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.
For a while
it seemed something had
gone terribly wrong.
I had lived through
much contrast and
overcome many challenges.
And yet part of me still felt unsafe
as the contrast continued.
Somehow, just like the very first time
I dared to stop and allow
all of the pieces I had been holding
a little too tightly
to fall around me,
I found the courage again
to gather up the pieces
and sink a little more deeply
into my heart —
taking one more step
into tenderness.
After a while
a gentler way through the winding
roads of this human journey
became a little clearer
as the pieces of my own
shattered heart began to appear
a little less broken
and a little more like unpolished
treasures entrusted to my care.
I was never without
connection with a deeper space
within the greater whole,
though it seemed
to dance around a bit
through different forms
and natural things —
reaching back again —
softly touching the tender,
hidden spaces I once tried
to resolve.
Words became a gentle
path back into the willingness
to feel and to be a little more
present.
After a while, they began
to echo the silence of
my deepest heart —
winding their way through
old wounds —
soothing whatever appeared
along the way.
Again and again
I found my way back to my heart,
it was a relief
to be free of all that had
seemed like too much.
I came to recognize the feeling
of too much
as a sign I had attached
somewhere other than my heart.
Again and again,
I found my way to
the present moment
and gently reconnected
with my heart —
refocusing on each moment
as it unfolded —
regaining my trust in life
a little at a time.
It made no difference
how many times I seemed
to lose my footing.
It didn’t matter how many
times I fell.
After a while,
I understood I could
always find my way again.
After a while, I realized
I was, in fact,
this space within my heart.
I came to understand I had
survived something difficult
and landed in a lower vibration —
for a while
where the sound of my soul
seemed faint.
But I could find my way
again.
It took a little bit of courage
allowing softer thoughts to form —
landing on a surprisingly comforting
background of emptiness —
flowing effortlessly,
drifting a little more deeply
into my deepest heart.
Maybe it was the gentle rhythm
I had allowed myself to feel
once again,
for just a moment,
or a word formed of this
same emptiness
allowed to echo even more —
somehow, gently,
against all odds,
from this deeper space
within.
