Spring is almost here in the northern hemisphere, and autumn in the south. Each new beginning implies a simultaneous end.
How are you with letting go? Does it make you anxious? Do you pretend not to care? Have you become so attached to letting go that you don’t know how to hang on when it would serve you to do so? Letting go can be a constant daily somatic practice. It is an essential part of creating and tending to the conditions for what you want to be able to arise. How are you getting in the way of what you want to make space for in yourself, your life, and the world? Can you let that go?
You don't have to know exactly what you're letting go, or how the letting go will happen. In fact, you can’t know exactly how it’s going to happen. If you knew exactly how the letting go was going to happen you’d be doing something you already know how to do, which is by nature not actually letting go. Letting go goes hand in hand with not knowing. You commit to an intention of release, and then you allow something deeply intelligent to take over, which makes letting go a leap of faith every time. It may be a circuitous, non-linear, messy path, but you are practicing trust that something in you, or of you, knows how to allow what you’re asking of it.
Here are some musings on letting go. Work with what resonates for you, and let go of the rest.
Letting go will not happen unless we sense something supportive enough for us to let go into. Let go into the ground, the chair. the sky, or the ocean. Let go into God, or into the arms of your love.
We will respond most effectively to our intentions to let go if we frame it in terms of allowing, asking, choice-making, or giving our selves permission. This also means letting go of pushing through or overriding ourselves if we encounter something that is not yet ready to let go. Then we can engage a process of inquiry to understand what fears may underlie our reluctance to release.
Letting go always shifts space for something new to fill it in. Be intentional about what you are inviting in as you let go.
Letting go may need to be done in small parts. It may be too much to let go of something all at once.
Letting go is humbling. It implies not knowing. Let it humble you. Let it bring you face to face with feeling out of control and helpless, so you can learn how to meet yourself in those places with curiosity and compassion. Let it show you unfamiliar rhythms and energy flows. These are the edges where growth happens.
Letting go might be casual, or quiet, or even uneventful. It could also feel like becoming an entirely different human being. Your letting go will look and feel different than mine.
Sometimes it's not about letting go. Sometimes it's about gathering and retrieving. Let go of moving forward. Maybe you need to go back to collect the past.
Let go of the way you think things “should” be, or how you think you should be, in order to actually be with what is.
Let go of what’s not yours to hold.
Let go of all that is not necessary. This doesn’t have to be bleak. Music, dance, and art are just as necessary as sleeping and eating. Tulips may be necessary for your survival.
Let go of any extra effort you do not need to do the things you want to do.
Let go of constant consumption.
Let go to grow. It does not have to mean collapse, withering, or shriveling.
Let go of whatever you think needs to be done right now unless it’s working for you. If it’s working for you, great! If it’s not working for you, let go so that a new way of working can have space to come in.
May your palms soften, so your fingers unfurl
May your biceps stand down
May your eyes and mouth rest
May your heart know rhythmic propulsion — keep going
May your stomach unclench
May the fluid of brain and spinal cord flow around and through the sticky bits and familiar hiccups
May you remember to let your breath out. And again.
Can you trust the new inhale to appear for you like a crocus in the snow?