Quiet Reflections and Prayers
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.
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.
The healing happened
quietly,
behind the scenes.
It was in each
whispered prayer
and moment of
real connection.
It didn’t come
in fancy packages.
It found its way
gently.
And it never
left.
Out of my deepest
silent prayer,
my true voice
called out
to be heard.
Its words were
clear and true
and led
safely back
to the silence
within my own
deepest heart.
I found it wasn’t
so much that I was
broken.
It was that I felt
disconnected
from my own true
voice —
lost in an ocean
of thoughts
and shoulds.
But there was a subtler
knowing from a little
deeper place
that never gave up
hope.
Laurie's Notes 