Make Way

“To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.” - Mary Oliver

Change isn’t new. Upheaval isn’t new.

Everywhere we look lately, it seems we are being asked to let go of the old and make way for the new. It’s been happening for a while (like years), but things seem to have sped up significantly in recent months. Whether in the natural world or in man-made constructs, we are being asked to release what was, and get curious about what is and what is to come. Not everyone is handling this well. Some are clutching and grasping, clinging fiercely to the way things used to be. This is, of course, causing pain and suffering – not just for the people unwilling to let go, but for the those they encounter and interact with as well.

Whether we are conscious of it or not, we are always creating our reality and our actions and ways of being have a ripple effect in the world.

What would happen if we just unfurled our fists and let go, releasing the things that no longer serve?

I’ve been working with this question for years, teasing out a powerful lesson that’s allowed for a more expansive exploration of what is possible, along with an invitation for releasing thought patterns and ways of being that hinder creation. We cannot create a new future by making decisions based in our past.

Last week, an ice storm ravaged my town. In the midst of power outages and safety issues, Nature did her thing – releasing what no longer served in the midst of the storm. Witnessing the literal dropping of a load was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. The sound of tree limbs shearing from their bases cracking and ripping through the air; the branches snagging in trees, or grabbing parts of the crown, taking it with them on their way to the earth where they landed like bombs in a shattering of ice. It was violently beautiful and even as my heart broke from the loss and the ensuing damage, I stood in awe of Nature’s wisdom and her message in the midst of the storm.

Let go.

Allow.

Lighten the load.

Even though we’d just had our trees professionally pruned a few weeks ago, Nature chose to let even more go. And while it seemed dramatic to me at the time, the self-pruning happened without any pretense. Much like the snake shedding its skin, the tree limbs simply emancipated themselves, free-falling with no concern for the landing zone.

Yes, the landscape looks different now (presently it looks properly Hulk-smashed). The trees themselves are different now - tender and wounded after their self-pruning. But they are also already healing. The light patterns are different now, allowing for possibilities that didn’t exist before. Space has been created for new life to grow.

This has me thinking about our own lives – where have we been holding on to things because that’s the way they’ve always been, or what we’ve grown accustomed to? What would happen if we let some of that go? What new life could blossom when we release and allow? How can we make space for what is to come? How can we lighten the load?

The answers to those questions will be different for each of us. The truth is, it will happen anyway, the pruning. Change is inevitable, but it doesn’t have to be hard, and it doesn’t have to be scary.

It can simply be.

There is beauty in clearing the old to allow space for the new. In many cases, we don’t even need to lay things down, we have only to let them go. Here’s to relaxing our grip, unfurling our fists, and letting what no longer serves to fall away - freely allowing ourselves to come into alignment with what is, with open curiosity for what is to come.