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
I had, for a while, turned my back
on the quiet prayer within my heart —
my very essence,
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.
After a while I learned
to let go a little more deeply
into the mystery.
I had allowed myself to feel
the quiet prayer of my heart.
And so there was no turning back —
it didn’t matter how many challenges
appeared in front of me
or how many times I found myself
straining to regain my footing in a world
I had tried so hard to understand —
grasping for any small sign
of something meaningful or true.
I became willing to set down
everything else in exchange
for one more small memory
of my soul.
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
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.
What looked like a dead end
to the path less taken
turned into more of
a vertical journey within,
and becoming even more connected
with God and with my own
There was a gratitude beyond words
for each tiny piece of truth
that added to an unshakeable knowing —
the remembrance of my very essence
that could never be broken —
a tender space
where there had once been
I learned to find my way
back to the space within
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 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
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
something a little more sacred
Most likely, but maybe not.
It was my best shot.
It was one more last try —
one more time
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
And I knew I could never
There were so many moments
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,
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
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
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
which I wouldn’t have traded
for the chance to hold on
to anything else.