In the act of releasing, peace

"On each of five small pieces of paper, we write one thing that we find occupies a recurring place in our imagination. It can be a relationship, a material thing, money, something we desire, something we do, or an emotion that we experience.

We place these pieces of paper in a pile in front of us, go through each of them slowly, one by one, and let ourselves imagine that we are actually giving away the thing stated on the paper. We make an inner image of what is on each piece of paper, one at a time, and then release the image, letting it dissolve; let ourselves inwardly feel what it is like to give that thing away, to not have it anymore, neither the fantasy of it nor the desire for it.

When we release something from its internal attachment to our soul, we may immediately experience deep sorrow or loss. This experience may surprise us, even shock us. But along with this experience of deep sorrow, we feel an opening of a round-like, small space deep within the region of our chest, in the region of the heart. We feel pulled toward this center. This feeling is extremely important as it directs us toward the place of purest Silence, the interior of the heart."

-- Robert Sardello, Silence

When I first encountered this exercise, I felt both a sense of recognition -- releasing is, after all, the central repeated act of Centering Prayer -- and a sense of fear at the thought of letting go of the things that are important to me. What would happen if I stopped worrying about my daughters and the challenges they face at this transition time in their lives? What would happen if I stopped worrying about our finances, my husband's joblessness, and all the other lesser things that snag me during the course of the day?

And that's when I realized the compulsion beneath those worries, a sort of "shouldness" that accompanies them, a sense of responsibility, as if my constant wrestling with them and holding them up in prayer -- or whatever you call that -- was important, would make a difference; that, if I stopped, some disaster might befall us. Hmm, I thought, realizing this; what sort of faith is this? Is it a variation on the Sufi version of "trust God but lock your car (or tie your camel)"? Somehow this kind of superstitious worrying had acquired a sort of control status, a nobility, and so I began giving myself permission to release it.

Letting go of the thinking I "should" be doing did open up a sort of hole, but then all these other less admirable concerns rushed in to fill the gap -- something that might be ignored in one 20 minute meditation a day, but can't be missed when you spend hours a day in silence listening to the words in your head. It wasn't until I began releasing those secondary concerns -- many of which seemed to revolve around pleasing and appeasing others, and worrying about how I am perceived -- that I finally began to experience that hole, that gap in the heart, as a precious stillness, into which compassion could begin to flow.

And the compassion that came to me in that secondary releasing was first a compassion for myself, a sense -- an assurance -- that came from within AND without that I am loved, and valued, and blessed. The compassion I continue to seek for others flows out of that affectionate, non-judging acceptance of myself, and came more easily as I began sinking into that acceptance and feeling it almost physically flowing through my body.

All of which I somehow feel again when I look at this image: something about the size of the stump on the right, the beauty of the light on its organic curves, the outward thrust of the fallen tree, its shadow, the blues and greens of the water, the slight ripple of waves in the distance... It just has a mystical quality that takes me back into that space of releasing and grounds me in acceptance.

I can't really explain that -- or expect you to see it. I can only witness to the presence and power of that act of releasing and letting go. And say that there are times now -- at last -- when I can feel that pulse of warmth in my heart when I am NOT sitting in meditation; when I can carry it out into the world, however briefly. And for that I am and will remain eternally grateful.