Quiet Reflections and Prayers
I searched
and gathered
and carried
and tried
and learned
many things
in hope
of finding
and sharing
something that would
make some kind of
difference
or bring some kind
of relief.
And I found the deepest
kind of healing came
in setting it all down —
daring to show up
empty.
I found I could
hold and honor
whatever was in front
of me —
pushing on
and remembering
just enough
in each moment.
Letting go of everything
often
allowed for deeper honoring
and natural shifting —
leaving space
for healing thoughts
to form —
leading naturally
to sacred space
and lasting calm,
even in the middle
of great transformation.
I began to listen
to the world around me
and to my own heart,
simultaneously.
And though the words
seemed slow
to describe this
natural process,
I found myself
trusting in its power
and moving
a little more gracefully
from this place.
I hold this space
in my heart
for healing.
I vow to stand
in my fear —
to follow in the steps
of my own heart —
to love
beyond hope
simply because it is
my nature to love —
to offer my deepest
silent prayer
to us all —
to be this living prayer
beyond words
in this moment
and the next —
to remember
and repeat the words
How could I not?
Amen
I found safety
in the natural way
I began to explore
myself and the world
around me.
I began to use thought
as a kind of safety net,
an intimate way
of staying grounded
and allowing myself
to be gently guided —
returning safely
again and again
to this quiet space
where I first waited
for my heart to speak
in a way I could
understand.
I learned to listen
with my heart,
to experience
what was right there
in front of me,
and to trust
the natural response
to arise
as a prayer —
somehow, mysteriously
sinking
down into all the places
I had tried so hard
to reach.
There was a kind
of relief
in realizing
I didn’t need to
fit all of the pieces
together.
I didn’t need to
force feeling better.
I didn’t need
to force anything
or be anything
other than what
was there
naturally —
underneath.
There was something precious
about getting down to
the core —
something raw —
a quieting,
a letting go
of the need to be
anything more
than life living itself
naturally —
stillness moving
on borrowed time
in no time —
releasing
and affirming itself
silently or as
a whisper.
And so I
jumped to the core
of my heart —
because there was
nowhere else
to search —
or because I sensed
the directness
of that move
and the resolve
of all the pieces
of my heart
to lead me
to the peace
I knew was there.
Thought became secondary
to the listening,
a kind of
inside out version
of how it had been —
a way of staying
within a natural flow —
reconnecting with
and exploring
my inner self
and outer world
in a gentler way.
Laurie's Notes 