Quiet Reflections and Prayers
I vowed to continue on —
to take each step
in faith,
rooted firmly
in my heart,
unattached to the need
for outer relief —
holding my ground
in all situtions —
not always quiet,
not needing
to be right
or good enough
or even noticed —
simply playing my part
as it unfolded.
And there was
a beautiful silence
within my heart
I wouldn’t ever try
to fill again.
I have gathered thoughts
and tossed them
many times —
following the words
again and again
all the way back
to silence.
I have waited patiently
for insight —
only to watch it fade.
I have gone
my own way,
taken each step
as a part
of the mystery.
I have gotten lost
and found
many treasures.
I have traced my
own Self
back to nothing.
And I am
still here.
There was a backing up,
a turning around
of some part of me
that once tried to
shape the world
to match what I thought
I wanted
out of the hope
of a me that had
forgotten who I am.
It was in this
turning around
and stepping back
a little more
and a little more
that I could see
ever more clearly —
until there was
a delicate holding
and letting go
of all it,
without condition —
and my deepest,
highest wishes
depended only on this.
The time came
to find a gentler way,
to turn back
from the path of mind —
retracing my steps
just a little.
…
At first it felt
a bit lonely,
as there seemed to be
fewer taking this turn.
And I admit I missed
the crowds at times
and the paved roads
and maps.
…
But as I walked this
strangely familiar path
unfolding in front of me,
I began to remember
what it felt like
to walk on the earth,
to be free to notice
and allow my attention
to fall where it liked,
to experience the world
around me
and inside of me
without a constant
narrating mind.
…
And sure enough,
just as I had guessed,
I was okay
in this place —
where everything was
as it had been —
feelings and sensations
and challenges
and thoughts.
But without the narrator,
without the constant story,
they had taken on a
lighter feel,
softened somehow —
along this path
of the heart.
Having experienced
the true beauty
of being part
of a living, breathing
aliveness
bigger than my own
personal,
often very difficult journey,
after having risked
everything to find it,
there was no pain
big enough
to overshadow its tenderness
and no desire
to go back.
I found I could hold
what seemed to be
the most extreme opposites,
the deepest pain
and the most tender —
all the pieces
I couldn’t have sorted
as the me
I once thought
I was.
I found I could exist
in the world
and also in my heart —
participating fully
in daily life
without the need
or desire
to stay in
constant dialogue
about the story
on the surface —
choosing instead
to play a little
higher card,
to put these things
aside for a moment —
honoring and holding
a little space
for a deeper story
to be known.
Because I had tired
of old ways
or because I sensed
the time had come
to forge
a different path,
I settled in
just below the surface —
daring to stand still
in chaos,
becoming willing
to listen with my heart —
letting go of the need
to be neatly sorted —
rediscovering the subtle,
natural beauty
in the return to
a gentler way of being.
And so there was
a sacred reunification
with life.
Each moment became
a gentle reminder
of the subtle beauty
and grace
of being
in my heart
and in a healing world,
a point of reference
for which there was
no creatable experience
to match
and no words
to express
or explain.
And so I found
the strongest medicine
for the emotional pain
of being separated
from that pure place
of calm and real connection
with ourselves
and each other,
where the line between
disappears
in the subtle
messages from my heart.
Laurie's Notes 