Quiet Reflections and Prayers
There was reverence
for moments when I was
gently guided –
when I couldn’t see the next
needed step.
There was a familiar pull,
a whisper of hope
not quite heard –
the creative flow of life
in many forms.
I learned to follow
where my heart was turned –
to trust it would always find
a way to what was
most true –
to let go of everything and welcome
whatever returned.
And so I remembered how to listen
to a different voice.
It was in that moment I knew
for sure that I could trust again
in the mysterious unfolding
of life.
I had, for a while,
turned my back
on the quiet prayer of my heart –
the one thing that connected me with
all that was true and real,
only to return stronger
and with greater reverence
for all that was human
and all that was Divine.
And so every experience,
no matter how painful or beautiful,
eventually led back to my heart.
It didn’t matter how long
I put off the inevitable prayer
of surrender.
Every single time I found my way
to that quiet prayer
and the immediate respite in
the instant recentering.
It didn’t matter that much of life
remained messy and parts
of the unfolding story would
most likely bring with them
a tenderness almost too raw to bear.
All of it eventually ended up
in this place.
I learned to find my way
back to the quiet space
within.
I learned to be okay
with a prayer
and a tiny spark of hope.
And I remembered
to never again let go
of my heart.
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.
Just when I thought
there was no hope,
just when darkness seemed
to have won,
I learned something surprising.
I learned this was the perfect
set up for an equal and opposite
surge of light
that would outshine every last
bit of darkness.
And once lit,
nothing could put it out
What was seen could never be
unseen.
For the most part,
what remained was the sweet
tenderness of the journey.
It was a bit of a jolt
when the dark nights appeared.
But with each one came
a little more light, pointing the way,
ever so clearly, to my true essence
and connection with my true Self.
It was, of course, difficult
during those intense times
of clearing out and letting go.
There was grief.
There was a lot of grief.
And there was, when I dared to trust
and keep going,
an ever expanding space of
tenderness,
which I wouldn’t have traded
for the chance to hold on
to anything else.
The thing is I was used to
taming inner darkness,
and sorting outrageous amounts of
mixed up truth and lies
was nothing.
The thing is I had already succumbed
to the dissonance —
already given up my soul
in pieces,
gathered it back up,
and carefully fit it back together with
my last bit of strength.
I had almost lost my life,
but it was almost completely
surrendering my soul
that was far worse.
The loss of my soul and therefore
all connection with God
and all that was life affirming
and good
became the one thing I feared.
And so, as shocking as it was to
be challenged and pushed
to the edge once more,
I was prepared not to go
down that path ever again.
There was the choice to align
with truth and life
at all costs…or not.
There was that one moment
when it was clear
enough life had been lived
and dishonored by oneself
to realize it had always been
a miracle
and that moment might be
the first chance of many
or the last for a while
to speak in alignment, finally,
from the heart.
What to say in that moment?
Rehash the details
of the dark or light the way
with a reclaimed soul?
(Holding space for healing,
of course.)
Say what is safe
or what is most true?
Shout with compassion
or comply with fear?
Pause and play along
as needed… perhaps.
Use every last bit of true love and
restraint?
It was impossible to predict
There were
no guarantees.
Laurie's Notes 