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blog 11: a tale of the once familiar

I am not a footrest, contrary to what my placement might tell you. I am not the ground– I rest above it. My worn wood is still warmer than the cold, hard stone beneath me. It has more give, too. I exist to keep your knees clean. To keep them soft and bruise-free. To give to you a special place, a specific place, to set your knees upon and pray.

I sit here basking in the glow of filtered light. The green and red and yellow dance with me. I sit until some tired wanderer, some aged traveler, some well-known brother comes and fulfills my purpose. To the rare visitor nowadays my wood is so familiar. Maybe not in color or texture, or height or width, but in the action; the practice is so familiar. And so I sit here, waiting here, gathering dust here, until I once again become familiar– at least for a prayer or two.

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