Oftentimes my morning routine starts with quiet contemplation, followed by journal writing, and choosing a Tarot Card for daily guidance. A few days ago, the card I chose was the Four of Pentacles, with the message: “Holding on Too Tightly.” I used this message as a writing prompt, doing a twenty-minute timed writing. What emerged is my recognition that I’m not holding on too tightly to material possessions so much as I’m holding on to my sense of self, and who I believe myself to be. Holding on to an image of who I want to be seen as, out there in the world. I suspect something about reputation is on the line here, with my anxiety related to wanting people to think well of me, to feel positive about my program offerings. To continue seeing me as an effective facilitator, with skills in writing and leadership.
What else might I be holding on to? Now an adjacent question emerges: what needs to be released? I’ve been attempting to hold onto routines and activities, maintaining my fitness levels as I prepare for a surgery that will require at least six weeks of healing, aka minimal physical exertion. I feel anxiety about the limitations on physical activity, more than about the surgery itself. There is a great unknown looming in my immediate future: the world of medical procedures, “non-invasive surgery” – an oxymoron if I ever heard one – and rest. The dreaded word, Rest. Not a top ten on my list of chosen things to do. Here’s where learning resides, where tension exists. I must release my desire to sustain my current level of fitness. It will change, as I follow the medical prescriptions.
Despite my anxiety, I am already preparing to be less physically active after the surgery. I’ve got an engaging knitting project started, with lots of yarn. I love how the instructions say, “You can stop here, or keep going with this pattern until the yarn runs out.” I used a similar tactic for the green angora blanket I knitted for Rod, my husband, and I love seeing that he is using it as a meditation shawl. My heart warms whenever I see the blanket around his shoulders.
Speaking of Rod, he’s got COVID for the second time, and he has been testing positive for eight days now. He is getting better, and I’m grateful for that. However, his illness has meant that I’ve had to make a lot of changes in my daily activities. Whenever I enter a public space, I’m wearing an N-95 mask, which brings back so many memories from the pandemic. I was holding onto feeling resentful about masking, until I found the inner resources to shift into recognizing that this is a generous act. Wearing my N-95 mask shows caring for all the people around me. I’m not going to my regular fitness classes, which is like a preview of my post-surgery life. Ironically, that arrived early. I’ve chosen to avoid in-person meetings. All these choices have required a rigorous thought process, which takes energy. What I am pleased about is that I’ve made decisions based on Buddhist precepts of kindness, compassion, and caring for others. This may be the new version of Marie, so I better get used to her.
I’m noticing a cycle of holding on, letting go, and everything in between. Of planning ahead and then having to let go of the plan. Another example of this cycle is related to my personal writing. I’m letting go of my manuscript writing project for a few months, while I pause and let new content gestate. I’m noticing a shift in my writing voice since the latest summer retreat I attended, and I want to let the new words emerge without trying to force them into an existing structure or project. It’s a time of transition, of not knowing, and learning to be comfortable with not-knowing once again.
