Quiet Reflections and Prayers
I found I could
feel my way
through this life
as I let go
a little more
of cluttered thoughts
and ideas
of how it should
look.
I found comfort
in the subtle insights
I once tried
to sort out.
There was a natural
reverence for my own
journey
and for others.
Prayers became
more wordless
as I began to trust
the one continuous
quiet prayer
I once
turned away
because the contrast
had seemed too vast.
Life became
the willingness
to notice
my own soul voice
behind everything,
to allow myself
to be connected
with my heart —
and to reflect
a little more
love.
Thought became
something that rose up
out of the space
within.
I found
a hidden well
of comfort
and guidance
in the quiet center
of my heart.
And so I vowed
to show up
in a new way,
unafraid to be still
in my own heart.
I vowed to
set aside
all that was
messy and unclear
and uncomfortable
in surrender
to all that was
most healed
in me —
holding space
for more healing
and sacred hope
for the transformation
of all that seemed
unhealable
and unsolvable —
in reverence
of my own experience
and yours.
At a certain point,
I became willing
to stand my ground
as healer
of my own heart —
not as fractured
pieces,
but as the most whole
part of me —
the only one
who could hold
space for healing
for the rest.
I found
my deepest connection
in my own heart
and in the hearts
of others
who dared to find
space to hear
and follow
their own true
voices.
I found
no substitute for
this sacred space.
No treasure
or achievement
or projection
fulfilled
ever came close.
No amount of approval
ever tasted as
sweet.
There was no seeking
for it
and no grasping
when it appeared.
There was
only love.
I centered myself
in my deepest heart.
It didn’t matter
if what was happening
within me
and around me
took a bit
to catch up
with me.
I honored the
sacred journey.
And I held
my ground.
I had reached and
stretched and journeyed
too far
to ever turn
back.
My center became
this empty space
where I was free
to follow
my attention,
wherever it naturally
settled.
It was like
gathering clues
or sifting
for gold in a world
that had become
cluttered with too many
shiny objects
and sensing my only
hope was in
daring to toss
all of it.
There was risk
in taking this path,
in following
an inner guidance
system
only I could sense,
a risk of becoming
lost, I suppose.
But I had tried
other ways,
and they always
seemed to end up
back here,
in the empty space
left behind
after tossing
every last thought.
There was no explaining
here,
only the willingness
to follow
whatever tiny clue
came back
down.
One by one,
pieces of a heart
that could no longer
bear the pain
of denying
its own
shattering
began to show up,
to be vulnerable —
to not know
how the story
would unfold —
risking everything
to find a way
to be whole
again.
Laurie's Notes 