Eat Pray Love ch 9-2
I wish I could write a petition to God, asking for this thing to end.” “So why don't you?” I explained to Iva my personal opinions about prayer.
Namely, that I don't feel comfortable petitioning for specific things from God, because that feels to me like a kind of weakness of faith. I don't like asking, “Will you change this or that thing in my life that's difficult for me?” Because—who knows?—God might want me to be facing that particular challenge for a reason. Instead, I feel more comfortable praying for the courage to face whatever occurs in my life with equanimity, no matter how things turn out. Iva listened politely, then asked, “Where'd you get that stupid idea?” “What do you mean?” “Where did you get the idea you aren't allowed to petition the universe with prayer? You are part of this universe, Liz. You're a constituent—you have every entitlement to participate in the actions of the universe, and to let your feelings be known. So put your opinion out there. Make your case. Believe me—it will at least be taken into consideration.” “Really?” All this was news to me. “Really! Listen—if you were to write a petition to God right now, what would it say?” I thought for a while, then pulled out a notebook and wrote this petition: Dear God. Please intervene and help end this divorce. My husband and I have failed at our marriage and now we are failing at our divorce. This poisonous process is bringing suffering to us and to everyone who cares about us. I recognize that you are busy with wars and tragedies and much larger conflicts than the ongoing dispute of one dysfunctional couple. But it is my understanding that the health of the planet is affected by the health of every individual on it. As long as even two souls are locked in conflict, the whole of the world is contaminated by it. Similarly, if even one or two souls can be free from discord, this will increase the general health of the whole world, the way a few healthy cells in a body can increase the general health of that body. It is my most humble request, then, that you help us end this conflict, so that two more people can have the chance to become free and healthy, and so there will be just a little bit less animosity and bitterness in a world that is already far too troubled by suffering. I thank you for your kind attention.
Respectfully, Elizabeth M. Gilbert I read it to Iva, and she nodded her approval. “I would sign that,” she said. I handed the petition over to her with a pen, but she was too busy driving, so she said, “No, let's say that I did just sign it. I signed it in my heart.” “Thank you, Iva. I appreciate your support.” “Now, who else would sign it?” she asked. “My family. My mother and father. My sister.” “OK,” she said. “They just did. Consider their names added. I actually felt them sign it. They're on the list now. OK—who else would sign it? Start naming names.” So I started naming names of all the people who I thought would sign this petition. I named all my close friends, then some family members and some people I worked with. After each name, Iva would say with assurance, “Yep. He just signed it,” or “She just signed it.” Sometimes she would pop in with her own signatories, like: “My parents just signed it. They raised their children during a war. They hate useless conflict. They'd be happy to see your divorce end.” I closed my eyes and waited for more names to come to me. “I think Bill and Hillary Clinton just signed it,” I said. “I don't doubt it,” she said. “Listen, Liz—anybody can sign this petition. Do you understand that? Call on anyone, living or dead, and start collecting signatures.” “Saint Francis of Assisi just signed it!” “Of course he did!” Iva smacked her hand against the steering wheel with certainty. Now I was cooking: “Abraham Lincoln just signed it! And Gandhi, and Mandela and all the peacemakers. Eleanor Roosevelt, Mother Teresa, Bono, Jimmy Carter, Muhammad Ali, Jackie Robinson and the Dalai Lama . and my grandmother who died in 1984 and my grandmother who's still alive . and my Italian teacher, and my therapist, and my agent . and Martin Luther King Jr. and Katharine Hepburn . and Martin Scorsese (which you wouldn't necessarily expect, but it's still nice of him) . and my Guru, of course . and Joanne Woodward, and Joan of Arc, and Ms. Carpenter, my fourth-grade teacher, and Jim Henson—” The names spilled from me. They didn't stop spilling for almost an hour, as we drove across Kansas and my petition for peace stretched into page after invisible page of supporters. Iva kept confirming—yes, he signed it, yes, she signed it—and I became filled with a grand sense of protection, surrounded by the collective goodwill of so many mighty souls. The list finally wound down, and my anxiety wound down with it. I was sleepy. Iva said, “Take a nap. I'll drive.” I closed my eyes. One last name appeared. “Michael J. Fox just signed it,” I murmured, then drifted into sleep. I don't know how long I slept, maybe only for ten minutes, but it was deep. When I woke up, Iva was still driving. She was humming a little song to herself. I yawned. My cell phone rang. I looked at that crazy little telefonino vibrating with excitement in the ashtray of the rental car. I felt disoriented, kind of stoned from my nap, suddenly unable to remember how a telephone works. “Go ahead,” Iva said, already knowing. “Answer the thing.” I picked up the phone, whispered hello. “Great news!” my lawyer announced from distant New York City. “He just signed it!”
