Quiet Reflections and Prayers
I found myself
listening to life
in a way I could only
discover through direct
experience,
an exploration of how
this worked for me —
aided by my observations
of others,
my willingness
and innate ability
to listen with my heart
and trust what it revealed.
I found I didn’t
need to wait
for everything
to come together
or fall apart —
or dance all
the little pieces
of my heart
into a corner.
In any moment,
I could return
to zero.
And I always met
just the right pieces
there.
Out of necessity,
I found myself
starting from zero.
And to my surprise,
it was most beautiful place.
And though I wanted
to find my way back,
I always returned
to zero.
And I never felt the need
to find a label
for everything
In fact, I searched
everything for zero.
Thank you
for each subtle reflection
of truth
and each quiet space
of in-between —
for each heart that whispers
and listens
through its own wounding
and understands
beyond thinking.
Amen.
When there are
no words
to express,
when there seems
to be no next move,
I will stand still.
I will honor
the space in our
deepest hearts.
And I will continue on —
as a prayer.
Without a solid sense
of a fragmented self
once held in place
by overthinking
and figuring out,
the pull was to seek out
quiet space
in which to transform
experience back into
prayer —
deeply honoring
all that was left
unresolved on the surface —
gently pointing
back to the space
within my heart
because there was
nothing left
to block the way.
I found life
continued to unfold —
each of us
doing our best
to listen
to our own quiet prayer,
getting lost
and returning
again and again
to silence.
I found it a bit
humorous
after a while —
all the trying
to understand and
interpret.
And so I continued on
as a part of
the mystery —
a little lighter —
participating without ever
leaving the space
within my deepest heart
and just below
the surface.
There was nothing
to compare
with the natural calm
I found
in choosing to let go
of ideas of how
exactly to do it —
vowing to become
healer of my own heart —
whatever that meant
and however long
it took —
grateful to be
in that one
honest,
continuous prayer.
I kept searching
until I found
something that could
stop me
in my tracks.
I had let go
of many things.
I had tried so hard
for so long
to sort out
thoughts and all those
wounded places.
I had struggled
and given up.
I had been turned away
and breathed back.
But in that moment,
it was really much
simpler and
more tender
than that.
I found I was
the quiet prayer
in all of it.
Life became
more of a natural,
organic process.
Figuring every step
and knowing
exactly how
to do it
was replaced with
quiet joy picked up
somewhere
in the exploration,
the delicate
innate ability to
trade in confusion
for a search for
tenderness
and the magic
of unexpected treasures
found along the way.
Laurie's Notes 