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Letting It Die


by Shadow-Light13

I gather you all around, on the eve of all hallows eve for a very special celebration of funeral rites.

Tonight is the night that I give an old framework of my being safe passage to the underworld.

I am ready to let it go. I've recently begun to hear it begging me for its release.

This moment is a solemn one, but a necessary one.

I'm trying not to jump ahead here, as I don't want to avoid looking in the coffin.

I need to look.

It is necessary that I slow myself down, and take deliberate steps around the funeral pyre, to take it in sight, before I strike the match and set it aflame, shoving it off, gleaming as it catches the currents.

It is important that I get a good look at that which I am finally ready to let die

The desire for perfection that rejects life in this moment

and the variety of forms that this takes in my experience.

I let this desire die, so that something that has been recently born in my experience might become stronger, whose breath may become less labored, more assured.

I welcome an experience of a new kind of moment that has been making itself known to me, where I am held at center, right between life and death-- with the allowance of both; a moment where new strata is revealed, that gives rise to a new way of experiencing the moment, giving it a multi-dimensional quality.

I welcome an experience of a moment both teeming with life and threatening death. I let go of a framework that would exalt one and fear the other. I let go of falling into the trap of either.

As I walk around the pyre, I take the time to deeply honor what was once part of my innocence, my grasping, my interpreting-- and I relinquish it with precious compassion.

I've staged this death countless times, but tonight it is different. I let this framework die, not because it is freedom from it that I seek. I let it die because its time has come. I let it die of natural causes.

It is a death for rebirth, after the birth. It is letting go that begets life, because new life has already appeared on the scene. There is no need for the old, because the new is here, and so I set it free, as it really wants to go now.

New life stands by me, and we let go of the old together.

We mourn and rejoice, as this new life allows for both mourning and rejoicing, without casting any shadows.

We mourn together the desire for the marriage of the power, the strength and the virility of the masculine, to the watery, emotive and welcoming depths of the feminine.

We mourn how this marriage spoke to us of a promised land, with such gorgeous sense of completion through ignition of union, that we might have spent eternity aspiring for it, dreaming for it, and never lived another second of the precious moment at hand.

The desire for perfection that rejects life.


We mourn the desire the physical form held to realize itself, that left it foraging into the future, to an imagined moment of perfection, cleaving to an image superimposed upon an impressionable and fearful mind, that began as a harmless thought form, but grew into a monstrous man-eating plant. We welcome a gentler of time of many moments of wellness adding up to unbranded beauty.

We mourn the desire of perfection in soul and creation, as the portal it was--but turn away from the promise of shiny treasures collected there, as we begin to understand that this castle was never the place in which we wished to remain locked, forever counting and polishing.

Instead, we let the promise of perfection die, we let it burn clear through, send it down the river, letting it leave the world of form.

We allow it to be absorbed back into a watery grave, transmuted into magical essence, swirling about and landing as lightly as butterfly wings, or as heavily as a boulder, which ever need be, but in the much more benign form of allegory--taking its rightful place as magical air, that sacred breeze that upon inhalation, takes your breath away, makes you close your eyes--makes you live something that you can't name--experienced as though life has made itself known to you, with all of its divine qualities and depths, a song in the background that you can't scribble down--let alone tell if its tonalities are major or minor.

It exists only in the present moment. Infinitely, in the confines of time.

I realize that to hold source in my being, in each moment, to listen to it trickle down the mountain, to dip my hand in and scoop it up, to drink of it before it reaches the rivers and the oceans--that I must let the desire for perfection die, because it keeps me behind glass, ever looking upon the waters, but never touching them, never letting the sweetness wet my lips, nor quench my thirst.

I must let go of vision that requires specific representation in form, in a holding pattern for life to begin.

I must not teeter too far toward dreams, so that I am not catapulted too far past this moment, having been moving too high and too fast to touch the landscape blurring beneath me--life rejected. Experience forever seeking form and losing the infinite.

And so, you are apt to be wondering, will there be a sacred marriage?

I don't know.

