As with all conversation, prayer can involve much more than words. Making an offering, for instance, is praying with an object. The gods may be prayed to with dance, or music, or gestures. Even when words are involved, any of these other methods of prayer may be used as well.
When you assume a posture, you pray with your body. When you speak, you pray with your mind. When you pray with your mind, objects, and your body, you pray with your soul. It rises up into the presence of the gods and communes with them; you speak, or just rest in their presence.
In fact, it's virtually impossible to pray with words alone. After all, your body has to be in some position when words are spoken or thought. This position is an integral part of your prayer. The gods reveal themselves to us in bodies, and it is with our bodies that we pray to them. We both come before the gods in bodies, and we use our bodies to pray to them. The position you take “prays” as much as the words you say.
Just like with words, the nonword elements of prayer can be marked. Let's look at some of them.
First, prayer is often sung or accompanied by music, even if only by a drum. You can use the musical style to create a mood and to conform to the culture of the deity addressed—Irish music for a prayer to an Irish deity, Vedic chanting for Vedic ones. I myself would like to see fewer pseudo-Celtic songs and minor keys in modern Paganism. Experiment with country and western, blues, rock, rap. Pagans are supposed to be creative. Create.
In many traditions, prayers are sung or chanted. Vedic mantras, for instance, are always sung. American Indian prayers are often chanted. And some of the greatest music of the Western world is no more than musical prayer—Mozart's Requiem, for example. Different cultures and traditions have given different reasons for why music can enhance or empower prayer. In some Greek mystery religions, certain notes were thought to correspond to different aspects of the universe, or even to an Ultimate Reality. But there are practical reasons for the linkages between music and prayer as well. It's easier, for instance, to remember a song than a paragraph. Moreover, music cuts deeper than simple words. It has a power to move that's entirely separate from the words set to it. How much better, then, if words and music convey the same message?
Most of us, however, aren't Mozart and aren't apt to produce a Requiem. (Budding Mozarts out there, please get to work.) In the meantime, what's a poor Pagan to do?
If you worship in a tradition that has its own style of music, you already have the answer. For those of us who are following a European path, I recommend Gregorian chant. Yes, this is traditionally a Christian form of music, but it may have Pagan roots. I've heard Sanskrit chanting and very old Irish a capella music. They both sound remarkably like Gregorian chant. I have it on pretty good authority that both reconstructed Old English music and ancient Greek music do, too. I'm no musicologist, but if this is true, then Gregorian chant draws on an ancient European musical tradition. As such, it can serve as a powerful tool for Pagan prayer. Go ahead and use it. There are plenty of recordings; get some and listen until you have a feel for it.
In Western music, major keys are often (although incorrectly) thought of as brighter, lighter, happier. They would be more appropriate for the brighter deities, such as sky gods, or happy occasions, such as weddings or the spring.
Don't abandon minor keys completely, though. These can be great for meditation, calming the mind. They are also appropriate for chthonic deities or for the dead.
Time signatures are the musical equivalent of meters. In fact, it's difficult to write music for a prayer that doesn't have a meter, or at least a syllabic structure. One way to fill out the lines of a non-syllabic prayer so that it can be sung is with grace notes; a single syllable gets more than one note. This is very common in Gregorian chants and Irish sean-nós songs, among other styles.
Each time signature has its own effects: 4/4 is the easiest to sing, 2/2 drives on, 3/4 is a waltz and therefore easily associated with elegance, and so on. Unusual meters such as 6/8 are difficult to sing, so they are best kept to solitary rituals, but they have their own uses.
These are Western rhythms, of course. If you are worshiping deities from non-Western cultures, you might want to look at their rhythms—the pulsing beat of many American Indian songs, polyrhythms from Africa, rhythms in seven time for the Balkans. Or you might just want to stick with ones you can do easily; better a non-culturally specific rhythm done well than a poor performance of a culturally specific one.
Your choice of instruments may have meaning. We all connect bagpipes with Celtic music—especially Scottish, for instance—but they're found in other regions, too, and their mournful wail is worth experimenting with. Flutes are found in both Roman and American Indian rituals; again, they have a cross-cultural character. This is true of many instruments.
The simplest and most common type of instrument is percussion. Specific types of these are also associated with certain cultures: bodhrans with Ireland, slit drums with Polynesia.
Partway between poetry and music is chanting, which uses a small number of notes, sometimes as few as two. An effective chant requires or creates a strong rhythm. Chants are usually short. Chanting is very useful in groups, where the rhythm makes it easy to pray in unison. Chants are often repeated a number of times, which makes them great for guests to your group, since they can pick up a chant as it goes along.
