Laura Elliott

Writing

Writing is one of my greatest passions. I write to give meaning to my reflections, to the beauty and wretchedness of the world, and to share words simply wanting to be expressed. Ultimately, I write because I must—the wildness insists. Here you will find a selection of my poetry and prose.

Sipping Hot Chocolate

There are women in Iran being imprisoned and brutalized for speaking their truth, and here I sit, warm and comfortable, sipping hot chocolate in a cozy café, with the freedom to choose small, medium or large, with the freedom to choose from which window I watch the beauty of snow fall—and with the freedom to choose how to speak my truth, but for the prison of my tamed heart.

Slothful I feel, recalling Thoreau’s words to Emerson during the Mexican-American War. When his good friend asked him, “What are you doing in there?”  Thoreau responded, through the window of his prison cell, “What are you doing out there?”

—Milestone
Art & Literature Review

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Remembering

Look at those eyes
seeing into mine.
Wisdom, knowing,
beckoning deep places within.

Calling forth the truth
of who I am.
Will I answer
or turn my face.

Betrayal
a shadow
always lurking
to steal myself away.

When
will I look
into the eyes of my soul
and meet its brilliant gaze.

Seeing the truth
of who
I am.

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January

In the depth of winter, feel the stillness of the season… feel the stillness of your soul. A time for renewal, as we pause with earth’s rhythm, moving deep into the center of our being… reflecting, searching, discovering the light within… the light of darkness that brings us peace. See how the trees live and move and have their being… in stillness they reach deep within knowing that the fire of the sun is still burning in earth.

—One of the 12 monthly meditations written for the 2001 calendar published by Ministry of the Arts, CSJ

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Beyond a Romantic Gesture

I propelled myself out into the cold morning for a brisk walk and turned left toward the snow covered beach, drawn to the water’s edge, inviting the waves to shake through my mood of discontent. My mood of worry and wonder if I’d done the right thing. My steps were quick and deliberate. Trust, trust, trust! I hiked up the dunes, traversing the ridge, in search of wilderness to meet the needs of my tamed soul. The soul that no longer wished to be bothered by such pettiness. With fervor, I prayed that my life be more than a romantic gesture. That I welcome the grist that takes me beyond the edges of my comfort. That I step into each day with the courage to follow the voice within—and to live with the knowing that I am graced beyond measure to do so.

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The Waiting World

Wrap your words with love, my dear.
Infuse them with passion,
drawing deep from the wisdom
of your knowing heart,
and breathe them
into the waiting world.

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