I read this poem this morning after a few hard days. It’s the end of February, that time of year when all I’ve held on to through the winter feels heavy. At the beginning of winter everything seems so precious against the blank slate of snow, but now I feel cluttered, and spring will soon be on its way with its warm breeze and rains to wash away all that we are willing to give up.
I am tired, and I am ready to let go. It’s enough to say that I’ve been battling with my ego, and it’s exhausting. I no longer have the strength to commit to anger and the idea of being right. It’s time now just to give in, to feel without reacting, to lean into the moment until it dissolves and I am free to move on.
I am free. I am always free. Why do I forget this? It is so easy to hold onto pain, to serve it up and ask for sympathy. Not to say that it is wrong to feel or share pain, but I do not have to be slave to it. I can live through my pain, I can let it go in the darkness and go deeper into night until there is nothing left but emptiness and breath, and watch as dawn rises with each exhale.