Further Reflections, Further Aha's

This morning a few more of those leaves I wrote about yesterday found their courage and let go. The reason I know this is because I raked up everything yesterday afternoon and put those leaves in my compost pile to begin their new life. This morning a handful of golden leaves are lying on my lawn that weren't there yesterday. That passing is as inevitable as the turning of the seasons, the movements of the earth.

In thinking about letting go, yesterday's poem takes on several more layers. On Saturday I went to a wedding and was happy for the couple, the family, was enjoying the celebration and comeraderie of old friends. Until the dancing started. Then seeing all the couples who had been friends of John and me for so many years out dancing together, that secret stiletto of pain came to rob me of the pleasure I had felt earlier.

Every once in awhile I see something -- in life, on television, wherever -- that reminds me the life I once thought I could look forward to is gone. I am not walking into retirement hand-in-hand with my life partner. We won't explore the world together, on local hikes or flights to exotic places. My children and grandchildren are not gathered around me at holidays. All these dreams are gone and yet I still can't quite let go of them. Until I do, until I can move beyond those dead dreams, stop mourning their loss, it will be very difficult for me to find new dreams, new joy, new bliss.

In my mind, I know this. But perhaps my heart is just not ready to let go. What do I fear? Falling? I've already done that plenty of times. More likely, failing. Losing what little I do have and having nothing to show for it. Except maybe myself.

Then there is the fear of letting go of youth. I turned 59 this summer. I freak a little when I think of this as my 60th year on this planet. I think about all I haven't done and how little time there is left. That leads me to think: what's the point in starting something new? Is there enough time? Just excuses to keep me from letting go of my youth. It's not that I'm obsessed with youth as some people are. I will never have surgery to look younger. It's hard for me to accept that I will never again look like I did 30 or 40 years ago. Our standard of beauty is young, thin, wrinkle-free. But that doesn't mean I can't lose a little weight, get in better physical shape, try to take care of what I have, be the best me I can, physically as well as emotionally.

Then there's that whole level of spirituality, letting go and letting God. Allowing God to use me instead of me grasping on to my own limited power, clinging to what little strength and talent I have instead of releasing myself to a higher power.

So even though I am home in Portland, the journey continues. Always.

Late Fall

We had a huge wind storm last night that sent nearly all the rest of the leaves on my maple tree scattering, covering my yard. But a hardy few continue to cling to hope. At the same time I find myself in a storm of my own, a relationship that is but isn't. Confusing. Neither of us willing or able to finally let go or move forward. These storms inspired the following feeble attempt at poetry with the wonderful Mary Oliver as my inspiration.

Late Fall

They hold tightly,
a few golden hands
gripping bare arms.
All the others have let go,
dancing down to their destiny.
The few, the strong, the brave
Continue on, fighting to hold their place in the world.
I admire their courage but my heart aches
for their lonely vigil, bereft of hope.
We haven’t had our first frost yet, they seem to whisper.
Where’s the harm in holding out hope?
Or perhaps their tenacious hold is simply fear of falling.
They must eventually let go. Winter is coming.
Even last night's storm
couldn't shake their resolve.
Is it the tree that holds them tight,
fearing exposure, complete nakedness,
vulnerability?
Or the leaves that refuse to depart,
even knowing the tree
neither wants nor needs them?
Perhaps both cling to hope, unwilling
To face the inevitable death of another year.
Why can't they just drop, die and then --
become new again in my compost pile,
their carbon molecules
going back into the world
in new form? Dying to new life