There was a continuous movement within the stillness of my true Self. It was the softening of all parts of me that had felt separate and lost in repetitive cycles of emotional pain.
I had reached the place of enough is enough and decided to find my way to tenderness. Tenderness came out of the realization I was reliving the exact same old pain I had vowed to never feel again. It came out of the last bit of gathered strength to try one more time to hold and honor it instead.
For a while, parts of me did their best to survive. The noise created in my mind served as a way to focus away from attempts to sort out what couldn’t be processed completely from that place. Had I been able to access more highly consious parts of me, I would have been shown a gentler way.
In truth, I was shown this gentler way, but needed to reach a place where I could hear more clearly. I needed to step out of that seemingly separate and fractured self.
There, in the sacred space of my true Self, instead of struggling against parts of the whole, I became healer of my own heart.
I found there had always been a quiet prayer within my heart. It had been covered up for a while by the noise of the world and the noise within.
It was there each time I dared not to listen to the endless chatter of mind and allowed my attention to land on the space beyond objects and subtle energies within. It appeared gently, as a whisper — like a subtle breeze I might have easily missed.
The next part was easy — at a certain point. Holding all of the pieces of my heart, there was just one more step, the release.
I stopped trying so hard to fit the pieces together as a separate little me. And I reached for something higher. It was the sweetest kind of surrender.
Maybe it was seeing the stories on the surface become unbearable that made jumping into the unknown seem less scary for a moment. Perhaps it was having been touched so deeply by the sharing of others or the desire to play a part in the shattering of old patterns of suffering. Perhaps it was a combination of these things that caused my heart to make a gesture to future generations through healing and softening my own heart a little more. How could I not?
What Now was a gentle way of continuing on. It meant being okay with where I was. It meant being okay with where others were as well. It meant letting go of the need for outer stories to go a certain way, while still being present and offering my part
I found What Now to be a good place to focus in each moment. It was a saving grace to learn to keep my focus on the unfolding step in front of me. No matter what I wished I had done before or understood a little sooner, it mattered that I was taking the step in front of me. I liked the way this new found sense of self felt as I dropped the old stories in my mind and focused on the step in front of me.
Healing deeply was a little different than I had first expected it to be. I had to learn to hold and let go of all the pieces of my heart.
I learned to reach for my own inner healer — listening beyond stories and thought — holding space for all that was unhealed in me — respecting the tenderness, authentic beauty, compassion and peace I found there that couldn’t have been taught.
I began to notice all the ways I had tried to reach this place that had actually taken me in the opposite direction. Instead of trying so hard to work out the stories in my mind, I learned to be in my heart — where unresolved pieces turned into pieces of art and honored wisdom. Whatever was needed began to unfold a little more gracefully from there.
There were times when the stories around me were complex. I knew the only hope was a miracle — often more than one. And so I vowed to clear my own mind and heart and become one with the quiet prayer that had carried me that far.
I vowed to hold the remaining bits of trauma in my heart — knowing they would be transforned into healing words. And I held each new moment as it unfolded.
Words pointed back to miracles past, comforting pieces of my heart and connecting me in each moment to a timeless, unshakeable higher me. But my prayer had no words.
There was a quiet kind of beauty in allowing my heart to be in pieces. It wasn’t the mending, so much, that allowed my experience in the world began to soften. It was the gentle shift from being the pieces to being the whole Self.
It was too much at first to step out of the pieces. And so I practiced holding and letting go until the tenderness of tapping into my own true essence far outweighed anything else. There was a sweetness in noticing that it did in fact matter what I was experiencing on the inside.
It was sobering to find tenderness in unlikely places — to be willing to listen to life — tossing up thoughts and stories gathered and held so carefully in exchange for a new kind of emptiness and the courage to regather pieces of my heart again and again — each time a little more sweetly.
It was a relief not to need to fit the many pieces of my heart together all at once.