I have been asked before what a prayer means to me and I have always been reluctant to answer because of how strange and outlandish the answer has always been. Stories. They are my prayer. I think prayer is supposed to fill you up, to make you feel connected to something(one) greater, to make you aware of your finite existence, and to give you perspective. Prayer should be comfort and stories are my comfort.
I play Ramin Djawadi’s Goodbye Brother when I want to slowly float on a violin string. I watch Lady Lyanna Mormont declare Jon the King in the North when I want to see the tide turned on a word. I open a page of Taiye Selasi’s Ghana Must Go when I want to understand sorrow and sadness. When I want to feel peace beyond anything I can conjure up on my own, I put on this playlist of every song Khalid has ever sung.
In each of these instances and more, I feel the connections deeply. There is a lot to be mournful, aggravated, and angry about today. But, I beg you, consider art. Pray and see if the load does not shift ever so slightly. Hermione will not teach me how to write my reports and neither will Arya Dröttningu give me some expert advice. But I will watch as they move within their narratives, feel Olanna’s pain as she realizes Kainene is gone, and watch as Bolu Babalola and Neil Gaiman bring Anansi, Ọ̀ṣun, Ayé, Yemọja, and Ṣàngó to life.
And I will breathe in and out, feeling what I need to feel.Because that is how I say a little prayer.
Kimondo 