#letting-go — Public Fediverse posts

Finding Your Higher Power: Trusting When God Removes People From Your Life

https://notestonowhere6.wordpress.com/2026/09/05/finding-your-higher-power-trusting-when-god-removes-people-from-your-life/

https://nkvssp.thecomicseries.com/comics/699/

Some folks just do that

#kitteh #puppy #fridayreads #sketch #FridayFact #webcomics #webcomicchat #comicbookhour #comics #sketch #harm #lettinggo #choice #life #moveon #saturdaymorning #vibecheck

“I never look back, darling. It distracts from the now.” — Edna Mode. Keep the lesson, reclaim your focus. Read the full blog.
#PresentMoment #Focus #PersonalGrowth #Leadership #Reflection #DecisionMaking #MindfulAction #LettingGo
https://stayingalive.in/thought-of-the-day/the-discipline-of-staying.html

Time to tidy up my hoardings! To danshari (断捨離)! I’ve decided to get rid of at least one unnecessary item every day. Wish me luck! It’s harder than it sounds. 😅😆

Today, I recycled some pretty wallpaper with which my friend wrapped a gift to me. I was gonna repurpose it, but I’ve got no idea. So off it goes!

#断捨離 #lettingGo #BabySteps

I CAN BE SAD
WITHOUT MAKING IT A PROJECT 💎

Something happened recently in a close friendship. Nothing dramatic. No great argument. No doors slammed. Just that peculiar feeling of someone becoming more distant.

And immediately the mind went to work. What happened? Was it something I said? Should I explain? Should I write? Should I wait? Should I repair something? Have I misunderstood?

Round and round, the monkey mind had me well and truly by the short and curlies.

And then this morning I remembered one of my favourite lines from A Course in Miracles:

“I need do nothing.”

And for once I took it absolutely literally.

THERE IS NOTHING I NEED TO DO.

I don't need to chase anyone. I don't need to work out what another person is thinking. I don't need to manufacture an explanation for their behaviour. I don't even need to make myself feel better about it.

That last bit matters. “I need do nothing” isn't a clever way of getting rid of sadness. The sadness can be here.

WHAT DISAPPEARS IS THE ASSIGNMENT.

I wonder how much of our lives we spend trying to mentally manage things that are already happening. Other people's feelings. Their decisions. Whether they stay. Whether they leave. What they think of us. What tomorrow might bring.

We call much of this thinking. Quite a lot of it is attempted control.

Sometimes there really is something to do. Apologise. Speak. Act. Help. Change something.

AND SOMETIMES THERE SIMPLY ISN'T.

This morning, there isn't.

The sadness may still be here. But there is nothing I need to do about it.

@3goodthings
@DigitalCoup
@meditation
@economics_that_works
@startrek


#ACIM #ACourseInMiracles #Stillness #LettingGo #Presence #Acceptance #Peace #Friendship #Sadness #MonkeyMind #Control #NothingToFix #people #monkey #mind

“When you become a happier human being as a result of letting go of certain people or things, that's the universe's way of letting you know it was the right choice.”
― Unknown

#Bot #Quote #Inspirational #LettingGo

The early morning is still dark when my hound and I arrive at the dog park. Almost immediately, there is a flash of white, and suddenly chaos ensues.

A cat is trapped inside the smaller of the two fenced-in areas. Even though a chain-link fence separates the two, both animals instantly go into a frenzy. My hound begins howling, while the terrified cat races back and forth, careening into the fence as it desperately searches for a way out.

I try to help it escape, all to the loud dismay of my hound, but the cat is too frightened to understand what I am doing. After crashing into the fence several times, it finally collapses low into the grass and simply lies there. I keep my distance, unsure whether it may be injured or sick.

Eventually, I leave the gates open and manage to pull my thoroughly over-hyped hunter away from the scene, fighting against everything years of breeding and evolution have taught her to do.

It takes most of the morning at home—and then a return trip to the now-empty dog park, where she follows one scent trail after another—before she finally begins to calm down.

Needless to say, it was not the most ideal way to start my day.

I, too, needed some time before I could let the chaos of the morning fade away.

And perhaps that was the first lesson.

There are some things that are better left alone.

That sounds simple enough, but I am not especially good at it. Neither, apparently, is my hound.

Once she caught the scent, something ancient took over. The world became very small. There was no longer a dog park, no morning, no leash, no person calling her name. There was only the cat.

I wonder how often I live that way.

Something catches my attention—a problem, a slight, a fear, an argument, a worry, some unfinished thing—and suddenly the whole world narrows around it. I circle it. I howl at it. I follow its scent long after the thing itself has disappeared.

There are habits in us that are older than our intentions.

The hound was not making a philosophical decision to terrorize a cat. She was doing what generations of hounds had prepared her to do. Her body knew before her mind could know.

