Letting Go
Fifteen years ago, I was in the most perfect situation. I
was with my dad while he died. His method of dying was very much in line with
that of a talented artist; he’d already begun to let go, long before letting go
was inevitable. Fenwick’s studies reveal that there are two ways to die; one is
the difficult, anxious method, where the dying is very attached to the things
and persons they’ll be leaving behind and the other method is quite peaceful
and it involves the death of someone who has already, willfully let go of
everything.
If you want to purchase a peaceful ticket, then you need to
remember that this life is a story. Those who cling to the story will have less
peace; throughout the story and even to the very last scene.
“I’ve seen this world and that world, side by side,” said my
dad while he was literally dying, “and there is no comparison; this world is
nothing compared to that world.”
For my dad to say this was very unusual to me. I think it
was also very important for me to hear this. A few days earlier, we were
discussing the farm where he’d spent the last sixty years of his life, built
his home and raised us. He was very glad when I told him we were going to look
after the place and try to keep it. With that, he saluted me with a heartfelt Namaste
and said, “Thank you.”
I will never forget that moment. It was intense and his
reaction was extremely emotional. It was a turning point in his dying experience
and it seemed to prepare him for departure. I believe our midnight
conversation, when he informed me that he’d been privileged to somehow compare
the farm with where he was going, was also a turning point for me. He had been
shown some place better than the farm, and I knew, for dad, there had never
been a place better than the farm.
His ability to let it all go was the beginning of a beautiful
transition.
“When a body is worn out,” said my dad, “it’s time to get a
new one.”
He knew he was dying. I knew he was dying. He had already
been looking into his next experience.
That night, daddy said, “I know what Martin Luther King Jr.
Meant, whenever he said he had been to the mountaintop and looked over; I have
done that too.”
I believe that it is possible to both climb that mountain,
and to look over, without the wait. That mountain is transcendence; it is where
you begin to realize that our grip on this material world is where we’ve dammed
up anxiety within our being.
You must let go of what you think you want in order to take
hold of what you really want.
That’s all that transcendence is.
The ego is a “claw machine”, just like the ones in the
arcade. We take our last few quarters and we put them in those slots and we try
to manipulate the claw to fetch our desire. At some point, we realize that it’s
fixed and the odds of getting anything meaningful are against us. When we are
okay, walking away from the machine, a peace begins to settle over us. As long
as we are determined to get that thing we desire, we are filled with anxiety and
disease. The sooner you wave off the claw machine and carry on with your evening, the better.
Not long ago, I saw an old friend, Don. I hadn’t seen him
since his father died. “I am very sorry to hear about your dad.” I said.
“Thank you.” He said, “But you know, daddy was a very
unhappy person. All he ever thought about was money and he never had enough. I
went in to the room right after he died and there he was, both of his hands
looked like claws, trying to grab money for the last time; but they were empty.”
What an unpleasant way to remember someone; but it was not
Don’s fault; it was his father’s fault. His father left his son with the
impression that wealth was more important than relationships.
If I could ever convey anything at all to you, I would want
you to believe that loving others matters more than any thing.
Clinging to things is the surest way to miss joy.
The joy of giving is not so much a result of knowing you’ve
been kind; the joy you feel is the experience of liberation; it is the
letting-go that you feel.
As the next thought passes through your awareness, consider
that thought for a moment. Consider its structure, the images it evokes, the
words which describe it. And now, think of that thought as a thing. Can you let
it go?
I believe happiness should be our goal. I feel certain we
are here to have joy. However, joy cannot be found by way of our senses. I
cannot touch joy. I cannot hold joy.
When I tasked myself with cleaning up around my grandmother’s
house, the first thing I tackled was the clearing of a thicket of bushes,
briars, vines and saplings that were beginning to completely take over the house
on all sides. On the fourth day of work, I noticed two, beautiful cedar trees
within the thicket. Vines had completely wrapped them and made them almost
invisible. One by one, I pulled those vines from the tops of the cedars and out
would come the waxy, green needles. In those moments, I began to feel a certain
level of gratitude, going out from the cedars and entering me. It was then my
responsibility to liberate the trees; those vines had choked them for long
enough.
I now realize that I have been known to fall among thorns
too. I have heard these wonderful messages of giving and loving, but I’ve
gotten choked by the cares, riches and pleasures of this tale told by an idiot.
Yesterday, I sold a truck I thought I would never sell. I
was very sad to let it go. I woke up this morning feeling slightly more aware
of the blue sky. The truck had not choked me, but it was a thing. While I play
this part, on this stage, the props are necessary for the story. That old truck
was a prop. There was nothing wrong with the truck and there was nothing wrong
with my affection for it. However, not having it frees my ego in that area; and
a few of my waxy, green needles of gratitude are already enjoying more energy
from the vast world around me.
“You cannot out-give God.” ~ Helen H. M...
I will never forget Helen. The smallest of The H... Clan in
stature, but the largest of them all otherwise. Helen was a successful woman.
She’d been in love, but remained independent. She took care of others and she
supported their dreams. Her heart was once broken, but she never withdrew it
from John. John had fallen in love with another and gotten remarried. When his
second bride fell ill, Helen rushed to John’s side and helped him to care for
the very woman he’d betrayed her for. She never complained. She was there for
John to the end of her life, in 1994. When John died in 2003, his body was laid
to rest beside Helen.
Many of our thoughts are connected to the part we play. Mindful
meditation is a misnomer; the idea is to free your mind of these thoughts. Not
getting the prize you were after can make you want to pound your fist against
the claw-machine. Seeing the machine as a game is liberating. Our life-situations
are games on another level. If we can see our situations as a game, we can feel
this liberation by greater degrees.
I mentioned Helen in the way The Bible mentions Job. Job had
it made, was wealthy and had a loving family. In the story of Job, he lost it
all. He lost everything he had and everything he held dear and he never
complained. If we read on, we see that Job was completely restored.
Job’s last words: “I abhor myself.”
This could be taken the wrong way. He was saying, quite
literally, “The self is not important.”
There is this world and there is that world and there is no
comparison. Letting go is finding joy.
Comments
Post a Comment