Prompt 293. On the Floor
& the poet Joy Sullivan on prayer
Hi friend,
These last few weeks, I’ve been spending long days in my studio, pushing myself quite hard. Painting in large format has been wonderfully challenging but also exhausting. Each day I reach a point when my body feels leaden, when my mind is all “blankness and junk” (to quote Salman Rushdie), and I find myself on the floor, quite literally. When I was younger, I would have tried to keep going despite the exhaustion, just bulldozing right through. But after a decade of living in a body with limitations, I have learned that kind of bullheadedness catches up to you, often at great cost.
So rather than resist—or go the exact opposite direction and sink down in complete defeat—I try to honor my body and my mind. I have made the floor cozy and welcoming and restful, so when I find myself there, I feel held, for however long or short I need to be there. I started by placing a yoga mat in the corner. Soon after, I added a large heating pad, then a heated blanket, then a regular blanket, a pillow, and finally an eye mask. As I said in my recent Studio Visit, I think of it as my little hamster nest. Sometimes I lie there quietly, eyes closed, eye mask turning day into night. Sometimes I do breathwork. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I take the painting I’m working on from the table and lean it against the wall, and I lie there studying it from my ground-level perspective.
This is something I’m learning about paintings: when you’re making them, you need to be able to see them from different vantages. This of course applies to writing too; you have to look at a piece through various lenses, whether it’s through the lens of what my friend and mentor Melissa Febos calls “heat mapping,” or structural changes versus line edits. Sometimes you need to put it in a drawer for many days or weeks or even months, so you can return to it with fresh eyes. But with painting, it’s so much more immediate and concrete. Recently I watched a video by Caleb Simpson, a guy on TikTok who travels to different cities, stops people on the street, and asks how much they pay in rent and if he can tour their home. The subject of this particular video was a painter, and we got a glimpse of her live/work space. It was an art studio with a lofted bedroom that she’d cut a little window in so she could lie in bed and study her work from above. This resonated with me so much as I lie here, as I learn to trust that being on the floor is as valuable as being upright.
Some days I’m on the floor once, others several times. I think now of my grandmother Cherifa, who is no longer alive. A devout Muslim, she would pray the requisite five times a day, and I’m convinced that she remained limber into old age because of her prostrations—standing on her prayer mat, then kneeling, then bowing her head to the ground over and over again. To me, the ground feels like a sacred place, whether you end up there for reasons of exhaustion, desperation, or gratitude. Building my little hamster nest has helped make a ritual of my rest, turning it into a meditation—a prayer even.
In “The Summer’s Day,” the poet Mary Oliver writes, “I don’t know exactly what a prayer is./ I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down/ into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,/ how to be idle and blessed.” For today, this last Sunday of National Poetry Month, we have two poems on prayer and a prompt by Joy Sullivan. They’re from her beautiful new collection, Instructions for Traveling West. May they show you how to pay attention, how to fall down, how to be idle and blessed.
Sending love,
Suleika
Some items of note—
If you missed our last virtual hour for paid subscribers, we’ve posted a recap at Notes from the Hatch: On Universal Love. There you can find the poem we read for inspiration, along with Carmen’s reflections on the beauty of naivety and how one little phrase can set off a reverie.
Need a little mood boost? Each week in our Isolation Journals chat, we share one small joy we want to hold onto. This week I wrote about how some beautiful new art books are teaching me a different style of reading. To be buoyed by the joys of others and to add yours to the chorus, click here!
Prompt 293. Two Prayer Poems by Joy Sullivan
Buttercream
I was raised in a house that believed in the end times. By age 3, I was convinced Jesus would return before my 4th birthday and I wouldn’t get my golden-haired Barbie and the chocolate cake with tufts of buttercream. I bargained with God. I will be good. I will not free the corn parrot from her cage. I will not wake my mother during siesta. Delay your coming, Lord, just until after the party. Heaven can’t be as sweet as buttercream.
