Quiet Reflections and Prayers
Life, with all its challenges
and miracles, had a way of leading
my heart back to the quiet space within
and the setting down of all of the tangled up,
unresolved thoughts —
the difficult step of tossing everything else
up to God.
Time and time again I found myself
in a place of too much —
the only clear option being
to return again humbly
to my deepest heart
and begin again from there.
I learned, out of necessity,
the skill of holding an intention
while letting go at the same time.
It was this delicate balance
of holding and letting go
that gave me the stamina
to do what felt absolutely impossible —
to love my way straight through
all that was painful
and turn it into the most tender
experience.
It took a strong kind
of spirit,
brave souls who had prepared
to hold love and shine light
above all else —
daring to stand apart from the crowd
though their hearts ached —
honoring and assisting the difficult task
of evolution —
the delicate transformation
into tenderness.
I found it most beneficial
to enter what I would later call
a prayer break
during times of deep healing.
I intuitively took actions that needed
to be taken —
letting go of everything
that could wait,
I spent my time with nature, creativity,
simple and nourishing foods,
and meditations (including moving
meditations)
and words from the most
nurturing and wise
healers I could find.
While I was able to trust
my own inner support,
I found it comforting to listen
and feel for truth in the words of others.
I found peace in allowing all emotions and
triggers, while becoming more refined at
responding from more healed parts of me.
I learned to take in information from
the inner and outer and “toss it all”
to my higher self or God.
I found peace in allowing
the pieces to fall back down —
a little at a time —
in ways I could easily understand.
I found there were many
forks in the road,
many places to choose
to walk where there is
no path,
where pain is held, honored
and transformed again and again —
each time leaving a little more space
for the one thing strong enough
to balance the traces of pain inevitably
left over from often difficult journeys,
the one thing strong enough to hold all
of the pieces
of an authentic life —
the space within our hearts.
Even when it seemed like
any sense of inner peace
had been lost,
it was there.
It took only the intention
of entering a state of prayer
to refocus on the present moment
and find the center of my heart —
where I could hear the quiet prayer
that was always there.
I found reprieve in
the remembrance of the quiet peace
ever present within my deepest heart.
I found a willingness to listen
a little deeper —
to observe a little longer —
to be carried and
set back down gently
in the present moment
where there was tenderness.
After a while, it was difficult
to see how I could have moved
through life in any other way.
I intuitively understood
that if I was going to reconnect
with my heart,
I would need to risk setting down
old ways of coping
and moving through
a whole lot of fears.
What I had found was subtle
and tender, and i just knew
if I was to return to any form
of numbing or distraction,
I would miss something I wasn’t
willing to let go of again.
I had come too far.
And so the decision was made,
and that first step into
what I later called a prayer break
was taken.
The respite found immediately
was a vast contrast
to all of the striving and searching
and disconnect I had experienced.
I never turned back.
After a while my life existed within
an expanded prayer break,
a gentle reconnection
with a deeper part of me
and a return to the natural flow
of life, which I experienced as
a continuous 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 gentle
surrender into the quiet prayer
that had carried me so far.
It hadn’t always been graceful
on the surface
There continued to be moments
when the very best I could do
was to just keep going.
But there was a deepening sense
of grace and respect for
the journey.
And there was this continuous,
subtle, often wordless quiet prayer
through it all.
Laurie's Notes 