Quiet Reflections and Prayers
I gathered all
parts of me,
even those
most difficult
to hold.
And I held all
of me —
all of them.
It didn’t matter
how long it took
or that there was,
in fact,
no guarantee
that my holding
would make any
difference at all.
And I honored all
that had led me
to that point —
all of it —
because I had
made it to my
deepest heart.
And I set
it all
down.
Somehow I have learned
to hold
a little longer,
to listen
a little deeper,
to stand in chaos
and find only clarity,
to look through
all that is here
and see only beauty —
to reach deep down
into the depths
of despair
and know only love.
I found my
quiet prayers
naturally led
to the most tender
place in my heart
and in every single
experience.
There was
a subtle shifting,
a gentle returning to
a peace
I had once known
as the connection
with all parts
of me —
within my heart.
What seemed at first
to be a pulling away
from the world
around me
became the rippling out
and receding
of my own
quiet prayers.
I found it was
possible to reclaim
and transform
parts of my heart
the world described as
broken.
I found it was possible
to turn my attention
toward the parts
of me
that were most
healed —
while scooping up
all that was unhealed
and all that was
becoming.
It took a bit of
courage
to sneak below
my usual thinking
mind
which saw only
the surface
and mismatched
pieces.
Oh, but just below
was where I found
the sweetest treasures.
Sometimes
the very best
I could do
was focus where
I was —
sinking
just below
the surface
where quiet prayers
were felt —
following —
floating —
allowing
each piece
of me
to flow most
naturally
in the direction
of my
heart.
And so the healing
began,
the gathering
of my very
heart,
the not knowing
just how
the pieces fit or
even if they
did.
And then it seemed
to matter less
how the puzzle went
than the love
I found there
beneath the pieces.
I found
the journey
of life
included some things
that were difficult
to look at
at first.
There were certain thoughts
and memories
and wounds
and moments of
disbelief.
There were shadows.
And there was
the desire to
believe that I could
somehow make sense
of all of it
through endless
sorting on the surface.
But peace came
when I had
exhausted every attempt
to sort life out
on the surface.
Eventually I had to
trust in my own
unique process
of feeling
into my heart
and see from a wider view —
just below the surface.
I let go,
trusting
that wherever
the pieces fall
will be okay —
possibly even more
beautiful
than if I had tried
to fit them
together on my own.
— Laurie, What’s Right Here
I learned to move
in the world
and in my inner
heart
in a way
that couldn’t be
taught.
I learned to feel
my way through.
Laurie's Notes 