Unclench your jaw. Let your shoulders fall away from your ears. This worry doesn’t belong to you. Your power is limited. Let it go.

The shame, the guilt, the fear. We leave it all behind in the end. Let it go.

In the looseness, you may feel the air sliding in the spaces between your fingers, rushing through like the sands of time. You can’t stop them; don’t bother to try.  Lean your head back and let go.

You may wonder: What do I own? What is mine? Who am I? Do I own my thoughts? Is this my house? My hand? My pen? Who gave me this mind, these memories, this life? Who gave me these questions? Who will give me the answers?

What is mine is really His. I’m a tenant in His home.

But there is a space inhabited by the me that is my own self. A tiny fraction, a shining sliver of G-d pulses within my body for a moment in time. How long will it shelter there? Who knows when my time will be up. And where will I go then? What will be revealed? Will I be held? Why am I holding on to what I’m holding on to?

I pry open my fist and there is nothing inside it.

Let go and let go and let go.

Some things aren’t made to last. Dust returns to dust. But first it blooms and flowers, lives and then dies. A withering branch, a passing shadow, and then dust again. What season am I in?

Much is gone, but something remains. What’s yours is yours. What’s mine is His.

Inhale this thought. Let go.

The breath flows in and out. It comes and goes, comes and goes. Mine for a moment then back to its source. To Him Who blew into me the breath of life. The wind whispers, You won’t disappear even when you’re gone. Not everything is finite. There is revelation in the exhalation.

Let go.

I have blown out many candles now, closed my eyes and made a wish. What wish did He wish when He blew in that sacred breath? What dream did He whisper in front of the flickering flame of my soul?

Maybe He wished for me to open my fist. Maybe He whispered, “Let go.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 981)