Even when it seemed like
any sense of inner peace
had been lost,
it was there.
It took only the intention
of entering a state of prayer
to refocus on the present moment
and find the center of my heart —
where I could hear the quiet prayer
that was always there.
I began to notice moments
of unfolding tenderness.
It was okay if there were
challenging moments.
I had learned that experiences
were always transforming
and, like the wind,
could change course
in an instant.
And it was enough to know
I could, in any moment,
hold or allow myself to be carried
by the sweet, gentle breeze
of my deepest heart.
I found reprieve in
the remembrance of the quiet peace
ever present within my deepest heart.
I found a willingness to listen
a little deeper —
to observe a little longer —
to be carried and
set back down gently
in the present moment
where there was tenderness.
After a while, it was difficult
to see how I could have moved
through life in any other way.
I found myself within
a natural flow,
a constant creative process —
a subtle, prayerful transformation
set in motion by one quiet prayer.
I learned to keep going
whenever things didn’t look at all
like what I held in my heart.
I learned to hold my ground
just a little longer —
trusting somehow, one more last time,
in the transformation into tenderness.
I intuitively understood
that if I was going to reconnect
with my heart,
I would need to risk setting down
old ways of coping
and moving through
a whole lot of fears.
What I had found was subtle
and tender, and i just knew
if I was to return to any form
of numbing or distraction,
I would miss something I wasn’t
willing to let go of again.
I had come too far.
And so the decision was made,
and that first step into
what I later called a prayer break
was taken.
The respite found immediately
was a vast contrast
to all of the striving and searching
and disconnect I had experienced.
I never turned back.
After a while my life existed within
an expanded prayer break,
a gentle reconnection
with a deeper part of me
and a return to the natural flow
of life, which I experienced as
a continuous transformation into
tenderness.
Somehow I had dared
to listen to the quiet prayer
in my heart.
I had tried and exhausted
every other option
in my search for peace.
Truthfully, there was really
no better option.
It was shocking at first to,
in a sense, start over again
in my search.
But I began to sense a natural
peace within me and allow
this peace to expand — ever so slightly.
It was a sensing from within,
a quiet prayer from a deeper me.
It didn’t matter so much if things appeared
peaceful on the surface.
It didn’t depend on my body
or mind being still.
What mattered was my
willingness to show up just
as I was and to be with whatever
met me there.
There was a settling in
to the rhythm of the once faint
quiet prayer in my heart.
Of course it was extremely difficult
to stay centered
and often impossible to be as
graceful on the surface
as the prayer in my heart.
But I did my best to release
my hold on how I thought
this life should unfold,
understanding that contrast was
in fact part of the game.
And I allowed myself to be
carried through contrast and
challenges —
back into tenderness.
There was a gentle
surrender into the quiet prayer
that had carried me so far.
It hadn’t always been graceful
on the surface
There continued to be moments
when the very best I could do
was to just keep going.
But there was a deepening sense
of grace and respect for
the journey.
And there was this continuous,
subtle, often wordless quiet prayer
through it all.
Somehow, a little beyond
what I had thought possible —
subtler than expected,
experiences in my own self
and in the world
began to soften.
Words flowed from a different
place and echoed long after
the brief moments I felt pulled
to write or remember.
It was a familiar kind of echo,
the kind of echo I had felt
from the difficult path that had
brought me to this point.
But this new echo,
this unending quiet prayer,
soothed and softened
places in my heart that had once
seemed unhealable
and carried me softly
toward a gentler path.
I began to practice allowing.
It no longer occured to me
to try to force anything.
Instead I began to find
quiet joy in being
the space
for pieces come together
and in being in
a world in constant transition
into tenderness.
