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.