Quiet Reflections and Prayers
At times I forgot
the pure connection with
my heart and the unshakeable
hope that remained always,
even in the darkest, most treacherous
parts of the journey.
It took only a moment —
a seemingly accidental whisper,
a quiet prayer of desperation crying out
to the light or a gentle note
from an old friend
triggering into clarity
the remembrance of all that is
most true and all of the beauty
and unconditional love
that couldn’t be broken
no matter what.
And so I continued to write —
not so much for the words anymore
but to feel the connection
with my soul
at a time when real connection
was precious and rare
and words seemed to fall short.
If I couldn’t be heard
then I would listen.
I would turn frustration into
dedication.
I would take the deep sadness,
and I would hold it —
forever if necessary.
And if this tender ache could be
deepened, I would find a way.
Maybe it would lead to a new outer
reflection,
something a little more sacred
and beautiful.
Most likely, but maybe not.
It was my best shot.
It was one more last try —
one more time
Perhaps the most painful lesson
on the journey
was allowing things to be
unresolved —
unsorted.
It was a little different than
giving in. It was definitely not
giving up., but I had to learn
to hold a place for all that was unsettled —
trusting in previous lessons learned
about truth and love and the fluidity
of all states —
knowing beyond all doubt that
there was tenderness in this place.
There were so many moments
of decision,
so many chances to take one more step
and to trust it was indeed safe to hold
out for truth
just one more last time.
I learned the art of turning inward,
healing deeply
all the parts of me that were
frightened and exhausted from years
of being disconnected from each other
and from God.
I learned there was a powerful
spirit of pure, real love —
not the imitation or false light
I had strived for.
No, not that.
This unexpected rising up of pure
Spirit was what had brought me
through trials and encouraged me
when I didn’t think I could endure.
And it was this very rising up
that, each time I glanced at the road
behind me, made the whole journey
worth living.
I learned, out of necessity,
the skill of holding an intention
while letting go at the same time.
It was this delicate balance
of holding and letting go
that gave me the stamina
to do what felt absolutely impossible —
to love my way straight through
all that was painful
and turn it into the most tender
experience.
Just when I thought
there was no hope,
just when darkness seemed
to have won,
I learned something surprising.
I learned this was the perfect
set up for an equal and opposite
surge of light
that would outshine every last
bit of darkness.
And once lit,
nothing could put it out
What was seen could never be
unseen.
For the most part,
what remained was the sweet
tenderness of the journey.
It was a bit of a jolt
when the dark nights appeared.
But with each one came
a little more light, pointing the way,
ever so clearly, to my true essence
and connection with my true Self.
It was, of course, difficult
during those intense times
of clearing out and letting go.
There was grief.
There was a lot of grief.
And there was, when I dared to trust
and keep going,
an ever expanding space of
tenderness,
which I wouldn’t have traded
for the chance to hold on
to anything else.
I found there were many
forks in the road,
many places to choose
to walk where there is
no path,
where pain is held, honored
and transformed again and again —
each time leaving a little more space
for the one thing strong enough
to balance the traces of pain inevitably
left over from often difficult journeys,
the one thing strong enough to hold all
of the pieces
of an authentic life —
the space within our hearts.
The way of love
seemed so simple
at a certain point.
But that was because I had
taken other paths to the edge.
I had lived the opposite.
There was grief
And there was steadfast knowing
that somehow guaranteed
I would never again be tempted
by darkness —
not ever.
Anything that wasn’t aligned
with love eventually fell away.
It seemed odd there had
ever been another path.
But it was understood,
looking back,
that parts of the whole
had felt disconnected
and a sacred journey
to the remembrance of wholeness
had been carried out.
Laurie's Notes 