Last year I gave myself a word for the year, a theme if you will, and a couple of days ago, I wrote about my "voice" in 2011 here. There were periods of time, of course, when I was less focused on my thematic word and seemed to be, if anything, quiet and reclusive. I certainly chose to not use my voice on the blog, for example, but just when I was beginning to feel stifled and silenced, I remembered that I had something to say. I remembered my word--and, my words. I'm so thankful for the times I spoke my truth, and I look forward to more of that in 2012.
I'm naming my 2012 word "release." It holds a tremendous amount of power and promise for me because there is always, absolutely, positively always something inside of me that needs releasing. Learning to gently and gracefully "let go" has historically been the hardest of life's lessons for me. I'm hoping that the "release" of 2012 makes it easier.
Most of the suffering in my life, that is, most of the emotional discomfort or uneasiness in my life, has come from what the Buddhists might call desires or cravings for something that I might assume, incorrectly, is a source for my personal happiness. I might attach to a relationship--be it my own mother or perhaps a special man--because in it, I feel so much love that I associate my contentment, my inner peace with it. Clearly, these relationships or other phenonmena such as joyous occasions can bring happiness or enrich my existence, but they are not its source. Source is inside, deep, deep down where my soul and spirit meet. Source (or God) lies within me and from only that place can peace come. Source knows that in joy there must also be sorrow, for life is nothing if not a paradox. Enlightenment and understanding, insight, wisdom, this is always the aim, not "happiness," anyway.
So when things come up and when I find myself clinging to a thought, to an idea--real or imagined, to a person, to an experience, to an opinion, and yes, to even my dog, I hereby aspire to "let it go," that attachment. As I'm so often reminded, attachment is not love. It is based on fear. There can never be pure love in a place where there is fear. Letting go is love.
I recently gave some time in thought to this fear I carry and the attachment I sometimes do. It's a fear of abandonment. A fear that if I "let go" or if I do not hold on tightly enough, the good feelings of love and happiness , and more specifically, the good people I love, will abandon me. Here I give someone outside of myself my power. It's risky and almost always painful. I specifically remember harboring this kind of fear when I was a child. I grew up very attached to my older brother, depending on him far too much for my safety, for my sense of security and place of peace. I would weep at his return to college on Sunday nights, sometimes thinking that I would not be able to make it through the week until he came back home. And sadly, I would pray with a kind of desperation, "Please God. Don't let anything happen to him." He died when I was 15, so that abandonment came to fruition and it magnified the fear of losing others even more.
Learning to let go of fears, worries, angst, and attachment is, for me, the beginning of true inner peace. I have moments, even periods of sustained time, when I am free and flowing, but in the blink of an eye, I can feel my tentacles wrapped around an energetic field that eventually overheats and explodes. Freedom and flow is essential, and I want to do my part in making it possible for anyone I love, but especially for myself. I will not judge or berate myself for being human. Confusing attachment for love is something learned, and it can therefore, be unlearned.
To be specific, in 2012, I would like to release:
Anger. I have some. Probably more than I'm willing to acknowledge. I want to let it rise, let it sit, and then let it go.
Worry. Let. It. Go. Release. Be gone.
Judgement. Nothing good comes from judgement--of self or others. I want to let go of any that finds its way into my experience. Whether it be against or by me, I release it.
All that I love. When I feel the most love, I feel myself set apart from it. Yet, I also feel "at one with it." How is this possible? To feel separate, but as one? It's the mystery of true, great love. Unity in one, but with defined boundaries, too. It's miraculous, really. I release what and who I love--so that I can love them and love myself without conditions.
RELEASE. Freedom and flight feel right this year.