Quiet Reflections and Prayers
There was something
quietly satisfying
in showing up
without a mask,
without the constant
narrating mind.
Perceiving became
observing
and honoring
from a little higher
place.
Actions happened
naturally.
But it was the
space,
both expanding
outward
and anchoring me
in that moment,
that pulled me
ever so gently
toward my next needed
step.
There were times
when I didn’t know
whether to form words
or not,
when I knew
crying out
wouldn’t lead
to any more
understanding.
And so I vowed
to honor the sadness
beneath the frustration
in my own heart
and reach
past my own
temptation to lesson
the discomfort I felt
by holding a false sense
of security
in a made up story
of separateness.
And so I let go
of all of it,
trusting whatever was
true
to find its way back.
And I wrote
through my tears.
And so there was
a quieting,
an understanding
beyond words —
a reconnecting
with my own heart
that continued to
deepen.
There was still
pain.
But the desire to
push it down
or project it
outside of me
was replaced
with the move to
honor and
transform it back
into tenderness.
Let me honor
the parts of me
that cry out.
Let me be
the place of calm
that knows
the deepest kind
of silence,
includes all emotion
and holds
all of it.
Amen
There was a quieting
that came out of
my willingness
to look a little deeper,
not further into mind,
but further into
the heart.
And from there,
I could see
more clearly.
There was relief
I hadn’t found
in other ways
and a tenderness for life
in all of its forms
that held me securely
in my deepest heart
and moved me
to continue on.
The healing happened
quietly,
behind the scenes.
It was in each
whispered prayer
and moment of
real connection.
It didn’t come
in fancy packages.
It found its way
gently.
And it never
left.
Out of my deepest
silent prayer,
my true voice
called out
to be heard.
Its words were
clear and true
and led
safely back
to the silence
within my own
deepest heart.
I found it wasn’t
so much that I was
broken.
It was that I felt
disconnected
from my own true
voice —
lost in an ocean
of thoughts
and shoulds.
But there was a subtler
knowing from a little
deeper place
that never gave up
hope.
There was something
beautiful
in allowing life
to fall
quiet for a moment —
allowing the surface
to not be
as my mind
would have it.
I understood
most deeply,
in the quiet times,
the value in following
my heart —
even if it whispered
subtly,
without words —
even if it was
my only connection
on earth —
even if it led
to just one meaningful
thought.
For the times
when the way seems
unclear,
I will be
in this world
in front of me
and in my own heart.
I will feel
a little more deeply
into this life.
And I will write
our way through.
Laurie's Notes 