Other characteristics of all forms of communication include tone of voice, facial expressions, and body positions, especially of the hands. I won't go into all of them deeply here; I would just like to give an overview of body positions and encourage you to experiment with all ways to express an idea.
Think of it in everyday terms. When you're called into your boss's office, do you slouch or stand respectfully? When you're at a presentation, what message do you convey when you lounge in your chair? How different is the message if you lean forward and fix your eyes on the presenter? Since you communicate in many ways, it's a good idea to make sure all the messages you send say the same thing.
It's easy to think of the body positions traditionally associated with praying. Standing, kneeling, prostration, and the many positions of yoga are among those that have been used by Pagans.
In Western culture, the body position most identified with praying is kneeling. Many Pagans hesitate to adopt this posture because it seems to subordinate us, to make us slaves to the gods. There are, however, many ways in which the gods are indeed superior to us (why would we want to worship beings who weren't?). To acknowledge that superiority is, therefore, appropriate. Perhaps as more children are raised as Pagans, they won't resist kneeling, and the position will make its way back into our prayers.
A position that may seem even more demeaning, but is still appropriate for Pagan prayer, is prostration. To some, lying flat on the floor, face down, may seem a little like groveling. There are times, however, when the presence of the deity so overpowers you that there is no response more appropriate than prostration. At such moments, you only want to sink into their presence, and prostration is the way your body does this.
One famous prayer posture is the lotus position, in which you intertwine your legs like a pretzel (literally), prop yourself up so that both knees touch the floor, straighten your spine, and put your hands in your lap. Although this is a position traditionally more common for meditation than for prayer, it also makes a great posture for praying. It's stable and, with much practice, can even become comfortable. Moreover, it is conducive to waiting; in fact, it conveys nothing better than expectant but patient waiting. It says, “Come when you will, and you will find me here.” It allows you to express respect without abasing yourself.
A prayer posture that was very common in ancient times is the orans (“praying”) position. You stand with your upper arms parallel to the ground, your elbows bent upward, and your hands open with palms forward. In this position, you're expectant, on your feet, and waiting for the deity to come. You are ready to meet them, approaching as a subordinate without abasing yourself. You both give respect and expect to receive it, holding up your hands in respectful greeting. You're clearly unarmed; you don't presume to threaten the deity (as if you could). You stand ready to give or to receive. This position is acceptable for most deities; some, such as many of the Indo-European gods, consider it the best position for prayer.
As well as body positions, there are hand and arm positions. The Hindu mudras are fairly well known; less familiar are those of Thai dancing, which can tell a story just as words do. It would be interesting to compose a prayer in sign language, performing it either on its own or accompanied by spoken words. Sign language has its own rules of poetry that could be played with.
Whether you pray to a High God, an Ancestor, or a Spirit can determine which position is best. Attitudes of prostration are appropriate only for the High Gods. When calling an Ancestor, a position of respectful waiting is good. It's like waiting for a beloved grandparent—you have the right, by long association and familiarity, to take almost any attitude, but you choose to take a respectful one—not out of fear or awe but out of love and honor. You do it because it's right to do so. As you work with Ancestors, you may find yourself on more familiar terms and relax with them. Still, it never hurts to be polite. Remember, these beings were once like us. You know how you would be like to be treated; show them at least as much respect.
The Spirits are an odd case. Their influence is limited to an area, an object, an event, but within that context, they are very powerful. When in their area of action, therefore, treat them as if they were deities. They are, in fact, just that within their respective realms.
Changes of position and gestures are a form of motion, which can be a prayer in itself, even without words. The gods understand the language of motion just as well as that of words. Moreover, words and motion can express the same thought. It is common practice in rituals to have this sort of redundancy, in which one meaning is embedded in more than one symbol. The meaning is thus strengthened, and all of you becomes involved in the prayer.
I have already shown how more than one posture can be appropriate during a prayer. Consider, then, the possibility that moving from one position to another may have meaning—the motion itself can convey a message. At the most basic level, the fact that you make a change from one posture to another indicates that the change matters enough to justify making extra effort. It shows that you care enough to know which posture is appropriate for which portion of your prayer.
Positions can be varied within a prayer. You may call the deity standing in the orans position, drop to a lotus position, and then prostrate yourself. You send out the call in a posture of respectful address, await the response in a posture of attentive waiting, and take an attitude of amazement at the wonder of the deity's presence. Note how, at each step, you are communicating with your body. You come before the deity united in mind, body, and soul: as an integrated human being. All of your being is directed toward communication with the deity.
One common motion is circumambulation, which means “walking around something.” To circumambulate is to honor that which is circumambulated—an image, a sacred spot, a fire. This is a very common way of honoring the Spirit associated with the place.