Human beings are not so different.

We carry instincts of our own: to defend ourselves, to retaliate, to prove ourselves right, to pursue what frightens us, to hold tightly to what we think belongs to us. Sometimes we call these things personality. Sometimes, principle. Sometimes even righteousness.

But occasionally, they are simply old instincts running loose.

The spiritual life may involve learning that not everything within us deserves obedience.

Paul wrote about taking thoughts captive. Jesus spoke repeatedly of watching, waking, remaining alert. Perhaps part of discipleship is noticing the moment when something inside us begins to run.

There is a hound within me, too.

There are things I chase simply because they moved.

There are arguments that do not need another reply. There are offenses that do not need another inspection. There are anxieties whose scent I follow until I have wandered miles from peace.

Sometimes, faithfulness means pursuit.

Sometimes, faithfulness means calling the hound home.

But there was another creature in the story.

The cat.

The more frightened it became, the harder it tried to escape. And the harder it tried to escape, the more violently it crashed into the fence.

There was probably an opening somewhere. I had opened gates. I was trying to make a way.

But fear could not see the opening.

Fear only saw the threat.

So the cat ran harder.

I know something about that, too.

There are moments when I become frightened enough that I begin throwing myself against whatever boundary happens to be nearest. I want out of the discomfort immediately. I want the problem solved now. I want certainty restored.

And sometimes, in trying so desperately to escape, I hurt myself against the very thing I am trying to get through.

The Psalmist says, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

We often print those words on peaceful photographs of mountains and lakes.

But perhaps they belong just as much at a chain-link fence.

Be still.

Not because there is no danger.

Not because everything is fine.

But because panic is not always capable of recognizing an opening.

There are times when running is necessary.

And there are times when running harder only drives us deeper into the fence.

Eventually, the cat did something remarkable.

It stopped.

It lowered itself into the grass and became almost completely still.

At first, I thought it might be injured. Perhaps it was.

But there was also something strangely wise about that surrender. When every frantic attempt had failed, the animal finally quit fighting the entire world.

Sometimes, this is where grace begins.

Not when we finally overpower the situation.

But when we stop exhausting ourselves against it.

“Come to me,” Jesus says, “all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens.”

Not: figure everything out.

Not: run faster.

Not: break the fence.

Come.

Rest.

There is perhaps a third lesson as well, and it concerns my own place in the drama.

I could not make either animal understand what I was trying to do.

The cat could not understand that I was trying to help it.

The hound could not understand why I was preventing her from doing the one thing that seemed most important in the universe.

From their perspectives, I was probably interfering with both of them.

Yet I could see something, neither could you see.

I could see the whole enclosure.

I could see the gates.

I could see the fence.

I could see the danger.

I could see the way out.

That thought has stayed with me.

Perhaps there are moments when God seems strangely obstructive because God sees the whole enclosure.

We pull toward something, and the leash tightens.

We run toward an opening and somehow find ourselves redirected.

We pray for one thing and receive another.

From inside our frightened or excited little worlds, divine restraint can feel like abandonment or interference.

But perhaps the One holding us back can see something we cannot.

The old prayer says,

Your will be done.

There are days when that prayer may simply mean:

God, if I am chasing something I should leave alone, pull me back.

If I am panicking against a fence, help me become still enough to see the gate.

And if I cannot understand what you are doing, help me trust that you see more of the field than I do.

By the time my hound and I returned to the dog park later that morning, the cat was gone.

Only the scent remained.

Naturally, the hound investigated every inch of it.

She ran from fence to fence, nose down, reconstructing the entire drama from invisible traces.

Eventually even those grew faint.

Her breathing slowed.

Her body loosened.

The morning became a morning again.

Perhaps that is grace too.

The thing that once filled the entire world eventually becomes only a scent in the grass.

The crisis passes.

The fear fades.

The instinct quiets.

What seemed moments earlier to demand every ounce of our attention becomes simply one more thing that happened.

And somewhere between the hound and the cat I recognize myself.

Sometimes I am the pursuer.

Sometimes I am the pursued.

Sometimes I chase things better left alone.

Sometimes I run terrified into fences that cannot possibly become doors.

The difficult wisdom is learning which is which.

Perhaps this is why the spiritual life requires so much attention.

To know when to pursue.

To know when to stop.

To know when to run.

To know when to lie quietly in the grass.

To know when the leash pulling against us is not punishment but mercy.

And above all, to remember that somewhere beyond the frenzy there may already be an open gate we are simply too frightened—or too excited—to see.

Prayer

God of the open gate,

When I chase what I should release, call me home.

When old instincts rise in me—fear, anger, pride, the need to be right—teach me that not every impulse deserves obedience.

