“There are nights that are so still
that I can hear the small owl calling
far off and a fox barking
miles away. It is then that I lie
in the lean hours awake and listening
to the swell born somewhere in the Atlantic
rising and falling, rising and falling
wave on wave on the long shore
by the village, that is without light
and companionless. And the thought comes
of that other being who is awake, too,
letting our prayers break on him,
not like this for a few hours,
but for days, years, for eternity.”
~R.S. Thomas(1913-2000)’ The Other’

Reading this poem by Welsh poet R.S. Thomas, I once again connected with a feeling that can sometimes be disturbing and other times reassuring. His image of the one who lies awake at night thinking of ‘the other’ who is also awake on a far flung shore is one I have wrestled with most of my life. While I believe Thomas was probably speaking of his understanding of the Holy, what this poem dredges up in me is that deep sense of connection I often have, at fleeting moments, to those I have never met, those who live ‘across the sea’ of my experience.

This feeling often comes to me in large groups of people. Looking out across a wide expanse of humanity at, say, a sporting event or concert, I think about the fact that I do not know these people. I have no idea of the intricacies of their lives, what they love, what troubles them. I search the faces to look for familiar features that do not materialize. At the same time, I realize that the faces that look back do not know me. They do not know that my favorite color is green, that I love poetry, that I will choose pie over roast beef any day.

And yet here we all are. In this mix of people traveling the Earth together at the same time. Each of us making decisions and hoping for the best. Each of us seeking meaning and a way of being known, of being loved, of being heard. We all do it in different ways but the desire still wells up in us in similar ways. This somehow brings me great comfort when the specifics of my personal problems or the weight of my daily rounds threaten to overwhelm my sensibilities.

While R.S. Thomas thinks of the ultimate being that waits at the edges of the sea of prayers, I think of all those other beings, much like myself, who lie awake in the night worrying about their children or dreaming of a solution to a hovering problem. I think of the mothers, in the wee hours of the night, nursing their infants as I once did, trying to keep awake through sheer will. I also think of those mothers who cannot feed their children, who don’t know where the next meal will come from, and the despair that lives in them.While the poet imagines the prayers washing up on the shore of the Sacred, I imagine the person, on the other side of the world, looking into the night sky, gazing at the full, white moon, just like I am. Are they imaging a person who lives a life unlike their own yet with the same hope for a better world for their children, their grandchildren? Are they imagining me?

This may all sound silly but it is something that swooshes in on me every now and then. This feeling of traveling on this spinning planet with so many fragile, yet hopeful, beings seems such a gift. To feel the rush of the realization of all ‘the others’ that are spinning with me, seems rich, deep, not unlike a prayer.

Have you ever had this experience, this feeling? If not, I offer this to you: The next time sleep eludes you in the middle of the night, begin to think of all the people on the other side of the world who are already living a day you have not yet been given. Imagine them moving about their daily lives, just as you will when the sun rises. Imagine the ways their lives are so different, yet similar, to your own. Imagine sending them all the hopes you have for goodness in your life and the lives of those you love. Allow the prayers of your heart to connect with the hearts who, perhaps,do not speak the same language or share your faith tradition. Allow the rising and falling of your breath, the words of your prayers, to wash upon the shore of ‘the others.’

It is my suspicion that in doing so, those same prayers will also break upon ‘The Other’ for this hour, this day, this year, for eternity.