I found myself within
a natural flow,
a constant creative process —
a subtle, prayerful transformation
set in motion by one quiet prayer.
I learned to keep going
whenever things didn’t look at all
like what I held in my heart.
I learned to hold my ground
just a little longer —
trusting somehow, one more last time,
in the transformation into tenderness.
Somehow I had dared
to listen to the quiet prayer
in my heart.
I had tried and exhausted
every other option
in my search for peace.
Truthfully, there was really
no better option.
It was shocking at first to,
in a sense, start over again
in my search.
But I began to sense a natural
peace within me and allow
this peace to expand — ever so slightly.
It was a sensing from within,
a quiet prayer from a deeper me.
It didn’t matter so much if things appeared
peaceful on the surface.
It didn’t depend on my body
or mind being still.
What mattered was my
willingness to show up just
as I was and to be with whatever
met me there.
There was a settling in
to the rhythm of the once faint
quiet prayer in my heart.
Of course it was extremely difficult
to stay centered
and often impossible to be as
graceful on the surface
as the prayer in my heart.
But I did my best to release
my hold on how I thought
this life should unfold,
understanding that contrast was
in fact part of the game.
And I allowed myself to be
carried through contrast and
challenges —
back into tenderness.
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.
Words became a gentle
path back into the willingness
to feel and to be a little more
present.
After a while, they began
to echo the silence of
my deepest heart —
winding their way through
old wounds —
soothing whatever appeared
along the way.
Again and again
I found my way back to my heart,
it was a relief
to be free of all that had
seemed like too much.
I came to recognize the feeling
of too much
as a sign I had attached
somewhere other than my heart.
Again and again,
I found my way to
the present moment
and gently reconnected
with my heart —
refocusing on each moment
as it unfolded —
regaining my trust in life
a little at a time.
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.
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.
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.
