Letting Be

The freedom to become, and let others be.

Only that which can change can continue.

(James P. Carse)

For reading "Letting Be",

we suggest listening to

“Like the River” by Ayla Schafer and Susie Ro

There are moments

when we are at ease.

Nothing is missing.

The heart is quiet,

the body is warm,

the sky is open,

and then our minds whisper:

stay.

Let this remain forever.

At those moments of grace,

we want life to become still.

We want the beloved

to remain as we have known them.

We want the child

to remain as we remember them.

We want

the friend,

the lover,

the parent,

to remain close

to the shape

that once made us feel safe.

And the self.

We want

even the self

to stay the same.

And yet,

everything changes.

Even when we pray

for the moment

to last forever.

The river moves.

The light shifts.

The body ages.

The soul ripens.

The heart opens.

The path turns.

And what was,

is no longer.

We say we know

that the only constant

is change.

But knowing

is not accepting.

And accepting

is not surrendering.

This is the paradox of change:

We cannot become ourselves

while clinging

to who we were.

We cannot truly love another

while demanding

they remain

who we once believed them

to be.

When we change,

we exchange.

One certainty

for a question.

One comfort

for a truth.

What was,

for what is finally free.

And yet,

we resist.

Because change asks us

to lose the illusion

of possession.

The illusion

that we have something.

Knowing that we do not have anything.

We are only entrusted

with moments,

encounters,

and the sacred privilege

of witnessing another being

in their becoming.

No one who clings

to your old self

truly wants you to change.

Not because

they do not love you.

But because

they are afraid

of losing the version of you

that made them feel certain.

They cling to the illusion

of who you were.

The comfort

of thinking

they know you.

The more people think

they know you,

the more they may resist

the mystery

of your becoming.

They may have seen you

since your birth.

They may have lived with you

for thirty years.

They may know

your habits,

wounds,

silences.

And still,

they do not know you entirely.

No one does.

Not even you.

That is the sacred ground.

That is where love

begins again.

I will not fall

into the trap

of believing

that I know you better

than anyone.

I will not trap you

inside the image

I once made of you.

I will not confuse memory

with truth.

I will not confuse proximity

with intimacy.

I will not confuse time

with knowing.

I will not let you

do the same to me.

I will always

keep meeting

you anew.

For I am not here

to be preserved.

I am here

to be revealed.

I am here

to become.

I am here

for you.

And yet,

without any doubt,

there is no one

who wants more

to know myself.

And there is no one

who wants more

to know you.

Not the version

that is pleasing.

Not the version

that I can predict,

possess,

explain,

or keep.

But you.

The changing you.

The hidden you.

The free you.

The divine you.

The you,

that is still arriving.

To love

is to remain curious.

To remain open.

To remain humble

before the mystery

of the other.

To ask again,

and again,

and again,

and again,

without any

expectation:

Who are you today?

What is asking to be born?

What is asking to be released?

What shadow is asking to be seen?

Sometimes change

is not becoming

someone else,

but finally ceasing

to abandon ourselves.

When I accept myself

just as I am,

then I can change.

Not before.

Only when I am held

in the arms

of my own acceptance

can I become brave enough

to transform.

And only those

who accept me

as I am

can truly support

who I am becoming.

Those who do not accept me

do not want me

to change.

They want me

adjusted,

convenient,

safe.

But love does not

correct the soul.

Love beholds it.

Love blesses it.

Love gives it space.

Love lets it return.

The more you let

the other be,

the closer they may come.

The more you leave

them free,

the deeper the bond

may grow.

Because what returns freely

returns in love.

And what stays freely

stays in truth.

Freedom is not distance.

Freedom is devotion

without possession.

Curiosity is not uncertainty.

Curiosity is reverence

before the mystery.

Playfulness is not immaturity.

Playfulness is the soul

remembering

that creation

is still happening.

We grow

through freedom.

We heal

through curiosity.

We evolve

through play.

We love

by letting others be.

When we let

our inner light shine,

we do not only illuminate

what is beautiful.

We also illuminate

what was hidden.

The shadow

that does not need

to be destroyed,

but seen,

held,

integrated,

loved.

The light does not shame

the darkness.

The light reveals

that the darkness, too,

was waiting

to be loved.

So when change resists,

that may be the moment

we must change the most.

When the heart

fears loss.

When the familiar

becomes a cage.

When certainty

becomes control.

Then change comes

to awaken us, and

return us to the river.

For when we change,

everything changes.

And that is why we fear it.

We fear that

if we change,

we may lose

what we have.

But perhaps

what is truly ours

cannot be lost.

And what can be lost

was never ours

to possess.

So let me change.

Let me become.

Let me surprise you.

Let me disappoint

the illusion

you had of me.

Let me outgrow

the story

that kept me small.

Let me be more

than what you remember.

And I will let you change.

I will let you become.

I will let you surprise me.

I will meet you again

and again

and again.

Not as the person

I once knew.

But as the mystery

standing before me now.

May we never stop

getting to know ourselves.

May we never stop

getting to know each other.

May we love

without owning,

see without fixing,

stay without binding,

leave without abandoning,

return without pretending.

May we change

until we find ourselves,

by losing

what was never true.

May we change

until love

is the only thing

left standing.

And may we remember:

The river does not betray itself

by moving.

The flame does not betray itself

by transforming.

The soul does not betray love

by becoming free.

Bless the becoming.

Bless the mystery

of who you are.

Bless others

as they are,

and as they become.

Bless the love

that gives us wings

and still calls us home.

Yo lo Creo/

I believe, and so it is.