Week 3: Passing of my Dad

Letting Go - How Difficult It Is

Years of personal experience,
combined with years of cultural learning,
have taught us the importance of holding on.

We hold on to our desires
We hold on to what we think we need.
We hold on to what promises us happiness.

We hold on to our possessions.
We hold on to our image of who we are
We hold on to our ideas of what is right.

We hold on to our theories.
We hold on to our beliefs.
We hold on to our attitudes.
We hold on to our judgements.

We hold on to the past
We hold on to the future.

We hold on to our grievances.
We hold on to our fears.
We hold on to our loves
We hold on to our lovers.

We hold on to money.

We hold on to our thoughts.
We hold on to our illusions.

We hold on to our gods.
We hold on to our bodies.
We hold on to our lives
We hold on to our families.

Maybe we believe that our security lies in holding onto the past,
Desperately clinging onto the bits of info and articles we carry

Fear of losing our grip could spell disaster,
Or we may believe that holding on is the only way to salvation.
But do we really know it is safer to hold on?
Would letting go really be so bad?
But Do we really gain anything from holding on?

Such security is nothing but an illusion,
whose sole purpose is to hold us back.
Not knowing that our salvation actually lies in letting go.

Our holding on is a constraint we've placed upon ourselves.
It is an attitude, a way of thinking.
And yet our thot patterns - unlike the weather or the movements of the sea plates - is one thing we do not have complete control over.

I do know its time to let go,

But again my thots are not your thots;
neither are my ways your ways.

We have control over none.

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I scribbled these when i doing the prayers for my dad.

I saw a young girl holding her dad's photos in her small arms, she's possibly only 5-6 yrs of age. Her small frame, holding that large photo, smiling away. With the wife of the bereaved weeping and forcing a smile for her daughter , egging her on to walk forward to place daddy's photo's on the altar which was too high for her.

My heart broke as i saw her being lifted up by the pall bearers to place the photo.

My heart shattered.
The tears flowed.

She started crying. as though she understood wat was happening. She started wailing. She started to move the entire procession and bystanders like me.
The mum was now in an inconsolabe state.
Wailing even louder than her young daughter , bemoaning the loss of her husband, her bedfella.

I felt a sense of loss and insecurity for the poor child.
Or was the feelings for me ?