Sometimes there were no words. And then somehow, mysteriously, worlds began to well up from somewhere beyond. A new kind of thought from a gentler place began to transform all that seemed unreachable. Gentle prayers began to take form out of the resolve to surrender everything — just to remember this place for a moment.
There came a desire to remain in this place within — just a little longer — no matter what appeared on the surface or how big the challenges seemed.
Transformation into tenderness meant being okay when life wasn’t all sorted out. It meant holding a space for all the words that, for whatever reason, just wouldn’t ever be spoken. It meant detaching with love and acceptance from all that had been left in the past, often without resolution — not knowing what would become of the tender ache left in its place — trusting it would become something beautiful.
When time seemed to
speed up
and the challenges were
too big for a fractured part
of self,
it became necessary to
evolve.
There was a willingness
to keep my heart open to
the remembrance of
what I had come here
to share.
Life became a continuous,
delicate and sacred transformation
into tenderness.
Words formed out of silence — from a higher place. Somehow, in a not so mysterious kind of way, gently whispered prayers connected an expanded sense of self.
A new kind of thought was born
out of a willingness to reach back —
offering comforting words,
while remaining open
to the same gently whispered prayers
from somewhere beyond this time.
I found it worked best
to connect with parts of me
that needed attention.
I learned I could hold these parts
without needing them to change.
The first time I noticed I could, in fact,
affect my experience in the world
in a gentle way —
without analyzing or retraumatizing —
without a desperate search,
I had no more need for
less effective ways of coping
that had served to carry me
to a safer place.
Whatever appeared as a reflection
to this safe place within
would be enough.
And when the the outer experience
didn’t match what was felt in my heart,
I held my ground.
It wasn’t always comfortable,
but it was a continuous,
delicate and sacred transformation
into tenderness.
At a certain point,
the decision was made
to keep going —
through all that needed attention
and healing
so that my experience in the world
more clearly reflected
the peace I held
in my deepest heart.
It was an unshakable
determination to hold my ground
no matter what.
The more I dared
to hold a space of love,
the closer I seemed to be
to a deeper part of me.
At a certain point it was
most natural to be this space
in my heart
and in the world.
This is where I found
my deepest comfort and peace.
Sometimes the only thing
I knew to do
was to keep going,
which undoubtedly meant
surrendering to the creative flow
of life.
And so there was the
painful dropping of pieces
I had held so carefully
and an understanding
I seemed to have with God
that I would sometimes
hold on a little longer,
push ahead,
lose my center,
and struggle to find any
resemblance of grace.
But I would always keep going.
Each time another challenge arose,
I was reminded of how
it could have been —
had I not allowed the process
of expanding to happen
so freely.
There was frustration as old
patterns and emotions were
brought to the surface,
and I was tempted to retreat–
just a little.
I learned to turn
inward and hold my ground —
refusing to quit before
the next tender place
was reached.
Sometimes my prayer sounded
more like a tired scream through
swallowed tears
than a comforting whisper.
But there was always
tenderness close by —
as I dared to keep going.
