Quiet Reflections and Prayers
After a while
a gentler way through the winding
roads of this human journey
became a little clearer
as the pieces of my own
shattered heart began to appear
a little less broken
and a little more like unpolished
treasures entrusted to my care.
I was never without
connection with a deeper space
within the greater whole,
though it seemed
to dance around a bit
through different forms
and natural things —
reaching back again —
softly touching the tender,
hidden spaces I once tried
to resolve.
It made no difference
how many times I seemed
to lose my footing.
It didn’t matter how many
times I fell.
After a while,
I understood I could
always find my way again.
After a while, I realized
I was, in fact,
this space within my heart.
I came to understand I had
survived something difficult
and landed in a lower vibration —
for a while
where the sound of my soul
seemed faint.
But I could find my way
again.
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.
It was a little risky to dare to understand tenderness. It meant first knowing the opposite. It meant knowing bitter coldness and disconnect, the only way out being back through painful layers of healing as each healed layer began to let in a little more light of hope and courage to continue on. Aiming to get to a future place or remaining stuck in past stories became courage to drop more deeply into the present. It was an extreme path — the result being the capacity to hold and love the most traumatized parts of the human experience. There was accumulated trauma from painful attempts to heal the original trauma, and there was a love and compassion nothing could ever touch or take away.
Writing in the moment
began as a way of telling
the story of past healing
and quickly became a way
of moving through present challenges,
flowing new kinds of thoughts
from a quiet space within —
remaining open to the possibility
that new kinds of thoughts
and feelings could begin to be
reflected.
Writing became a meditation,
an easily accessible way
to connect with a truer sense
of self —
in any moment.
My notes became precious tickets
back to parts of self
and back into the world.
Even after I reached a point
where I could safely let go,
translating lived experience
into words continued to be
a ticket into the quiet space within
I wouldn’t have traded
for an easier path.
And so the unfolding continued,
along with challenges.
It took a bit of reorientation
into finding calm
in the midst of challenge,
but it was possible.
Finding creative ways of
meeting challenges and triggers
head on and moving through
quickly became a valued skill.
It helped to be okay
with having a tender space within
where it was understood
that some things might not ever
be completely resolved.
It helped to understand the difference
between resolution and transformation.
This quickly shifted the focus
onto the tenderness of meeting
the present moment without attachment
to future results.
It helped to remember that it was
this tender space that had
been the source of past healing
and creative processes.
The way of love
seemed so simple
at a certain point.
But that was because I had
taken other paths to the edge.
I had lived the opposite.
There was grief
And there was steadfast knowing
that somehow guaranteed
I would never again be tempted
by darkness —
not ever.
There was a longing for some missed step along the way, some kind of orientation to life or honoring of the intensity of the spiritual journey that didn’t happen soon enough. And so finding my way back to where I could sense a loving higher self had been a long, tedious journey.
The process of gathering up fractured parts of self came with its own kind of heartache. Somehow, thankfully, it also came with added tenderness. That’s what kept me in the game. It was the awe at how I kept finding just the right piece just before I really needed it and the resolve to stick with myself no matter what. It was the determination to learn to trust life and to turn what looked like a complete mess into something beautiful — again and again.
I found it worked best
to connect with parts of me
that needed attention.
I learned I could hold these parts
without needing them to change.
The first time I noticed I could, in fact,
affect my experience in the world
in a gentle way —
without analyzing or retraumatizing —
without a desperate search,
I had no more need for
less effective ways of coping
that had served to carry me
to a safer place.
Whatever appeared as a reflection
to this safe place within
would be enough.
And when the the outer experience
didn’t match what was felt in my heart,
I held my ground.
It wasn’t always comfortable,
but it was a continuous,
delicate and sacred transformation
into tenderness.
Laurie's Notes 