When I am frightened and cannot see a way forward, keep me from throwing myself again and again against the same fence. Slow my breathing. Quiet my spirit. Help me become still enough to notice the opening I could not see before.

Give me wisdom to know when to pursue and when to stop, when to act and when to wait, when to hold on and when to let go.

And when your restraint feels like a leash pulling against everything I want, give me enough trust to believe that you may see more of the field than I do.

Make me gentle with frightened creatures, including the frightened places within myself.

Let the things that consume me today become, in time, only a fading scent in the grass.

And when chaos narrows my world, remind me that beyond the fence there is still a morning, still a horizon, still grace, and perhaps an open gate I have not yet learned to see.

Amen.

The Pruner

I spent this day trimming trees.
I do not like losing the dead in me
or the shoots that suck the life
from where the growth should be.

To succumb to the Pruner 
is not an easy thing.
Often I find myself resisting
the gentle hand that only wants 
to make my life more fruit bearing.

But if I am to grow strong and true,
I must leave behind the broken yew
lest I die from a rotten core,
and the sap, my blood, become a bitter brew.

August 11, 2015

Worry Wart

The troubles of this passing day
weigh heavy on my head,
until I join the hollow-eyed,
the weary walking dead;
I stumble through the crumbling streets
where nameless fears are bred,
consumed by temoral things
and this mortal dread.

O, that this wart of worry
might be lifted from my head,
this small, persistent torment
on which my fears are fed;
that I might cease rehearsing
each bitter word unsaid,
and stop imagining sorrows
still waiting up ahead.

O, let me quit resisting
the road where I am led,
and trust the ground beneath me
though shadows o'er me spread,
for life is more than trembling
before the things I dread—
perhaps the path I fear to walk
leads to trust instead.

August 8, 2015 (exp. 2026)

APPARENTLY, I DON’T
HAVE TO FIX EVERYTHING 💎

I used to think maturity meant having better thoughts, more spiritually evolved thoughts.

Calmer thoughts. Perhaps even thoughts wearing sensible shoes.

Now I think maturity is realising that most of my thoughts do not require my participation.

A thought appears. The body reacts. The mind begins preparing a full report.

...And I say:

"No comment."

Not because the thought is wrong. It may return. Mine are persistent little buggers.

But every time I consciously stop explaining, defending, predicting, and arguing with what is already happening, peace returns.

That return is a little celebration. The office closes. The body softens.

Nothing outside me may have changed, but the whole world feels different because I am no longer in the battle. I'm no longer fighting with life.

That is the miracle. Not that thought never returns. Just that I can decline the invitation and watch peace return instead.

Again.

And again.

Reality does not need my constant interpretation.

A great relief, really.

I was never particularly good at it anyway.

#ACIM #Peace #NoComment #Mindfulness #InnerPeace #LettingGo #SelfAwareness #Maturity #SpiritualHumour #Healing

My breath practice showed me the doorway. Sleep helped me pass through.

#Breathwork #OceanBreath #Sleep #Peace #Stillness #LettingGo #Trust #Rest #Presence #Healing #NervousSystem #Mindfulness #Wellbeing #Life

A Sense of Doubt blog post #4180 - Letting Go of Books - HM Reprint of 752 from 2017. https://sensedoubt.blogspot.com/2026/07/a-sense-of-doubt-blog-post-4180-letting.html #Books #LettingGo

I met Steve a couple of years after Chris passed away. He was and is a kindness the universe gave me when I was truly lost. Steve told me I should look into a new car. I scoffed at him. “Why would I want a new car that comes with a new car payment?” The truth was, holding on to the car was holding on to Chris.
https://medium.com/prismnpen/the-gay-art-of-letting-go-tears-for-a-car-411a57c62de3

#LGBTQ #Grief #LettingGo

#forgiveness #emotionalhealing #personalgrowth #selfimprovement #lettinggo #innerpeace #mindfulness #wellbeing #NeuroScience #NeuroDivergent #NeuroCiencia #Neuro #Neurology #NeuroPlasticity #NeuroCirurgia #NeuroDiverse #spiritualjourney https://mastodon.social/@biohackingpathway/116993757044577041

I walk, or: Carrying less

A Sijo

sandals, Middle Eastern tan lines
earbuds playing Billy Joel;
the old words sound and sound right
yet their teenage listener has blurred;
midlife's now loosening its grip
I walk on, carrying less

Sijo?

A Korean verse form related to haiku and tanka and comprised of three lines of 14-16 syllables each, for a total of 44-46 syllables. Each line contains a pause near the middle, similar to a caesura, though the break need not be metrical. The first half of the line contains six to nine syllables; the second half should contain no fewer than five. Originally intended as songs, sijo can treat romantic, metaphysical, or spiritual themes. Whatever the subject, the first line introduces an idea or story, the second supplies a “turn,” and the third provides closure. Modern sijo are sometimes printed in six lines.

