Kites in the Sea

"...Such letting go cannot be attained. It cannot be acquired or developed through perseverance and exercises, except insofar as such efforts prove the impossibility of acquiring it. Letting go comes only through desperation. When you know that it is beyond you - beyond your powers of action as beyond your powers of relaxation. When you give up every last trick and device for getting it, including this 'giving up' as something that one might do, say, at ten o'clock tonight. That you cannot by any means do it - that is it! That is the mighty self-abandonment that gives birth to the stars." Alan Watts

So, letting go, huh? Not something that I can "do" or "practice?"
What's that about?

Hilariously, I've spent the last eight minutes writing and re-writing the first part of this blog posting, trying to figure out how to say exactly this: I am a perfectionist. "Doing" and "practicing" are part of the job. I write and re-write until it's perfect. "Mighty self-abandonment"?! Are you kidding me?

But maybe Mr. Watts is onto something. Maybe what is divine is that we can't DO anything... we can't even STOP doing something because stopping is - in itself - an action. To let go, we need to... well... we need to have no verb holding us. We just need to BE held.

In the last week, I've learned a great deal about the importance of releasing into the present. When I stop worrying, planning, dreaming, rationalizing, and apologizing, I step into a moment where I stop "verbing" and start "being." I can eat without panic, feel physical sensations without moving to make myself more comfortable, and find emotions without judging, labeling, and filing them into small, neat compartments. When I focus on how I feel - right NOW - and stop thinking about how I did feel, or will feel, or what I need to do to ensure that I am "good enough" or "perfect enough" in some future moment, I touch the power the "births the stars."

But the second I realize it, I try to grasp it. I want to touch it, label it, and KEEP it. So in the instant of mighty self-abandonment, I fear losing what I see, and ACT. I don't want to lose it, and I start to believe that I "found" whatever enlightenment I have encountered. In fact, I start to believe that it was something that I did - or didn't do - that got me there. But the moment it is squeezed, the present slips through my palms.

Even "staying" is a verb. Ah, what to DO?!

We are a world of do-ers, trying to eke some meaning of our lives, spending our time doing and trying and perfecting and readying ourselves for... for what? For the next minute, when we'll be hopelessly preparing for another?

Today I shared an afternoon with the sea and the sky - sprawled on a blanket in the sun. With an idyllic view of the Golden Gate Bridge, the ocean, and the kites flying overhead, it was nearly perfect.

But the wind was chilly. The grass was pokey. And on, and on, and on. How long should we stay? Am I hungry? Do I want to be sleeping or reading? Or soul searching? WHAT IF I WASTE THIS PERFECT MOMENT ON THIS MOST MEANINGFUL AFTERNOON???

Holy love, the pressure.

Instead, I closed my eyes. Sunk into the ground. Stopped thinking. Started to focus on what life would be like - ah, what life IS like - when instead of moving all the time to make things "good," we just ARE. The wind just blows, and our leg hair catches it. It may feel "cold," but if "cold" isn't labeled, then it's just an experience. We remain untouched. Nope, remain is another verb. We are untouched. We feel, but our essential selves do not change. Our souls are open, the world comes in, and we just are. This feels esoteric, but revolutionary.

This week, battling my eating disorder has been trying. I had lots of "slips" and frustrations. I am tired of screwing up, scared of gaining weight, and simultaneously afraid that the demon lurking inside of me is merely napping. If I let it out and it takes my life again, will I have the strength to fight my way out again? I am so tired, and so ready to put this whole battle away.

But this weekend I had the realization that when I drop into the present moment - when I stop worrying about what will come - what I WILL eat or HAVE eaten - and instead just take whatever feeling I have in the moment and trust it - I AM FINE. Right now, I am whole and complete. Right now, I am okay. I am.

It's when I sense that "wholeness" and start worrying about losing it that I get into trouble. I plan my meals to make sure they're perfect, and convince myself that unless I work life-drainingly hard, I won't ensure my future wholeness. I am so convinced that I can work myself to perfection - to wholeness - that I spend all of my time working and no time BEING.

Today I dropped into the present. I sunk into the ground and opened my eyes to dozens of kites flying overhead in a sea of blue. The sky was like unclouded water, unfazed by my human perception and imperfection. The kites were flying. I was there.

I was there.
Mighty self-abandonment.

Annie Dillard calls this present living, saying that the only obstacle to true consciousness is "self-consciousness," when we become aware of ourselves in the world and fixate on OUR role in the experience rather than the experience itself.

I am hungry. Not good, not bad. I don't HAVE to respond to this urge, but I CAN. And if I do, I might feel FULL. But that, too, is not good or bad. In that moment, it will just be. I don't HAVE to respond. I CAN, but I don't HAVE to do anything to make it anything other than what it is.

Mess and all.
Kites or blue skies or plates of french fries.
My job: not to re-write this blog eight times or to plan my meals perfectly, but to BE. Be verbless. Radical "letting" go, if we must imply an action. Revolutionary, eh?