Letting Go
I was out walking recently on the land named Arroyo Park in Fairhaven, WA and was mesmerized by the fall colors all around me on the trees. The forest floor was layered with various shades of Maple leaves that had fallen from the trees. I witnessed a salmon run in the Chuckanut Creek that flows through here and was smitten with those homecoming salmon who were determined to swim upstream, lay their eggs, and then let go. I felt I was witnessing something both sacred and ancient in the salmon’s journey and the falling of the leaves from the tree. The writer of the ancient book of Ecclesiastes said: For everything, there is a season.
Nature is in the season of letting go. The salmon in the Pacific Northwest returns to the creek beds of their birth; they spawn and then they die. They use all their strength and energy to ensure the next generation is born, and then they let go.
The trees grow new leaves yearly, and just when they turn their most brilliant colors, they let go and fall to the ground.
Letting go does not come easy to us humans. I know it doesn’t come easy to me. How about you?
Our Buddhist friends teach us that to eliminate suffering; we must let go of attachments and the need to control things in our lives. That is a tall order and one that I am inclined to agree with though I am not often very good at it. This is why we refer to meditation, prayer, taking walks, yoga, etc., as “spiritual practices.” We’re not meant to be perfect at it, which is a relief!
Letting go is necessary for new growth. I have worked with many people over the years in various ministry settings, including myself, who let go of theologies that harmed and let go of images of a vengeful God who is a punitive, and capricious God. In spiritual direction and companionship, a directee often practices letting go. Sometimes, we’re letting go of patterns and behaviors that no longer serve us or relationships that diminish our sense of self.
Letting go does not come easy to us humans, and I think it is helpful and healing if we can embrace it as a transition and a process. I don’t know about you, but it generally doesn’t work for me if I beat myself up or force myself to let go of something because I think I “should.” If I can take a step back and invite some tenderness, I can better engage my process and give it the time it needs. It also helps me to write about it, and so I’d like to share my Letting Go Pantoum:
Letting Go
I pray to be gentle with myself as I let go a little more each day.
The trees teach us that letting go is necessary and often even beautiful by dropping their leaves.
When the leaves are at their most brilliant yellow, orange, and red, they are dying, making me sad and incredibly grateful for their witness.
Their splendor is a balm to my senses and a reminder that even as they let go, there is an internal process already preparing for new life.
The trees teach us that letting go is necessary and often even beautiful by dropping their leaves.
Just as the leaves become brilliant colors and begin to fade, I am reminded that letting go can be done in gentle rhythms with softer and softer hues.
Their splendor is a balm to my senses and a reminder that even as they let go, there is an internal process already preparing for new life.
It is possible to be born again and again and again.
Just as the leaves become brilliant colors and begin to fade, I am reminded that letting go can be done in gentle rhythms with softer and softer hues.
It doesn’t have to happen all at once and in big broad-brush strokes.
It is possible to be born again and again and again.
Trees are wonderful spiritual companions as the embodiment of paradox: New life emerges as we let go.
It doesn’t have to happen all at once and in big broad-brush strokes.
When the leaves are at their most brilliant yellow, orange, and red, they die, making me sad and incredibly grateful for their witness.
Trees are wonderful spiritual companions as the embodiment of paradox: New life emerges as we let go.
I pray to be gentle with myself as I let go a little more each day.