Let’s write poetry together!

When it comes to partnership, some humans can make their lives alone – it’s possible. But creatively, it’s more like painting: you can’t just use the same colours in every painting. It’s just not an option. You can’t take the same photograph every time and live with art forms with no differences.

–Ben Harper (b. 1969)

Would you like to create poetry with me and have a completed poem of yours featured here at the Skeptic’s Kaddish? I am very excited to have launched the ‘Poetry Partners’ initiative and am looking forward to meeting and creating with you… Check it out!

The Robin, the Crow, and the Release

Learning to Let Go with an Open Heart

-a lived moment of impermanence and non-attachment.

The Nesting Story

The robins had started building a nest in our breezeway earlier this spring. Their first attempt fell, and when they began a second one, I asked my husband to brace it with a piece of wood so it wouldn’t collapse again. It felt like a small but meaningful act of care — a way of participating in the life happening around our home.

Friday, when the mother robin didn’t return for hours, I called a wildlife rehab center to ask how long to wait before intervening. I was ready to bring the baby in if needed. But by evening, the mama returned. Relief washed through me. The fledgling was in the yard, and we watched her tending to it, guarding it, guiding it. It felt hopeful, like things were unfolding the way they were meant to.

The Morning Of Loss

Saturday morning, around eight, I took my dog out. As I rounded the garage, I saw the two adult robins in the yard — the mother and father — and a crow nearby. The moment the crow saw me, it flew off, and the robins chased after it. I knew instantly what had happened.

I went inside and told my husband, “Not a good start to the morning,” as the tears began to flow. Some part of me wondered if I could have prevented it — if I had gone out earlier, if I had been outside already, if something could have been different.

But when I went back out to look, there was a pile of feathers. It had already happened. There was nothing I could have done.

Carrying the Grief

And still, I was heartbroken. Even knowing the natural cycle. Even understanding that crows have babies to feed, too. Even knowing that energy moves, transforms, returns.

I carried that ache with me into my lymphatic flow class with Darshak N Gala. My body was tight, braced, holding the events of the morning. But as we moved through the rhythmic sequences — the breathing, the gentle movement, the process of relaxing into the body — something in me began to shift. I could feel the emotional charge loosening, draining, moving.

The Body Begins to Soften

By the time we reached the end, Darshak offered an affirmation/prayer that landed exactly where I needed it. It helped me integrate everything I was feeling — the grief, the tenderness, the helplessness, the truth of the natural cycle. It was as if my body finally had permission to release what my mind had been gripping.

And in that softened space, the Buddhist teaching on impermanence rose in me — not as an idea, but as a lived truth. Everything changes. Everything ends. Everything returns.

Impermanence as a Lived Truth

As the truth of impermanence settled into my body, another companion teaching rose with it, non- attachment. It’s often misunderstood as not caring, but in Buddhism, it’s actually an invitation to love without gripping to let beings moments and seasons be what they are, even when we wish we could hold them in place.

Loving Without Gripping

Non-attachment doesn’t numb the ache of loss. It simply keeps us from collapsing under it. It teaches us to loosen our grip on what we cherish, not because it matters less, but because it matters so deeply that we allow it to move the way life moves, remembering that this didn’t erase the grief of the morning, but it’s softened its edges. It gave the ache somewhere to go.

As I moved through the rest of the day, I kept returning to the memory of that small pile of feathers in the yard, not with the same sharp ache, but with a quieter tenderness. The morning had reminded me in a way I didn’t ask for that life is always shifting, always moving, always becoming something else

What the Morning Taught Me

While I can’t protect every fragile thing, I can meet these moments with softness instead of bracing, I can let myself feel the ache without gripping it. I can let the teaching settle into my body the way the breath does, slowly, naturally, in its own time, and maybe that is the real practice, learning to stay open to the world even when it breaks your heart, trusting something, and you know how to soften around what you cannot change.

Silence didn't teach me peace, it showed me what I carried.

The need to be productive, fear that quiet meant worthlessness, terror I was wasting my life.

What would you discover if you stopped being productive for a week?

#productivity #silence #lettinggo
#mindfulness #spiritualpractice #innerwork
#meditation #selfawareness #contemplativelife

How embracing the ‘Empty Boat Theory’ can help you keep anger and anxiety in check

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.upworthy.com/embracing-empty-boat-theory-explained-ex1/

9 Practical Tips for Letting Go of What No Longer Serves You in a Chaotic World

https://www.conferencesthatwork.com/index.php/life-lessons/2024/06/letting-go

#LettingGo #Mindfulness #MentalHealth #SelfCare #Wellness #Meditation