Quiet Reflections and Prayers
The tenderness found
in that first moment of surrender
initiated me into the delicate process
of walking through the most
difficult times.
It taught me to hold
and let go of all that is
unhealed and unresolved
in me and in the world.
It offered a glimpse into our creative,
resilient human nature
that finds a way to look
a little deeper
for beauty and hope
and a gentler path.
I learned to find my way
back to the space within
my heart.
I learned to be okay
with a quiet prayer
and a tiny spark of hope.
And I remembered
to never again let go
of my soul.
And so the essence
of every experience became
a prayer —
a continuous flow of love within
the gentle whisper of truth
that had breathed me
back to life.
The quiet prayer in my heart
continued on
no matter how many times I seemed
to forget to listen.
It was there in the quiet moments
when I dared to gather up all
of the confusion and anxieties
and frustration and ongoing traumas
playing out all around me.
It was there in the aha moments
when I became quiet enough to remember
all I had forgotten to gather up —
all the little bits of hope and the pure
miraculous way they still existed
after everything.
It was there when I remembered
just one small, sweet memory
of the journey —
a time when I seemed to be
completely alone but realized I was not.
In a sea of traumatic memories
and the long list of things lost,
what stood out, if I looked
and listened a little deeper,
was tenderness.
And so I continued to write —
not so much for the words anymore
but to feel the connection
with my soul
at a time when real connection
was precious and rare
and words seemed to fall short.
If I couldn’t be heard
then I would listen.
I would turn frustration into
dedication.
I would take the deep sadness,
and I would hold it —
forever if necessary.
And if this tender ache could be
deepened, I would find a way.
Maybe it would lead to a new outer
reflection,
something a little more sacred
and beautiful.
Most likely, but maybe not.
It was my best shot.
It was one more last try —
one more time
Perhaps the most painful lesson
on the journey
was allowing things to be
unresolved —
unsorted.
It was a little different than
giving in. It was definitely not
giving up., but I had to learn
to hold a place for all that was unsettled —
trusting in previous lessons learned
about truth and love and the fluidity
of all states —
knowing beyond all doubt that
there was tenderness in this place.
I learned that in order to retain the delicate
reconnection with my true Self,
there was to be a clean cut
with all that was of false light.
There were moments of extreme grief
and disbelief as one piece after another,
all that was holding my heart from
it’s true calling was torn back.
I did my best to gather up anything
that might help in retracing my steps
and somehow returning with some kind
of treasure to share —
which helped to create a sense
of meaning in the pain.
Eventually, even carefully gathered treasures
had to be set down — for a while,
adding to the already immense grief
I didn’t know if my heart could bear.
But it was at that point I began to
understand tenderness and
compassion and grace
more deeply.
And I knew I could never
turn back.
There were so many moments
of decision,
so many chances to take one more step
and to trust it was indeed safe to hold
out for truth
just one more last time.
I learned the art of turning inward,
healing deeply
all the parts of me that were
frightened and exhausted from years
of being disconnected from each other
and from God.
I learned there was a powerful
spirit of pure, real love —
not the imitation or false light
I had strived for.
No, not that.
This unexpected rising up of pure
Spirit was what had brought me
through trials and encouraged me
when I didn’t think I could endure.
And it was this very rising up
that, each time I glanced at the road
behind me, made the whole journey
worth living.
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.
Laurie's Notes 