“Prayer before BirthI am not yet born; O hear me.Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the club-footed ghoul come near me.I am not yet born, console me.I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me, with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me, on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.I am not yet born; provide meWith water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light in the back of my mind to guide me.I am not yet born; forgive meFor the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me, my treason engendered by traitors beyond me, my life when they murder by means of my hands, my death when they live me.I am not yet born; rehearse meIn the parts I must play and the cues I must take when old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white waves call me to folly and the desert calls me to doom and the beggar refuses my gift and my children curse me.I am not yet born; O hear me,Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God come near me.I am not yet born; O fill meWith strength against those who would freeze my humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton, would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with one face, a thing, and against all those who would dissipate my entirety, would blow me like thistledown hither and thither or hither and thither like water held in the hands would spill me.Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.Otherwise kill me.”

“PRAYER BEFORE BIRTHI am not yet born; O hear me.Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the club-footedghoul come near me.I am not yet born; console me.I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.I am not yet born; provide meWith water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talkto me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white lightin the back of my mind to guide me.I am not yet born; forgive meFor the sins that in me the world shall commit, my wordswhen they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,my life when they murder by means of myhands, my death when they live me.I am not yet born; rehearse meIn the parts I must play and the cues I must take whenold men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountainsfrown at me, lovers laugh at me, the whitewaves call me to folly and the desert callsme to doom and the beggar refusesmy gift and my children curse me.I am not yet born; O hear me,Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is Godcome near me.I am not yet born; O fill meWith strength against those who would freeze myhumanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton,would make me a cog in a machine, a thing withone face, a thing, and against all thosewho would dissipate my entirety, wouldblow me like thistledown hither andthither or hither and thitherlike water held in thehands would spill me.Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.Otherwise kill me.”

“I was sent forth from the power,and I have come to those who reflect upon me,and I have been found among those who seek after me.Look upon me, you who reflect upon me,and you hearers, hear me.You who are waiting for me, take me to yourselves.And do not banish me from your sight.And do not make your voice hate me, nor your hearing.Do not be ignorant of me anywhere or any time. Be on your guard!Do not be ignorant of me.For I am the first and the last.I am the honored one and the scorned one.I am the whore and the holy one.I am the wife and the virgin.I am and the daughter.I am the members of my mother.I am the barren oneand many are her sons.I am she whose wedding is great,and I have not taken a husband.I am the midwife and she who does not bear.I am the solace of my labor pains.I am the bride and the bridegroom,and it is my husband who begot me.I am the mother of my fatherand the sister of my husbandand he is my offspring.I am the slave of him who prepared me.I am the ruler of my offspring.But he is the one who begot me before the time on a birthday.And he is my offspring in (due) time,and my power is from him.I am the staff of his power in his youth,and he is the rod of my old age.And whatever he wills happens to me.I am the silence that is incomprehensibleand the idea whose remembrance is frequent.I am the voice whose sound is manifoldand the word whose appearance is multiple.I am the utterance of my name. -The Thunder, Perfect Mind”

“It’s my birthday, who could be calling me? Probably my clone, wondering why he hasn’t been born yet.”

“O Lord my God, tell me what you are to me. Say to my soul, I am your salvation. Say it so that I can hear it. My heart is listening, Lord; open the ears of my heard and say to my soul, I am your salvation. Let me run toward this voice and seize hold of you. Do not hide your face from me: let me die so that I may see it, for not to see it would be death to me indeed.”

“I have my booksAnd my poetry to protect me;I am shielded in my armor,Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.I touch no one and no one touches me.I am a rock,I am an island.”