Quiet Reflections and Prayers
I found
that no matter what,
I was a flexible,
creative,
evolving being.
I could let go
of thoughts
and stories,
while honoring
all that had
brought me to each
new moment.
No matter what,
I was connected
with the part of me
that was
most whole.
No matter what,
I could easily follow
my attention
until my most natural
position was
within the quiet prayer
of my heart.
I wish to reflect
all that is soft —
to offer my love
to all that
is not —
to remind us
of the sacredness
of the journey
and the beauty
in the transformation.
There was a different
quality of thought
that appeared
out of the emptiness
left behind
as I dared
to drop old
scattered thoughts
and reflections.
After a while,
this became
a natural way
of being in my heart
and in the world.
There was a kind of
self discipline
and loving restraint,
a quiet encouragement
to acknowledge
and look away
from old ways
and focus instead
on what was
already present —
holding space
for even more healing —
within my heart.
Healing my heart was
a subtle shift,
an honoring
of what was
there,
a light holding
and letting go —
a gentle transformation
into a new perspective
of what was
already.
I let go
once more
into the emptiness,
into the mysterious
and messy
and beautiful –
because I have learned
what it means
to be whole
and to trust
in all that is here
and all that is
within.
At a certain point,
I remembered
I didn’t show up here
to fit in
or to become
stuck.
I showed up here
to live
and share,
but mostly
to live.
I hadn’t come
to support old patterns,
but to inspire change
and nurture
new ways.
Sometimes it was
hard to hear
the quiet prayer
in my heart
Sometimes life became
so noisy
and the best I could do
was to hold on
to the knowing
beyond doubt
that it was
in fact always there —
no matter what.
Somehow that was
enough.
I found
the journey
of life
included some things
that were difficult
to look at
at first.
There were certain thoughts
and memories
and wounds
and moments of
disbelief.
There were shadows.
And there was
the desire to
believe that I could
somehow make sense
of all of it
through endless
sorting on the surface.
But peace came
when I had
exhausted every attempt
to sort life out
on the surface.
Eventually I had to
trust in my own
unique process
of feeling
into my heart
and see from a wider view —
just below the surface.
I let go,
trusting
that wherever
the pieces fall
will be okay —
possibly even more
beautiful
than if I had tried
to fit them
together on my own.
— Laurie, What’s Right Here
My heart longed
to live freely —
to show up
without introduction —
to listen
and feel
and play
and love.
It taught me
how to be
a part of a sacred
journey
and reflect
an invisible art.
Laurie's Notes 