But I do know that I must let the bride and the groom leave one another for good, and if they are to come together, I must let them come together without my help, without my bidding-- which is really just a mask for my uncertainty that they will come together on their own.

Letting them grow naturally toward one another without my interference.

And this is so important, because this opens up that space where I partake of another in the world of form, in the moment. Lift soft warm bodies of my children and cuddle them to my breast. Feel the skin of lovers upon mine--truly experience all this teeming with life, in my arms, touching, holding, smelling, hearing, seeing, with infinite shape, texture, and sound, all the while aware of the counterpart of impermanence that insures the preciousness of experiencing.

Partake of life coursing through the moment as multi-faceted and multi-dimensional as a diamond-- where the sparkle is born.

In the center, between life and death, but not clinging to either, and knowing I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. This was the way I was meant to use this vessel given. This was the way I was to feel freedom--to become free.

Noting that the perfection of it just simply is, cliches and all.

And in that infinite moment, life and death are one, and so is time.

The message seems to be, to hold myself in strong center between life and death, but not fall to either side too far. Like shrapnel embedded next to the heart, that if moves in one direction is safe, in the other direction deadly. Forever reminded of the urgency of loving right now, and celebrating this.

I must forever hold myself in center. And to do this I must continually fall into the middle of life. I must let go of what I cannot hold. By letting go I find myself at center as fresh observer of what is. I am aware simultaneously of aliveness, and its one foot out the door.

When I let go, life is reborn  to encompass all of it. Experiencing of all of it is layered with joy and pain.

I must not be afraid of the dual nature of the moment, and how it can encompass opposites.

I must not know if the living moment is being given or taken away. This is the secret I must guard from myself to stay center. I must never want to find it out. Because to search for a hold is to seek perfection, to seek perfection is to hold a perception of something different than now, and to desire perfection is to reject what is here now. I am ready to see how this letting go sacrifices nothing and gains everything.

To beat between the two, until there is a focus into the one. And here find the infinite. The grace and the tension, the ebbing and the flowing, the war and peace, the joy and the pain. All existing together.

I light the pyres and let it consume the wood, and burn the oxygen around me. I let it give light by taking fuel. I let both aspects of it exist together, creating beautiful luminescence, giving life, by consuming life, drawing me into its dance right here, right now.

Comments

  1. My Dear Brooke,
    What a bright and dreary love it is whose eyes encourage and frighten, whose lips draw near, wet with the poison of duality. Who can live for long after this deadly kiss? Are we not tensely strung between good and evil, clinging lest we drop into the abyss? We cling until we fall, finally releasing our grip on that perfect thing, relinquishing our preferences for a large flat place, for to prefer is to cease to be.

    Indeed we die daily. But death is not the only fair suitor, dressed in formal black, dashing and irresistible, never able to satisfy, yet the creator of intense longing.

    Life blushes new each second holding pounding hearts to crush and to heal. To love this moment is to heartily commit; to wed and trust the crushing and the healing, and to surrender the luxury of despising your lot…of brooding like a contented hen on a nest of possibilities and regrets.

    Blessed is the soul whose love is a single breath.

    I am with you dear sister, weaver of golden words, and brilliant illuminator of the truth.

    You’re writing is astounding.

    Much Love,
    Leah

    ReplyDelete
  2. I will be back here to read soon..."weaver of golden words." Oh, I love that. You are indeed the weaver of golden words, my friend.

    I love you with the whole of me.

    ReplyDelete
  3. What a beautiful necessary rite. Requiem in Pacem!

    ReplyDelete
  4. "The desire for perfection that rejects life in this moment" This one line...sends me spinning. I'm going to sit with this for a long time, my friend. Wow. It might just sum up everything.

    You always blow my mind with your words--in a good, good way. Thank you for writing them.

    Love and more love,

    Julia

    ReplyDelete
  5. Hey Brooke,

    Beautiful words of wisdom from a wise woman.

    'I let both aspects of it exist together, creating beautiful luminescence, giving life, by consuming life, drawing me into its dance right here, right now.'

    Shall we dance?

    Love Nige

    ReplyDelete

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