The Year of Letting Go

January 1. It's only a date upon a calendar, yet somehow, much of the world has agreed that it will mark the beginning of a measurement of that mysterious and elusive entity we have called time, specifically the measurement of time we have called a year. And we mark, we track, our lives by these things called years. I suppose it is a universal convention.

And I'm sure I am not unique in the circumstance of turning inward (even a bit more than I am naturally prone to do anyway) in these final days of a waning year, to look back, to take stock.

I posted the poem I repost below back in August, before this blog had any readers. I think it sums up 2008 for me as well as anything. A year of beginning to learn how to let go...not grasp...travel light...and lighter still...be mindful...present...here now....

The present moment is all that exists.

It is sufficient.

Easy to type. A lifetime to live into....

The poem:

Instructions

Give up the world; give up self; finally, give up God.
Find god in rhododendrons and rocks,
passers-by, your cat.
Pare your beliefs, your absolutes.
Make it simple; make it clean.
No carry-on luggage allowed.
Examine all you have
with a loving and critical eye, then
throw away some more.
Repeat. Repeat.
Keep this and only this:
what your heart beats loudly for
what feels heavy and full in your gut.
There will only be one or two
things you will keep,
and they will fit lightly
in your pocket.

-Sheri Hostetler, A Cappella: Mennonite Voices in Poetry

And for good measure, a special bonus reposting:

Forget Everything
John Squadra

If someone says, "To be enlightened you must
fast and pray all night,"
Have dinner and go to bed.
If you see a sign, "This way to salvation,"
run the other way.
If someone says, "This book is the truth,
you can buy it from me,"
Take your money and buy grapes and roses.
If someone says, "He's talking tonight,
thousands will be saved."

Go for a walk...listen to the birds
and watch the clouds, and leave
your backpack, your Bible and your Buddha
under a tree and hope
they will be gone when you return.
Where we are going you can't carry anything,
not even your name.
If there is logic in the above,
be afraid, it's a lie.

But if you feel something in your chest
as beautiful as the grass beneath your feet,
be grateful...open your arms
and forget everything
you ever thought you knew.

From This Ecstasy