Love is letting go. Always, and at every opportunity, we must let go. It’s not because we have no wants, desires, needs, expectations or hopes of our own, but precisely because of all that. All of what we have, lurking in our hearts, often unexamined, threatens to suffocate love.
We let go, and die to ourselves, over and over again. Choosing and preferring the happiness of the other over our own. In time, with conscious effort and consistent practice, this can become our second nature, our reflex, our go to MO for dealing with everything life brings our way.
We don’t surrender our will as such, instead we humble it, and we teach it, as one might tame a wild horse. Kindly, but firmly. We harness the power of our own egos to bring others joy rather than pursue our own endless pursuit of happiness. It’s actually easier than we think… we need to reinforce it by truly valuing those in our lives. Do we really prefer them over ourselves? And why do we love them, even?
My children have been teaching me to let go. Once, I was the centre of their tiny universe. Then it was their beloved friends, and slowly now, their loving partners. I learnt to watch from the side, relishing their every joy, there if needed but aware that they must lead their own lives. My children gave me this gift- of taming my wild will, my self-centred ego, and my critical heart. I let go, let go, let go.
Love abounds where there is freedom. Without freedom, love is a cage. It’s not so much about letting them go and if they love you they’ll come back… that’s the funny adage folks churn out at broken romances. No, it’s let them go, and it’s quite alright whether they “come back” or not. It’s saying, meaning, and living the “I love you’s” whether you receive the same back in word, gesture or action. Love doesn’t love wanting only a response, as if it were an investment with a fixed rate of return, paying out dividends regularly. Love simply… loves.
It’s more like the beautiful green parakeets I see outside my windows. Flying freely, settling where they need to be, and chatting noisily when dusk appears. They’re free. They’re gorgeous, and they bring so much joy while wanting nothing in return. Love can only live in that space created by preferring the other, dying to self, and a joyful exchange of freedom. Love needs to breathe, to fly, to choose. It cannot be suffocated, caged, or forced. It will die.
Something to think about, and to ask myself how and why I love my family and friends the way I do. Dying to self is a lifelong process. I must remind myself afresh, and daily work at it. One of the handy things about growing older is that you worry a lot less about what others think about you. This frees you to worry a lot more about how you think about yourself. The work of a life time remains to be continued over the few years left to me. God grant me wisdom to number my days rightly! 🙏🏼❤️
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