And so there was
a lightening,
a stepping back
and continuing on,
a fork in the road,
a line drawn in the sand,
the quiet knowing
deep down
that it was possible
to be in the world
and also in my heart.
Quiet Reflections and Prayers
And so there was
a lightening,
a stepping back
and continuing on,
a fork in the road,
a line drawn in the sand,
the quiet knowing
deep down
that it was possible
to be in the world
and also in my heart.
Life became
a series of
small surrenders
to a gentler way
of being
in my heart
and in the world —
trusting in what appeared
and faded —
knowing both the space behind
and the unfolding story
at once
and having the courage
and inner strength
to hold it all.
For a while,
I searched for
a way out
of suffering.
And then,
by grace,
I learned
the way out
was always
straight through
and a little deeper
down.
I found
my deepest comfort
in the sinking down
into the places
I had tried so hard
to heal.
I found peace
in the willingness
to look a little past
what was appearing
on the surface
and in the subtle shift
from the desire
to heal
into the desire to hold
with honor.
And so I found
the strongest medicine
for the emotional pain
of being separated
from that pure place
of calm and real connection
with ourselves
and each other,
where the line between
disappears
in the subtle
messages from my heart.
It was in the willingness
to stand still
for just a moment
when there was no time
to stand still,
to stop trying so hard
to be better,
to meet whatever appeared —
even if it was nothing
at all.
It was in the persistence
of holding my ground —
even if that very ground
seemed shakey
and dissolved
into the nothing.
It was here
that I found a peace
that never left.
At a certain point,
it became clear
that relief must come
at once,
in the form of
a respite,
an unspoken truce —
in the middle of
all that remained
unhealed
and unsettled.
And so I entered
the place beyond thought.
And though the energy
of what was held there
was often intense,
it was always tender
to sink a little
further in,
to be willing
to allow the uneasiness
to be there
and to subside,
to see this place
outside of me —
to be okay
no matter what.
I found
it was possible
to hold
all that appeared
for however long,
however intense
life on the surface became —
however hard it shook.
I found it was possible
to hold my ground
a little deeper down
and to reach
a little further out.
I found all things
were shifted
with this willingness
to be
in a state of prayer.
I found there was
calm
in the middle of chaos —
sinking down in
and through
to the place called
state of prayer ––
holding on
to the space within,
honoring whatever appeared —
letting go
of everything else.
Sometimes the story
on the surface
was too much.
And so I found
I could toss it up
and trust the pieces
to come back down
a little more gently.
And I was thankful
for the quiet
wordless messages
from my heart
that took its place.
I didn’t wish them
to be less subtle anymore
because I knew they came
from that pure place
where nothing is too much.