I learned to turn
inward —
to see past
the wounded places —
to keep my focus
on the quiet prayer
that had led me safely
back to my own
deepest heart
and softened
all experiences
ever so subtly.
Quiet Reflections and Prayers
I learned to turn
inward —
to see past
the wounded places —
to keep my focus
on the quiet prayer
that had led me safely
back to my own
deepest heart
and softened
all experiences
ever so subtly.
No longer bound
by outdated ideas
of how life should be,
I began to show up
in a gentler way —
seeing above
my own limited view —
slipping out
of projections
and old patterns —
making the best
of the pieces
I had to work with
in each moment —
remembering
the sacredness of life
and finding respite
in the middle of
the most chaotic of times.
There was a quieting,
a surrender into
the truest me,
a letting go
of the need
to arrange all of
the pieces
of a heart I believed
to be broken —
the most natural
kind of peace —
just a little deeper
down.
Thank you
for each step
of the mysterious
unfolding of life.
Help me to honor
the tender places,
my greatest challenges —
all unsorted pieces
that led me
to this moment
of reprieve.
Amen
I hold this space
in my heart,
this once forgotten place,
in honor of all that is
mysterious and unloved —
knowing that,
in this place,
nothing else is needed.
— Laurie, What’s Right Here
Note: My first book, What’s Right Here, will be ready soon with its new, softer look. Thanks to Renee and Michelle. Much love and gratitude for all who visit here.
Love,
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When life on the surface
became too much,
I found there was
immediate relief
in turning inward,
sinking down
past the thoughts
of how things should be,
resetting to a state
of prayer,
and refocusing
in the present moment
as it appeared —
holding, honoring
and letting go
until it became
something beautiful.
Always, this surrender to
a deeper me
was more satisfying
and more tender
than any experience
I could have created
alone.
And so I found
the strongest medicine
for the emotional pain
of being separated
from that pure place
of calm and real connection
with ourselves
and each other,
where the line between
disappears
in the subtle
messages from my heart.
It was in the willingness
to stand still
for just a moment
when there was no time
to stand still,
to stop trying so hard
to be better,
to meet whatever appeared —
even if it was nothing
at all.
It was in the persistence
of holding my ground —
even if that very ground
seemed shakey
and dissolved
into the nothing.
It was here
that I found a peace
that never left.
Sometimes there are
no words.
And sometimes
they just come.
I can’t say
which it will be.
But I will show
up either way.
I found there was
calm
in the middle of chaos —
sinking down in
and through
to the place called
state of prayer ––
holding on
to the space within,
honoring whatever appeared —
letting go
of everything else.