Quiet Reflections and Prayers
It took a little bit of courage
allowing softer thoughts to form —
landing on a surprisingly comforting
background of emptiness —
flowing effortlessly,
drifting a little more deeply
into my deepest heart.
Maybe it was the gentle rhythm
I had allowed myself to feel
once again,
for just a moment,
or a word formed of this
same emptiness
allowed to echo even more —
somehow, gently,
against all odds,
from this deeper space
within.
It took a little practice
learning how to soothe
all that was within.
It took a huge dose
of gentleness
to become willing to stop
and allow my heart to be
the safe place I had been
trying to find for so long.
And so I learned
to soothe frightened parts
of me
through my willingness
to face each moment
as it came,
knowing at any point
I could stop and gather words
out of emptiness
to soothe what couldn’t be
reached in any other way.
I found journies of the heart
can be difficult.
It was easy to become
discouraged and a little more
difficult to feel my way forward
and through leftover debris from
early challenges
and to become willing to stand
alone with God.
Each time I felt I couldn’t take
another step,
life somehow showed
just enough tenderness
to inspire one more.
After a little while,
I caught on that this
human experience was in fact
a sacred journey.
And so I began to take notes —
connecting the person
to a more expanded,
formless self —
comforting and guiding —
lighting my path
as it unfolded —
navigating through contrast —
following what felt most true —
listening and feeling my way
into my deepest heart.
I found instant reprieve
in the exact moment
I returned my focus
to the space within my heart.
I learned it was enough
to focus on what was appearing
right in front of me,
allowing all that was past
to be released.
I learned to sense where
life was supporting me to be
in each moment
with a little more grace
and trust.
The was a gentle turning back
and dropping more deeply
into the space within my heart.
It was a concious surrender
to life itself
in each moment
as I learned to allow life
to flow more freely,
lost my footing,
and found my way back
again and again.
Each time I seemed
to fall back down,
I wondered how I would ever
find the strength to rise again.
There were times
of integration when I would
somehow lose my footing
and in a little bit of panic
seem to lose my way
and cry out,
which never went particularly well —
to put it mildly.
There was, in these times,
a quiet, wordless prayer
inside my heart.
Often it was the only thing
left to hold on to.
No matter how great the
contrast between what I felt
in my heart
and what appeared in front of me
and in my cluttered mind,
I continued on —
declaring once more,
perhaps with more conviction,
If the only reprieve to be found
is in my heart space
with this one continuous
quiet prayer,
then I will hold
only this.
Life began to soften
ever so slightly.
It was risky to hold
the love I had found
in my heart.
There were body memories
of the times when the contrast
between my heart and the world
had been too much to hold —
or so I thought.
Little by little I had somehow
learned how to hold whatever
needed holding —
for however long it needed
to be held —
even if it was forever.
Sometimes words and tears
didn’t come.
Sometimes standing
in the empty space where words
and tears should have been
was the exact right place.
It’s where I found the most
shattered parts of my heart,
dusted them off
with my very last bit
of strength,
and promised to somehow
fit the pieces together and make
something beautiful of the mess —
again.
Of course each time I
realized the impact
of the imperfect journey
and willingness to show up
in that very moment —
breaking through my fear
of getting it wrong,
shattering my heart a little more
and directing me back again
to tenderness.
Laurie's Notes 