My recent adventure through the world of letting go is familiar with those closest to me and perhaps to quite a few folks who don’t know me very much at all. The refrain, “Letting go, let it go, let it be” and most recently even a few “surrenders” have been thrown in just because it felt right.
I have even let go of feeling annoyed when people start singing a song from that particular animated film with a song with a theme of letting go. I’ve managed to let go of being annoyed over insignificant things that don’t demand even an ounce of my energy.
I wasn’t even thinking about letting go when I pulled into a parking spot by the Labyrinth at St. Phillips church last Friday morning. I was simply thrilled to have a meditative place to spend with my dear friend Kimberly in the time between dropping Emma at school and going to my appointment with Lindsey, the world’s most amazing massage therapist.
I picked up a brochure as I walked into the labyrinth space because I remembered it gave some ideas for “getting this labyrinth thing right” and I wanted to be extra intentional since I didn’t have as much time as usual.
I didn’t need a complete roadmap or a to-do list of contemplative soul work, I simply wanted an outline to make the most of what I had.
The structure of the labyrinth reminds me of the structure of a very simple paper like the ones I wrote in middle school: introductory paragraph, body paragraph which supports everything you theorize in the introductory paragraph, and closing paragraph.
The walk toward the center of the labyrinth has a focus of letting go or unloading one’s bag or releasing. The center is the place of divine meeting in which I would risk being empty so that I could be open, so that I could receive. Finally, the walk out was to be about resting in unconditional love.
I wrote it, I had it memorized, I got up and stood at the entry.
Entering the labyrinth is a moment of pure humility for me.
Every time I walk the labyrinth I stand there, completely still, before entering. I feel as if I am cloaked in "unworthy". I know Divinity meets me there in the center. There is a part of me that still doesn;t feel completely competent to receive the love and wisdom offered there.
This time I was even more nervous as I didn’t want to let go of my theme of letting go and knowing how God loves to “be funny” with me, I knew it was possible, I knew anything was possible.
I mean, I wanted to walk barefoot but there was a whole bunch of wet concrete in the labyrinth that early morning. I don’t like having cold feet and the thought of starting my day with cold, wet feet was not very inspiring to me.
I debated this within myself before finally stepping into the labyrinth with bare feet and velour exercise pants a size too big, rolled up to minimize the possibility for wet fabric,
I held to mantra of “letting go” in my heart and as I walked I felt myself getting lighter and lighter and lighter. It was as if letting go had become an air spirit, a sylph, and together we were rising into the air. My feet were enjoying making wet footprints after they contacted water and I giggled as I walked much more quickly than usual.
“Letting go can be fun!” I thought, “Letting go can be child-like… weeeeeee!” and it was on about the fourth ‘e’ in “weeeeeeeee!” I felt the sole of my left foot come in contact with some invisible lichen in one of the puddles and the excitement turned into, “Goodness, I am falling down, I am falling onto… my knees, oh no… this is going to be painful!”
I landed on my hands and knees.
I didn’t know if anyone had seen me, perhaps some of the people I had scene gathering in the parking lot. I didn’t know if my friend Kimberly had arrived.
All I knew was, “Letting go feels like… no pain in my knees that usually hurt.”
I looked toward my knees in amazement. No pain. I looked up and saw my hair newly blonded up a bit and lightly curled, which made me smile. “Look at this,” I said to myself.
I looked at my hands, stinging from the slight scrape, one hand on the painted labyrinth line circling across the blonde concrete.
“Look at this!” Letting go looks like curls and scraped hands on blonde concrete.
“Look at this…” I laugh-cried at my protected knees, my painlessness, my fantastic aloneness.
“Look at this,” my heart prayed, “This is what letting go looks like, too…’
I crawled on all fours, still, until I got to a place of dried ground, only slightly concerned what any of the good Catholics might be thinking if they saw me.
“Look at this,” I said silently, a tear falling down my face, so grateful no humans were there to rush in to “save me” from this.
from this.
From THIS!
This is what letting go looks like.
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Julie Jordan Scott is a writer, performance poet, Mommy and mixed-media artist. Coming soon - more creativity camps, playgrounds and workshops to grow yourself artistically (and hey, just for fun!)
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This post is a part of the ongoing series for 31 Days challenge. I will be writing 31 blog stories about bold choices and using a bold voice....
I'm amused by my ability to catch up, fall behind (as I am now) and catch up again. Right now, I'm still a couple days behind. Maybe by the end of today I'll be caught up or... maybe not.
I'm grateful you are reading.
