Change: The Only Constant

This post is more like a journal entry relating to gleanings from the last post. A sort of “ad hocum” from my previous post about seasons. So, here it is:

Change is the only constant.” This, then, is the only absolute. I’ve recently come to this revelation and I don’t like it much. I’d rather live in absolutes and hope that the end of the good season will never come because with absolutes, there is security.

Security, for me, is the absence of change. I have fought for absolutes and security my whole life and I’ve lost. I’ve raged against change and the end of seasons and, so far after damn near fifty years, I have never won. I’m 0-2. No wins and 2 losses. I fight against what is or I fight against losing what is. I think it time for me to end the war against change. I need to surrender. To raise the white flag of unconditional surrender to life and to change. I can’t beat what is. I can’t prevent what is from changing. I must surrender to it.

Perhaps I can embrace change and just live in what is. To live in the now. Live in the now, neither in the future (praying and hoping that what is will be different) nor in the past (regretting the decisions I have made that might have made what is now something different). Surrender to what is now and not try to change it, or be miserable in it, and drive myself and everyone around me crazy. Better to live in the now and love in the now. Let life be what it is; let my feeling about it go “in-through-out” and just love. Its gotta be a better way to live. Michael Singer wrote in the “Untethered Soul”: “The only way that everything is going to be OK is when You are OK with everything.

The Beginning, the End, and the Season

The end of tabernacles generally sucks for me. I hate the fact that the week long camping experience, which is supposed to signify eternal life with God, has to end. When it finally ends, I’m left feeling empty and lonely, dreading the return to work and the same old routine. It’s depressing. I feel this way any time a break from my normal routine ends. I never want the exciting fun stuff to end and I never want to return to the same-stuff-different-day life that I occasionally feel imprisoned in. But, this year, the end of tabernacles was different.

Rina and I have been reading “The Untethered Mind” by Michael Singer and what I gleaned from his wisdom was this:  Don’t fight it, just feel it and watch it… in almost the same way as you watch television. Feel it, then let it go. Rina says it like this: “let it in, let it through, let it go.”  So, this is what I did.  It was sad.  In the beginning, it felt the same as it always did, but somewhere in the midst of the experience, I had a revelation.  Maybe, just maybe, I was supposed to feel this.

If everything has a season, rejoicing and lamenting, then lamenting is something that I’m supposed to do but have never actually allowed myself to do.  All I have ever done is rage against the inevitable conclusion. So this year, I sat and watched. I just sat and stewed in the midst of it. Wallered in it. I thought the feelings of sadness would continue, but this isn’t what happened. Instead, I found something I didn’t expect: Hope.

Somewhere in the middle of wallering in my “why does this have to end and why does my life suck, and why doesn’t God do something about it because I’ve been praying about this forever now?!” It all seemed to go away. I felt a release. This was the end and the end was just that, the end. I felt it, let it in, and then let it go. By allowing myself to feel it, I was actually able to appreciate the end, which gave me another revelation:

The beginning of something new is what follows the end.  All seasons cycle.  This gave me hope.   Hope that this season is going to be good and maybe even better than the season I just finished. By allowing myself to accept the end, I inadvertantly accepted hope, stumbling onto it like a lost hiker lurching out of a dark wood.  It was a beautiful experience.

At the end, Rina bought me a zippo lighter.  It has become, for me, a symbol of hope “a light in the dark places,” if you will.  It will serve to remind me that I’m always in the season where God wants me to be. That each ending generates the beginning of something new, even if it looks as if it is old. By the time I went back to work, I even felt a little excited to see what this new season would look like. This is the first time ever that I’ve not dreaded the return to work. And you know what? I had a good week. “Hope does not disappoint” is written in Romans. Indeed, it does not.