The proper direction to walk in many traditions is clockwise. (If you work within a different tradition, study it closely enough to be certain whether the direction matters.) There are, I think, two reasons for this. First, the Sun travels clockwise in the northern hemisphere. Thus, to move about something in this direction is to invoke the power of nature. You become the Sun, and the object or place circumambulated becomes that which the Sun orbits. Second—and I think that this is more important—moving around something clockwise means that your right side is always toward it. With apologies to the left-handed, in many traditions the right is the favored side. To put one's right side toward something is to honor it; to put one's left side toward it is to dishonor it.
There are times when it is appropriate to circumambulate counterclockwise, however. First is in the southern hemisphere, where directions are reversed. Second, counterclockwise circumambulation isn't just dishonoring, it's also disestablishing. Counterclockwise motion breaks things up and opens them. It can thus be used to open a doorway into the other realm through which prayers may pass. One warning, though: once this doorway is open and something comes through, you must reverse direction and honor the deity or Spirit thus summoned.
Somewhere between postures and motions fall gestures. Things done with the hands and arms have their own meaning. These gestures can be passive or active. For instance, there is the classic Christian posture of folded hands. This communicates a pleading attitude, but it can also convey a certain defenselessness, so it may not be a gesture you want to use.
Forms of gestures are mostly arbitrary. There are more natural ones, such as holding out cupped hands as a sign of giving. In between are ones that have been absorbed so strongly from culture that they are automatic and comfortable; something like, in a non-prayer context, shaking hands (which might be interesting to use in a prayer of coming together).
The orans position described earlier is a good replacement for the folded hands gesture. In this position, you come before the gods unarmed and open but not abased. You do not plead; you approach with respect and ask for a certain amount of respect yourself.
The very fact that your hands are still, whether in the orans position or resting in your lap if you are sitting, conveys a message. You are not attempting to do something but rather are waiting for the deities to perform some act. You have stilled your hands, and now you wait.
Moving hands, however, are sometimes more appropriate. For instance, you can start with your hands clasped together chest-high—you begin your prayer at rest. Then throw your arms wide—send your words out. Then bring them back into the orans position—you wait, ready to greet the Spirit you called when it arrives.
Giving offerings always involves hand movements. You may place something in or on the earth; you may pour it out; you may throw it into a fire or body of water. Think about what each of these gestures means to you, and you will understand your offering better.
Pressed further, changing gestures becomes dance. Dance can be a prayer all on its own, an expression of emotions, an offering of beauty, a form of nonverbal communication. Dance does not lend itself well to spoken prayers, but ones recited silently while dancing can be effective. In group prayers, one or more people can dance with prayers that are spoken or sung by others, or one person can say a prayer while everyone else dances. Simple dances can work with simple chants.
Dance is the ultimate form of praying with motion. It has traditionally been used in many ways in many cultures. Each position may be intended to communicate something; the individual motions work together to make up a complete message, in much the same way that words combine to make a sentence. Or the message may, as in the more stationary kind of motion I mentioned above, be expressed by the dance as a whole.
Dance, when used in prayer, is most often meant to express emotion. Any emotion can be expressed through movement—from joy, to grief, to awe. The emotion you feel will usually tell you the right way to move if you listen to it.
Dance can also express an attribute of the deity invoked, or be a way of calling, in itself. For instance, deities of war are, oddly enough, often associated with dance—dance of a martial character, to be sure, but dance nonetheless. In Rome, in March and October, priests of Mars, the Salii, went about Rome performing a dance (in a 3/4—i.e., waltz—rhythm), in full armor no less. This dance honored Mars and served to invoke his blessing on Rome.
Dance can also serve as an offering, since it involves an expenditure of time and energy and is a form of art. Any honor or recognition you may receive from others when you dance (if it's a public prayer) can be dedicated to the deity to whom you pray. When you dance to the point of exhaustion, the dance not only serves as an offering, but can also open you up to the deity. Through the dance, you give all of yourself, creating a space for the deity to fill.
By now I might have given you the impression that every single thing about a prayer makes a difference. Good; that is the impression I meant to give. Prose or poem, meter, word choice, structure, gestures, movements, music, types of offerings—these all matter. Different choices will give different results.
Your choices reverberate on several levels. They will affect you psychologically, putting you into a certain frame of mind to receive the presence of the deities. Also, a prayer in an ancient and appropriate style will evoke thought categories associated with a certain culture.
On the theological level, certain styles may appeal to certain deities. Norse deities were used to being addressed with alliterative verse, Semitic with parallel imagery, etc. Praying in these forms might be expected to strike them as pretty and please them, something desirable in praises but also when asking for a favor.
Philosophically, doing the thing appropriate for a given situation is an act of beauty. Joining the right words with the right gesture with the right music creates an even higher form of beauty. If you give the gods nothing else, give them beauty.