Quiet Reflections and Prayers
In the center
of my heart,
I found
no concepts
and no words,
only the purest essence
of all of my experiences.
And though there was
the sense
of a returning
from the focused holding
in that place,
I found it was
and had always been
what was most true.
I had only forgotten.
When there were
no words,
I was silent.
And when there was
more than I could process,
I tossed it all
back up
and waited again
for the pieces
to fall back down
a little more slowly.
Sometimes I hold
just to see
what is here,
beneath the surface —
where it is safe now
to disappear.
I vowed to hold
all that appeared
for as long as it took,
to keep my focus
on what was
most real and true.
And ever so softly,
letting go
of unneeded pieces,
holding on
to the subtle messages
only my heart understood,
I crossed over
to the place
where quiet whispers
carried me —
where words couldn’t go.
And so life continued
to unfold
as it had been.
And having let go
of the need to understand
or express
in that moment,
I held
each whispered prayer
as it appeared.
And I became
the wholeness
that had carried me
safely back
to the place of no words.
I found
my deepest healing
in meeting all that appeared
as it was —
choosing in each moment
to surrender to
and gently support
the natural unfolding
of life.
And I found
my deepest comfort
in noticing
the slightest shifting
in silence.
It’s a little funny
the long journey
to nowhere really,
following the invisible path
into the heart
that ends up
right back here,
finding so much
and holding on
to nothing,
setting out
to gather,
to share —
knowing then to be
silent.
I held
whatever appeared
without judgement,
without needing
a particular outcome.
And I found
I had reconnected
with the part
of me
that was most healed.
And all that
was most in need
of holding
dissolved each time
a little more
into a tender vulnerability
I would never regret
having found.
I held
all.of the pieces
I couldn’t quite
fit together,
not knowing
what the outcome
would be —
silently vowing
to trade my shields,
to risk it all —
to face my own vulnerability
for the hope
of a subtle shifting
that would bring
all of me back
to the place
where I was
unbroken —
however long
it took.
Remind me how
to listen
to silence,
to be unafraid
to take in
more than I can
ever express —
to be willing
not to understand.
And when I feel I must
reflect some piece
of its wisdom,
point me back
to the silence
within my own heart.
Amen.
Laurie's Notes 