Quiet Reflections and Prayers
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.
Writing in the moment
began as a way of telling
the story of past healing
and quickly became a way
of moving through present challenges,
flowing new kinds of thoughts
from a quiet space within —
remaining open to the possibility
that new kinds of thoughts
and feelings could begin to be
reflected.
There were moments of deeply felt grief, having endured a long, intense spiritual and human journey. There were regrets and lingering physical scars and emotional wounds. And there was tenderness, something that was understood deep down to somehow be the whole point.
There was the understanding, in the brief moments of outer calm, that I had given up many things on this journey — but not this. I wouldn’t have been able to endure without this tenderness of spirit.
I wouldn’t have been able to be present in a world of challenges without having broken apart and come back together. I wouldn’t have been able to look at overwhelming challenges and destruction without knowing what is possible. I had been to the edge of destruction in my own way and had, against all odds, transformed — not with my own limited human self alone, but in cooperation with something much bigger that I didn’t quite understand.
At a certain point, it became clear that standing on the edge of destruction was only one way this thing could go. It was possible to be moved also by respect and compassion for having made it so far and the passion to prevent future suffering wherever I could. It was possible to nurture and allow the smallest spark of pure love to ignite.
When time seemed to
speed up
and the challenges were
too big for a fractured part
of self,
it became necessary to
evolve.
There was a willingness
to keep my heart open to
the remembrance of
what I had come here
to share.
Life became a continuous,
delicate and sacred transformation
into tenderness.
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.
I learned the value in reclaiming
the sacred space within
and reconnecting with my heart.
There were times
when a power greater than
my own small, separated self
rose up and intuitive knowing
could no longer be ignored.
Each moment became
a conscious choice of
“What now?”
Anything not moving in
the direction of creativity
and restoration
naturally fell away.
It seemed risky
at first.
But I never regretted
my decision
to continue on
toward my heart
at all costs.
Somewhere,
subtly, deep down
I knew
it was reconnecting
with my own
deepest heart
I longed for
most of all.
Thank you,
inner healer,
for always being
as you are —
your gentle way
softly calling me
closer to the center
of my heart.
Amen
For a dear friend who asked me what I learned after a long recovery from anorexia
and for all of us —
I found that,
without a doubt,
who I am
is more than
this human body
and mind.
I know this,
not because I studied
with enlightened beings,
even though I did.
I know this because
I lived it.
That is the power
and tender treasure
in this human journey,
especially those
that involve
deep healing.
I found this human
being to be a part
of me
with many parts
of its own,
some that are beautiful
and easy to love
and some that are
more difficult.
I found my greatest
healing in holding,
honoring and letting go.
I found this was a natural
process.
I found the core
of who I am
is Love.
I found this Love
naturally reveals
just enough information
in each moment.
I found my symptoms
and outer triggers
to be, in fact,
pieces of information
along this sacred journey.
I came to see
this life
wasn’t just about
healing symptoms
and reaching goals.
It was about the journey
itself.
And I began to remember
just how sacred
life is.
I began to see
myself as connected
to all of it.
I found I was
connected in each moment
to a higher self
and to the whole.
There was no need
to search outside
of me
for that connection.
There was no need
to try so hard
to manifest much.
Whispers of
pure spirit,
nature,
and the connection
found in a handful
of deep friendships
were more satisfying
than anything else.
I found joy
in being in a creative,
sacred space
with others
and my Self —
that silent space
of Love.
It wasn’t about
trying so hard
to create,
really.
Healing my own
shattered heart
was an art,
not a formula.
It took the strength
of each piece
risking to trust
when it would have
made more sense
to turn away.
It took the strength
to reach
and to hold
with open hands —
without grasping
or needing to avoid
being left
alone
in my reaching
while praying
to God that
wouldn’t happen.
It was a risk
that at a certain point
had become
my greatest hope.
Laurie's Notes 