Sat with a friend in a hospital waiting room today, both of us too tired for words. So I borrowed Julian's: all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. Said it under my breath until I half believed it.
Centering prayer is meant to be simple. Twenty minutes, one sacred word, and when you notice you've drifted into thoughts, you return ever so gently to the word. Thoughts are boats going down a river; you don't have to climb aboard. This week every single boat has been the alto line of the Advent anthem we're rehearsing. Twenty minutes, roughly forty returns, and I could sing you bars 12 to 30 in my sleep. Julian of Norwich would tell me this is fine. All shall be well, and all manner of descant shall be well. I return to the word. The altos return to bar 12. We carry on.