I used to pray all the time:
Give me this.
Do that.
Why?
How dare You?
Yadda yadda yadda
Blah blah blah…
Eventually, when my back was really to the wall,
I learned to narrow it down a bit:
Thy will be done.
That one pushed me down the road a ways,
Into the Whiteness
The Pure Land
The Fire
Up
Out
Down
In
Yet as I fell harder and harder in love,
That one became too much.
Eventually:
Oh, my love…
Just that.
What else?
Like a weary, devout Chassid breathing “Oy…” into his clasped hands.
Oh, my love.
But who says “Oh?”
And who loves back…
And forth…
Who says “I love you?”
Who prays?
There is no one home.
There is no one to pray.
But there is being in love.
That’s all.
Rays 
very wonderful
thank you, Amidha!
What good fortune to be in love. To be like an old skull bone out in the woods dragged there by a wild dog but to still witness a percolating love in and around ourselves and to allow that to come all the way down to the most ordinary places, to be alert to someone confused or in pain, not to even help them but just a mutual noticing, to see that we are alive in everything. That’s all!
Beautiful!