Quiet Reflections and Prayers
And so I stood
as the shattered pieces
of a self finding
its own heart.
There was a
quieting
in the midst
of the chaos
as it began
to sense
the different way
truth was felt
here,
the way it
flowed out
of all of its pieces —
the way it led
gently
into the place of
emptiness,
how it was moved
by the natural beauty
and delicate balance
of the very ground
of its own being —
where it was humbled
and without words
for a moment–
careful
not to impose.
When I really
got down to it,
the healer
in me
desired the same thing
as the part of me
hidden beneath
layers of distraction.
Parts of me
had gotten lost
in trying so hard
to protect
and process
as best they could,
while believing they were
separate.
The further away
they got,
the more attention
they demanded —
leading to a never-ending
struggle.
Relief came
in each moment
as I stood,
not as those fractured
pieces,
but as the whole —
reaching back
and embracing
that hidden part
that knew her own
voice —
welcoming
and releasing
all that stood
in-between.
At a certain point,
the only real option
was going to
the source —
risking it all
to find something
worth holding.
It meant looking
within
and finding
that one thing
I could say
was sacred,
that one thing
worth holding
if everything else
I thought I had
understood
turned out to be
untrue.
I had to know
if there was
hope for any of us.
I had to know if
there was something
to be found
in us
that was capable
of holding
anything pure
without messing it up.
And it turned out
there was.
I began to
listen a little
more deeply,
noticing without
forming thought
too soon.
I found myself
safely grounded
in the sacred space
of my heart.
I could feel
when truth was
spoken
and recognize
my own true
voice rising
out of the silent
spaces I had longed for
and feared.
And I knew I could
filter it out of
any amount of noise
and clutter.
The way forward
and through
was both painful
and tender.
It meant shedding
old ways
in exchange
for refinement
of spirit
and wholeness.
It meant stepping out
into places
and following a path
my mind couldn’t
yet imagine.
For a while,
I followed
my mind
and all that it
held to be
true.
But I found
the mind rarely
spoke of truth
without the heart.
And the heart,
though gentle
and soft,
always found a way
to remind it
of what was truly
sacred.
There was something
quietly satisfying
in showing up
without a mask,
without the constant
narrating mind.
Perceiving became
observing
and honoring
from a little higher
place.
Actions happened
naturally.
But it was the
space,
both expanding
outward
and anchoring me
in that moment,
that pulled me
ever so gently
toward my next needed
step.
There were times
when I didn’t know
whether to form words
or not,
when I knew
crying out
wouldn’t lead
to any more
understanding.
And so I vowed
to honor the sadness
beneath the frustration
in my own heart
and reach
past my own
temptation to lesson
the discomfort I felt
by holding a false sense
of security
in a made up story
of separateness.
And so I let go
of all of it,
trusting whatever was
true
to find its way back.
And I wrote
through my tears.
And so there was
a quieting,
an understanding
beyond words —
a reconnecting
with my own heart
that continued to
deepen.
There was still
pain.
But the desire to
push it down
or project it
outside of me
was replaced
with the move to
honor and
transform it back
into tenderness.
There was a quieting
that came out of
my willingness
to look a little deeper,
not further into mind,
but further into
the heart.
And from there,
I could see
more clearly.
There was relief
I hadn’t found
in other ways
and a tenderness for life
in all of its forms
that held me securely
in my deepest heart
and moved me
to continue on.
Laurie's Notes 