Quiet Reflections and Prayers
What Now became
a choice in each moment,
the courage to release
everything held
so carefully for so long —
again and again.
It was the conviction
to stand firmly
in a space of not knowing —
the willingness to loosen
my grip on life —
the choice to wait for inspiration
and higher thoughts.
I vowed to be still in my heart
just long enough
for words to form
to comfort all that was
unsettled in me.
And then I found
the comfort came before
the words,
in my willingness to be
with all that is here —
in the presence of
my own soul.
May I be guided today by grace. May I have the patience to wait for higher thoughts. May I be moved by inspiration and love and creative flow — viewing each experience that crosses my path as an alternate route to tenderness. Amen
As I looked back
on the long journey,
the thought came
that if I had to choose
a place to start again,
I would go back
to the first time
I was moved
to trust
my own heart —
when there was nothing
left to try
except to drop everything
and find out
what was left.
I would start again
from there.
— Laurie, What Now
Sometimes prayers
become wordless —
when there are
a million words
in the heart,
but not one
to match
the rawness
of emotion felt.
And so I offer
my deepest silent
prayer
to the place
of peace
in us all
in this moment
and the next.
And I honor
our steps
as we find our way.
— Laurie, What Now
I wish to reflect
all that is soft,
to offer my love
to all that is not —
to remind us
of the sacredness
of the journey
and the beauty
in the transformation.
— Laurie, What’s Right Here
The shifts toward greater alignment with my heart were painfully subtle at times, but I learned that movement is movement. I found any amount of flexibility in my mind and body could be held and carried into more movement and more gentle guiding of unaligned fragments of Self back to the center of my deepest heart — in each moment.
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.
I learned to look for the light in every experience, no matter how dark it looked at first glance. It meant being willing to not know exactly how situations would transform, while knowing they would in fact transform.
It meant being willing to be still in my heart and diligent with thoughts while daring to place my feet in the world of form.
There was a delicate softening — the transformation into tenderness. Tenderness spilled over again and again from the ever-present quiet prayer within my deepest 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.
Laurie's Notes 