Life Is Letting Go

27 Nov 2023 12 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in food, Holidays, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , , , ,

The car is tucked into its new garage space. The doors are finished and ready to be hung. It’s supposed to be warmer on Wednesday; a southwest wind. We’ll do it then.

The entryway and loft are insulated. Outlets and switches wired. All of my lighting fixtures have arrived. Today, I’ll do the math to determine how much sheetrock I need, and the next time the truck goes to town, I’ll go with it. We’ll bring back a load.

Then why am I morose?

It could be the landscape. I look out on a collage of grays and dirty browns. Snow-drops swirl in the bitter air. The tiny dots of white don’t yet qualify as snowflakes. Minnesota is at its least attractive after leaves have fallen and before a veil of white descends from the skies and blankets everything.

But I know it’s not that.

It’s the fact that I can’t let go of the ambitious dream to build an entrance from the garage into the house with stairs ascending to the loft. I scheduled that into my work plan. I bought a Diamond Pier, and we pounded it into the solid clay dirt. It will support the corner of the room that houses the stairway. But these are things I can’t do alone, and I have no control over the time others are willing to devote to my project.

The thing is, this part can wait until spring. I’ve already resigned myself to that fact. But I haven’t quite let go. I want it too much.

Letting go.

I let go of my children as they reached adulthood and found their own paths. I moved over forty times, letting go of homes that I loved. I let go of partners when it became more painful to remain. I let go of friends when distance created too much space between us. I let go of youth. I let go of beauty. I made peace with the loss of my parents.

And salt.

A random blood pressure check about a week ago horrified me. Holy crapola! What happened? A quick scan online of the causes of high blood pressure and I had my answer. Salt. Some people are sweet lovers. My Waterloo is salt, tons of it on a giant bowl of popcorn that I eat at night, by myself, watching my latest TV series addiction.

In the grocery store, I started checking labels for sodium. OMG! I had no idea. Not only was I eating my daily allowance in that bowl of popcorn, I was OD-ing throughout the day on everything else. I made a vow to radically reduce my intake. In doing so, I let go of food having flavor. Eating isn’t much fun anymore. Popcorn with no salt, and no-salt butter, is foul! I hope my tastebuds will adjust. They haven’t yet. But I’ve gotten my bloodpressure down to the low 120s, and that was the goal.

Rachel Gordon, MA, MED, writes in her blog, Humble Warrior Therapy:  …the practice of non-attachment – of letting go of our ego’s constant grasping and clinging – helps alleviate our suffering and increase peace of mind. Non-attachment doesn’t imply that we let go of our plans, pursuits or goals; rather, we practice changing the energy or tone of our pursuits, focusing on the journey rather than the destination.

Life is letting go.

And letting go is redirecting energy and focus. I can do this. Needless to say, I’ve had practice. There are a thousand other things that deserve my attention. Yes, there’s sheetrock, mudding, and taping, paint, and flooring. But Winter Solstice is coming. Then Christmas. And Valentine’s Day. And Spring Equinox. And Easter…

There are cookies to frost, a tree to trim, lefse to bake, and rituals to be performed. By the time all of that has been accomplished, the snow will be gone. The ground will have thawed. We won’t be bundled in multiple layers of clothing just to keep from freezing to death.

The journey will have brought me into right timing. Then…

We will build it.

Non-attachment. This is the life-skill to master. So much suffering can be avoided if we learn to focus on the journey. And, as we reach the destination, we finally let go of life itself.

The Momentum of Intention and the Healing Power of Ritual

19 Jun 2016 16 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Holidays, Uncategorized, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

P1110803Today I did something I’ve never done. It felt important to remember Dad in a special way on Fathers Day. In America that falls on Sunday, June 19th.

When the idea dawned to assemble mementos, the 19th was still two days away. As I went about the normal routine ideas floated to consciousness: Dad loved to play Texas Mean! I’ll find the game and set it up. What were his favorite foods? He liked hot stuff, chilies! And raisin pie, and, oh! Flowers!

I fell asleep anticipating Fathers Day morning but awakened at 2:04 a.m. Where was that photo of him that I brought back with me from the States? As I was scouring my brain trying to place it I fell asleep only to awaken again at 4:18. His purple heart and dog tags! Those must be displayed, and pictures of our family…I dropped back into sleep. At 6:00 a sunrise befitting the magnitude of the day summoned me. I scrambled out of bed for the camera and captured a stunning sky.

Still in pajamas, I set about looking for his photo. It wasn’t in any of the expected places, but in the process of the hunt I found others. Perfect! While unearthing the Texas Mean game from its place in the cupboard a collection of old calendars caught my eye. Inserted between March and April, 2015, was my handsome Dad on his wedding day. Beside it was the program from his funeral. Did I want that reminder? It took a few minutes to sort through how I felt. Then one line caught me eye: Died January 29, 2016. Yes, his death was a fact of his life.

As I assembled the keepsakes, a carved Buddha head on the wall just above the display felt off. The eyes, locked into an unwavering stare, didn’t fit. In my scarf drawer was a black loosely-woven shawl. I draped it over Buddha’s head so just the shadow of a face could be seen. That was the missing piece. It represented the veil of sadness and loss that today I’m allowing myself to feel. Then the tears came.

A time-out to shower and dress restored my composure. Barefoot, I walked outside, down the stairs, and into the garden breathing the moisture and aromas of breakfast being cooked. I sensed Dad’s presence with me. He loved gardens! Damp and cool underfoot, a slow amble around the perimeter produced yellow, purple, and hot pink blooms. I’d just added two green chilies to the mix when Ketut appeared.

“Ya, good morning. What are you doing?”

“I’m preparing a ceremony for my father.”

His face lit up. “One years, same as Hindu?”

“No, it’s six months since he died. But in America this is a special day for fathers.”

“I will bring offering,” he said. A few minutes later he returned with two palm leaf creations filled with the appropriate grains of rice, flowers, and mossy bits that appear everywhere on ceremonial days in Bali. I asked if it was okay to put raisins, the chilies, and a sweet biscuit on top. He assured me that this is how it should be.

All in readiness, I lit a candle and incense.

The raspy voice of Johnny Cash came to life on the computer: I Walk the Line. It was a song we loved to sing. While it played I made coffee, one for Dad, one for me, and we had our time together.

Underlying the sadness was intense joy filled with loving energy both his and mine. From the moment of intention, my subconscious mind had spun the story. When it was time to bring the idea to fruition, all the needed elements were there for creating an altar of memories.

Ritual is healing. I’ve heard that but I didn’t really understand. Now I get it. It can’t just be a concept. It has to be performed. I’m grateful that I took the time, made the effort, and followed the subtle promptings of my heart.

Happy Fathers Day, Dad, and all my love…always…

Sherry