vengeance Demon had cursed them, compelling them to stay together inside until they died. If they attempted to head for the door they were not able. They were stuck. Even with the greatest effort, with the greatest intent and will and desire, even when knowing they were stuck, they could not move. They could go upstairs and downstairs and all around the house, but could not manage the smallest gesture needed to orient them to the door. When they tried to talk about it, it was as if their beings were encased in molasses, the effort was so great to break even the smallest aspect of the spell. Paralysis would set in.

And that sums up my current life and my prayer life.

I am frustrated.

We preface the Amidah with, "Open my mouth, O Lord, and my lips will proclaim Your praise".I never understood what this meant until now. I used to think it was rather ridiculous. Of course prayer is easy! What could possibly hamper my heart and my soul, my will and my speech- to pray to G-d is unalloyed joy! In prayer, I was carried along on wings, gliding along a ribbon of words, swooping over and diving into a river of words, an ocean of words, becoming skylark, singing like the skylarks sing, wheeling, descending and ascending.

And now I try to move in a sea of glue. My mind is encased in amber, and I am running up and down within, and around and around. I have difficulty concentrating, but if I make a real effort, I can focus. But then davenning Shacharit becomes overwhelming. I anticipate all the words before me. If I start from the beginning, I am looking at the Sargasso Sea. How to break the curse?

Well, there are many opinions, or ways, some suggested by tradition. The standard response to my dilemma would be that we are obligated to daven 3 times a day, no matter what. On the outside edge of this response are those who think that merely saying the words, making sounds, is enough-your obligation is fulfilled. A variation on this theme is to daven all the words and perhaps something will happen, even if you are not connecting; at least there is anticipation. Another suggestion is to daven the important parts. There is even an abbreviated version of the Amidah for those who haven't the time to do the whole thing. Or one could work with a variation on the morning prayers- there is Sim Shalom(C), Gates of Prayer (Reform), the Artscroll Edition (O), Kol Haneshama (Reconstructionist), a siddur with commentary by Rabbi SR Hirsch, and the Hasidic siddur, all of which I own and have used (unfortunately they all are presently in storage except Sim Shalom). There are also Tehillim (Psalms). All-in-all a vast and fertile well of words, abounding with possibility. Yet, I cannot move towards the door.

The Vengeance Demon is summoned by her old VD pal, Anya. She refuses to break the spell. Until she realises that she cannot leave either! Now that she is inside, she is trapped as well. She knows that in order to release herself, she must release them. Instantly, she waves her arms and says, "Okay, you can all leave now". Huh???? It was so easy! No fulsome incantations? No disgusting admixture of "eye of newt and tongue of gerbil"?

I somehow do not think that there is a single magic key to breaking the spell- that is for fairy tales and TV shows. Some of the early Hasidim would actually spend an hour in meditation just preparing for prayer, fulfilling the words, "Open my mouth, O Lord, and my lips will proclaim Your praise". There is a story told of the Baal Shem Tov, who refused to enter a particular synagogue. When asked why, he said it was "too crowded". "But", pointed out the people, "there are plenty of seats". "No, it is too crowded with prayers, from floor to ceiling- dead prayers, stale prayers, prayers of habit".

Then along comes Nachman of Breslov, another great Hasidic master, who enjoins Jews to go out into the fields and just talk with G-d- out loud. In this marvelous little book, The Empty Chair, he advises:

As often as you can, take a trip out to the fields to pray. All the grasses will join you. They will enter your prayers and give you strength to sing praises to God.

Okay, I get the picture. Prayer by rote is less than useless. Kavannah is essential. How to reconcile, then, all the facets of this Jewish picture? I have so much choice. Lately, I have found that even though I can be less than disciplined, there is something to the standard exhortation to fulfill the obligation of prayer, though as I understand it, it is not from the Torah (it is a Rabbinic injunction). Often, I think, the Sages were wise and divinely inspired. So, discipline is good and worth the effort. Davenning every day informs my Jewishness and gives sacred structure to my life.

Yet, I think that it is better to speak the words with at least an anticipation that something will happen. I have tried rote, just to fulfill the obligation, but I find myself incapable of an act that seems so unnatural to me. If I add hope to it, that something will happen, I am making the effort. Even prayer at its most fundamental- largely by rote, shows the davenner is making an effort. But I think being aware that something changes when we pray enriches even the dreariest moments with possibility.

Some days, I can barely speak in prayer. Some days I am mute. Some days all I can say, besides the Shema, is "help". Other days, I pray a passage from another Breslov book, The Gentle Weapon. I have walked in the fields and talked to G-d, and cried in my room to G-d. I have found some comfort in Tehillim in the middle of the night. Sometimes, I am aware that simply one's being is a prayer, if it is turned towards or back to G-d. I have davenned all of the morning service for fairly long stretches. I have the least trouble davenning when I am in a minyan, which for the moment, is not available to me on weekdays. At Shabbat services, I have no problems focussing. G-d is getting a scattershot of prayer from me- sometimes structured, sometimes chaotic, but never, I realise, weak or indifferent, and always- me. So, I guess that, even within this petrified world I seem to inhabit, I am doing something besides banging noisily against the bars.

I want to have light bones, hollow bones; I want to sing. The only thing I have not been able to accomplish yet is to find the words or action to break the curse- the emotional and psychological paralysis that makes my prayer and my life seem so heavy and sluggish. I know the words will be simple. And the act will be simple. As purely as I know that the Vengeance Demon is me.