Since that email– my thoughts have circled on this upcoming ritual. On the one hand, I purge objects from my home with frequency and a rather frightening lack of sentimentality.
A dress I haven’t worn in a year? Gone.
Pretty magazines that gather dust? Into the trash.
Journals threatening to take over the bookcase — boxed and crated in the basement.
And yet . . .
Yet. Every window sill in this apartment is littered with seashells. People, go ahead — open any drawer, look behind any cabinet and you will find bowls, tubs and ceramic planters filled with rocks and stones.
ROCKS & STONES.
The hell? We are not talking rubies, diamonds and emeralds. Ordinary rocks and stones.
I’m shaking my head as I type to you because I have no explanation. Except to say, the heart wants what it wants . . but back to the subject at hand — letting go.
We interrupt this winding reverie with a burst of ##*$&%FFing hell directed at Flickr and Instagram that has released an update that won’t allow uploads (it’s not just me, I googled it) and so the photos I was going to share are not available to me.
There is the inevitable clench of frustration, irritation ARRGHGHGHGHHG. And then?
Thanks to the intervention of philosophical dogs . . .
I witness it. I let go of what I thought I was going to do in this moment. I open to what is actually happening in this moment. I flow. I release. I relax.
And? I expect that things will be even BETTER this way. Better than what I could have planned or envisioned for you.
And that, my friends, is what I came in to share with you. What I am letting go of, what I am continually letting go of: resistance.
Perhaps it is due to the fact that I am moving into the second half of my life and my rising sign (which ‘they say’ is the growing influence in the second half of your life) is Pisces — the fish.
I am all about the flow, the loose, the giving over, the release. If I feel resistance, I immediately let go. Whatever is going on — if it’s not going as I planned, expected, wanted . . . the moment I feel myself getting tight, bothered, and pushing back against what is — I catch that old response and let it go. Poof.
Sure. Some moments are easier than others. It’s a practice like anything else. I practice in the small moments so I have more experience to draw upon in the big, heated moments. And the weird truth is, the more I let go, the more the things that I want most flow into my life.
(Everyone. All together now. GROUP EYE ROLL PLEASE! )
Think about it. If you have ever lifted weights for exercise then you know. The more weight you press against or lift– your muscles grow– resistance makes things bigger. So whatever it is you are pushing against, you are making it more of an obstacle, not less. Odd, I know– but try it— it’s really true.
Or, it has been true for me.
Which is not to say life isn’t full of challenges, and obstacles. Hell, the second you put a dream in motion, here come all the hurdles you’re gonna have to clear. I don’t fight them anymore (see: old age) — I receive them for what they are: grit that gives the pearl something to form around.
As anyone who has traveled along with me for any amount of time knows, once upon a time I was plagued with depression. This is no longer the case. I experience such intensity of pleasure in my daily life even I roll my eyes at myself sometimes — but I can still remember what the misery of that experience of life felt like and so when I came across this passage recently it really jumped out. I share it with you as it puts into other words what I am trying to express.
becomes compromised or deadened. They become numb to the world and
depressed about life. They feel separated and isolated from others.
These are my words right now. When things get pinch-y, I let go and simply start saying these words over and over until I look up and my little raft is out from behind the branches where it was caught in an eddy and I am rolling, once again down the river.
Merrily, merrily, oh blah dee . .
So, Sas — that is what I am letting go of: Resistance.
I am cooked spaghetti, gummy worms, silly putty — a field of wildflowers that bends with the wind like fragile ballet dancers dipping down, then up again.
You can call me Gumby.
*This post is part of the Let it Go Project: a collection of stories leading up to a beautiful releasing ritual, hosted by Sas Petherick on the 30th of January. All the details for this free event are here. And you can take part! Be inspired by other posts in this project, and share what you are ready to let of of on the Let it Go Project Community Page!