Quiet Reflections and Prayers
There was reverence
for moments when I was
gently guided –
when I couldn’t see the next
needed step.
There was a familiar pull,
a whisper of hope
not quite heard –
the creative flow of life
in many forms.
I learned to follow
where my heart was turned –
to trust it would always find
a way to what was
most true –
to let go of everything and welcome
whatever returned.
I learned that in order to retain the delicate
reconnection with my true Self,
there was to be a clean cut
with all that was of false light.
There were moments of extreme grief
and disbelief as one piece after another,
all that was holding my heart from
it’s true calling was torn back.
I did my best to gather up anything
that might help in retracing my steps
and somehow returning with some kind
of treasure to share —
which helped to create a sense
of meaning in the pain.
Eventually, even carefully gathered treasures
had to be set down — for a while,
adding to the already immense grief
I didn’t know if my heart could bear.
But it was at that point I began to
understand tenderness and
compassion and grace
more deeply.
And I knew I could never
turn back.
There was relief
in not needing
to fit
all of the pieces
of my heart
together
all at once.
I found comfort
in allowing life
to unfold
from within
and freedom
in experiencing myself
and others
in this natural state
of peace.
It became clear
that everything most
sacred
had come out of
a quiet prayer.
I knew,
without doubt,
that every single
real treasure
in my life had
come out of
an ever deepening
inner surrender —
a sinking down
and trusting in
my own true essence
a little more
completely.
I searched
and gathered
and carried
and tried
and learned
many things
in hope
of finding
and sharing
something that would
make some kind of
difference
or bring some kind
of relief.
And I found the deepest
kind of healing came
in setting it all down —
daring to show up
empty.
I learned
to ride the waves
of this life.
I learned not to try
so hard to hold on
to any particular thought
or feeling or form.
And I understood
the beauty within
this natural flow
that is me.
And so
I gathered up
all that had once
held me back,
all those
in-your-face
old triggers
that once caused
deep pain.
I gathered up all
the memories
of all the times
and all the present
stories and thoughts
of people
and situations
that were
dishonoring.
And with a prayer,
I flung it all
as far as I could —
to be recycled —
to be free.
There was tenderness
in the persistent way
pieces of my own heart
longed for understanding
and in the gentle way
they became willing
to surrender
the need to grasp —
to step outside
neatly sorted
concepts and ideas
and every place
that was comfortable
and guaranteed —
to toss it all up
again and again
because it was
the most loving thing.
There were times
when the absolute best
I could do
was take the very next
needed step in trust
that the next
would appear
just as needed —
just as it had
always been.
And in-between these
small leaps of faith,
the voices of doubt grew
so much quieter
that I found myself
straining to hear —
as if their presence
could offer
any real security.
Funny, I had thought
they did.
With all of the pieces
gathered up,
after having glimpsed
the true peace
at the bottom of
the deep abyss below,
I let go
of everything
and jumped.
I stopped seeking,
stopped questioning,
stopped trying
to know the exact right
way to do it.
This time,
I trusted the pieces
to fall where they needed
to fall.
And I held on
to the beautiful
emptiness in the very center
of my heart instead.
Laurie's Notes 