Tied to me deeply from forever
Quote of the day:
At the Edge – Anyone alive has had great suffering, if we are willing to admit it. Can you also notice the great tenderness at its edge? Tell me about it. Go. Ten minutes. (Natalie Goldberg, Page 182.)
I am learning to let go. It is not easy. It means taking those memories that are as vivid and as real as if they are happening right now again and again – and allowing them to vaporize into thin air – into nothingness. It means owning who I am right now.
In short. It means giving up the past.
Like a balloon slipping from my fingers and flying up and away into the skies. I remember a few years ago saving a stunned red cardinal that had bumped into our large glass window, escaping a large hawk, swooping as if from out of nowhere down to the feeder. I ran outside after I heard the dreaded thump on the living room glass pane. Kneeling down with tears in my eyes, I gently gathered up the small bird in a towel and placed it in a cardboard box lined with a soft rag. The cardinal fluttered weakly and I was sure it would be dead by the morning. Still, I laid out some sunflower seeds right next to the box in its secluded spot on the patio – just in case it survived.
Early the next morning I awoke and tiptoed out to see how the little red cardinal was doing. Peeking from the side of the glass door leading out to the patio I noticed the bird sitting on the edge of the box looking about as if waking from a long, deep sleep. The bird pecked at one of the seeds, cocked its head right and left, and then – just like that – flew up and away through the trees.
I gasped out loud to see it go. Recovered.
Letting go means taking responsibility for my Self. My Ego. Not taking everything personally. Allowing others their own responsibilities, Selves, Egos. It is detachment edged with compassion.
It is not easy. There are moments of great suffering as I release attachments that seem to have been tied to me deeply from forever. Indeed, it almost feels as if pieces of my soul are being gouged out with a knife and that I will not be able to survive the night.
And then, the next morning even before the dawn light, I sit at the edge of my bed, move my head from left to right, and rise to embrace the new day. My body is filled with an excitement that feels like an electrical surge down to my finger tips, warming the inside of my stomach and chest cavity.
I gasp out loud to see me go. Recovered.