I grew up and the rapture never came. I shed God, or at least tried, but I still found myself bargaining through the years. Let me just have my first kiss. Let me just get into grad school. Let me just meet the love of my life. Let me just see the ocean again. These days, I don’t fear God’s return in a cloud of smoke and fire. I don’t pray. But when the love for this world gets too big and achy inside me, I still catch myself begging—give us our kisses, our fingers in the dirt, our sweat and our sweetness. Give us time. Please, just a little longer in these bones.
I Haven’t Prayed in Years
I haven’t prayed in years but if I did start I would never say the word please because if you’re praying then, well, that’s implied.
And I would never say the word dear because that is too formal like a thank-you card to your grandmother that your mother made you write after you got the ugly ornament that one Christmas when you were ten and you still have it because throwing it away now somehow feels like cheating.
I would never swear in a prayer because that seems risky and if you are praying, you generally aren’t feeling ballsy. You are all out of balls and that’s why you are praying.
I’d never write down a prayer either because written prayers are sort of like flags in that you can’t burn or rip them up so you bury them and then are secretly disappointed when nothing grows out of the ground.
I think if I started praying I’d put bees inside that prayer so it buzzed in my mouth and fell off my tongue and into the air thick and swarming, a hot cloud that could sting and sweat and swab like honey.
I’d put a matchbox in my prayer so I could make a fire and if God didn’t hear the prayer at least he’d see the smoke.
Your prompt for the week:
Write about prayer. About who you talk to, when you do it, and how it has changed over time. If you don’t pray, write about how you’d pray and what you’d pray for if you did.
If you’d like, you can post your response to today’s prompt in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals. As a reminder, we love seeing your work inspired by the Isolation Journals, but to preserve this as a community space, we request no promotion of outside projects.
Today’s Contributor—
Joy Sullivan received an MA in poetry from Miami University and has served as the poet-in-residence for the Wexner Center for the Arts. She has guest-lectured in classrooms from Stanford University to Florida International University and is the founder of Sustenance, a community designed to help writers revitalize and nourish their craft. Read her thoughts on the creative life in her newsletter,
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For more paid subscriber benefits, see—
Lighting the Way, an installment of my Dear Susu column about a mother’s plea for a mantra to get through difficult times, and our beloved community’s response.
Studio Visit with Melissa Febos, who shows us how to hold difficult things up to the light and examine them in a way that allows us to see ourselves more clearly.
A Guided Breath Session with my friend and breathwork coach Taylor Somerville, perfect for staying grounded and re-energizing.
Our Isolation Journal No. 1 and Surrender Tote
We designed a custom Isolation Journal with all our favorite features and a tote embroidered with my forever mantra to carry it around in—both pictured here out for a stroll on a glorious spring day. Our stock is limited, so if you’d like one, just click the button below!
To pray, no words are necessary.
Be still in the silence.
Listen. Breathe.
You will know.
A few years ago TIJ had a prompt asking us to compose a prayer. I just revisited what I wrote at the time. To sum up the prayer I composed I prayed for happiness, health and freedom for all. For the ability to give others the benefit of the doubt. The capability to hear both sides of a story without rushing to judgement. The willingness to be kind to others and to treat them as we would want to be treated ourselves. The ability to be patient and compassionate with those whose decisions we feel are harmful to them and the capability to be empathetic towards those who are not ready to change. Finally I asked for the willingness to forgive those who have wronged me even if they are not sorry so as not to experience the pain of holding a grudge. These are all things I pray for. And aspire to. Another part of prayer I find very important is taking the time to be grateful for what I have already even though I may be going through difficult times.
I recently returned from a trip to Italy with my husband. Italy is the land of churches. We visited countless churches and one beautiful synagogue. At every church my husband stopped to pray. Sometimes I too prayed alongside him, but I also took the opportunity to appreciate the beauty and age of these buildings.We saw several churches that were built as early as 386 CE. The fact that people were able to build these massive buildings with so few tools and that the buildings are still standing albeit with additions and repairs is awe inspiring. The depth of belief in God and the beauty of the artwork depicting those beliefs are indescribable.
I do not know exactly what prayer is and to whom I am praying, but for me it is important to try to take the time to be grateful for what I have, to wish the best for others and to appreciate that I am but a small speck in time and in the universe.