It took me a long while to realise this deeply, and enacting it is an ongoing and never ending process, but letting go is the fundamental thing we need to do in order to find real contentment in our lives. We have to get out of the way, and then our path is clear.
It begins by looking outside. This is unconventional. Most meditators would tell you to look in, but I think it is helpful to first look out. Look around you, and you will see that all things are in a process of arising and dispersing. We see this in the daily cycle, in the seasons, in our own mortality – everything comes and goes. Then look inside, and you observe your blood, your thoughts, and your nervous system and emotions all do the same. Nothing stays still. Life is like the waves or tides of the ocean, in a constant exchange of rising and falling, of ebb and flow.
Keep looking, and you will notice that everything depends upon everything else. Look outside, look inside; it doesn’t matter. Nothing stands apart – nothing exists in isolation. Things might appear to us as separate, for our minds have learnt to discern things from our senses, and to create borders that say, “I end here, and you begin there”. This is different to that. But really, we cannot exist alone. We each require ancestry, family, breath, food, light and warmth. Our very existence is reliant upon all the rest of nature, and indeed the whole universe, existing alongside us. In fact, we exist not alongside other things, but within them, and they within us. We are in a permanent state of change and exchange. Life is wholly interdependent, like a vast web of interconnected parts. Everything is really one thing.
Imagine a circle. Nothing left out; everything contained within. Imagine the ocean; the waves rising and falling, the tides ebbing and flowing, but the ocean itself remains itself – it is always the ocean; the movements create no separation. They are contained within the ocean and are an inseparable part of it. From the choppiest surface movements, refracting light in many directions, to the deepest, darkness stillness beneath, it is only the ocean, thoroughly the ocean, and nothing else. The waves are the ocean, the tides are the ocean, the deeps are the ocean. Life is like this: many things and one thing, simultaneously.
This is where we begin, with this circle that contains all things. And because the things we perceive are really strands of one great web, waves of one great ocean, there really are no things that can be said to exist at all, truly. Yes, of course things exist, as we ordinarily see them. But in another sense nothing exists exclusively, of its own accord, because all is just a rising and falling. Does a wave exist? Can you separate it from the ocean and say, “Here is a wave!”? No, the wave is just process. It is an exchange. It is not a thing that can be pointed to, or removed. Its existence relies on all the other peaks and troughs around it. Everything is like this: on one level, things appear, and we can grasp and identify them; on another level, they are impermanent, dependent, and exist only in relation to their surroundings and their origination.
So what does this mean for us? Over the course of our lives we develop a strong sense of self. As children, we are often asked: “Do you like this one?” and “Which is your favourite?” We are encouraged to have preferences, and we are encouraged to feed our sense of self. We see ourselves as ongoing, individual entities, and we nurture that view with preferences, with likes and dislikes for things that are other. Here is me, myself, a thing. And over there are all other things, which are not me. Some things I am attracted to, and I grasp at them and hold on the them, and make them a part of this concept of “me”; other things I am indifferent to, or I push them away and label them as “not me”. This is a useful outlook for subsistence, but it is useless for realisation. And unfortunately, we layer our perception of separation with a substantial, abiding self-nature. But as we have observed already, all things are one ocean, one web. All things are me. Everywhere I look, there is “me”. So what meaning has “me” at all, then? If all is one, then there is no “me”. “I” exist only as a passing, dependent idea, a wave that requires all the other waves to have any meaning at all. It is this wavelike “me” that we need to drop, for it is the cause of all our confusion and suffering. We don’t need to annihilate it; on the contrary, we need to accept it and view it for what it really is – just a passing idea. We can play with it. We can use it. But we do need to stop holding on to it, and let go. If we fully grasp the notion of impermanence, then it becomes apparent that not even for an instant is there any abiding self anywhere, for all is in flux, in an eternal state of becoming.
If we identify strongly with the ocean-like “me”, then we are no longer pushed and pulled around by our preferences as we engage with the external world. We can experience this “bigger me” by turning our awareness inside and looking internally, instead of allowing ourselves to be influenced and entranced by our senses. As we sit and observe inwardly, we see clearly the chaotic tumult of the ocean’s surface. The quiet space beneath the madness of our thoughts. And if we just look at that self-generating chaos, without engaging with it, without identifying with it, then we can sink deeper into the stillness beneath, where lies a profoundly peaceful experience of the present, and which simply has no need for any notion of self. It is an all-encompassing awareness that does not separate subject from object, this from that, self from other; nor does it reject this duality – it embraces that too. This awareness is what lies beyond the borders of the circle we imagined. It encircles the circle, and observes everything within it. Like a mirror, it simply reflects whatever is, and requires no sense of an “experiencer”. The waves rise and fall, but the ocean is one, and the observer is unmoved, equanimous, perfectly still. Yes, things appear, and there is perceiving, but there is no perceiver.
When we move from this place of stillness, it is with the understanding that separate existence is only apparent, and that by holding on to the notion of self we create our own suffering. Two things naturally follow: compassion, for we are no longer separate from the suffering of others; and amusement, for the “cosmic joke” of our own absurd delusion is revealed, and we can let go of the ridiculous burden of the self. So long as we remain mindful, and do not cling to our idea of self-nature, then we are free. Sometimes this is spoken of as joyfulness, but to my mind that is not quite right. Joy is a state of agitation, whereas this freedom emerges from a place of stillness and contentment. And, it’s important to make clear, nor does this mean we live in a state of unchanging, soporific calm. That is just more delusion – a kind of self-tranquillisation. Rather, we move, we engage, we laugh and we cry – but now we are grounded. We have a place of stillness to return to. We are no longer like boats tossed helplessly on the waves, victims of our own externality and discrimination; but we are anchored and can no longer be lost. There is a deep change in the quality of our experience.
The Heart is Yang. It is a place of activity. It pulses waves of blood around the body. It houses the Shen, the refined and ethereal aspect of our being. It is the seat of our vigour and manages our capacity to deal with life without anxiety or dullness. It engages with the world. It moves. It’s fire rises towards the heavens. It feels emotion… laughter, compassion, gratitude. It is a Yin organ, but its function is Yang; it is like the waves. If we split our circle in two, the Heart is one pole, above. It moves, but if it is to be healthy, it must be anchored in stillness. There is a seed of Yin that connects it and allows for intermingling with the Yin field below.
The Kidneys are Yin. They are water, and their motion is downward, towards the nourishing earth. They balance the rising fire of the Heart and store the Essence of our being. In meditation, the mind is allowed to sink to the lower Dantian. The body releases tension as the mind sinks through, the mind deeply lets go as it sinks, and the breath becomes quiet and stable, deep and fine, unhindered and unhurried. Mind, breath and body relax and release as one. Tension unwinds, and the “small self” unbinds; the attention is focused, unwavering, but with a quality of softness and gentleness; the awareness is clear and still, like an undisturbed lake on a windless day – or like the deep ocean depths. This is the other pole: the Dantian. It is still and quiet, a receptacle for our Yin energy, for our deep reserves; but within is the spark of life, the fire of Ming Men. The Qi gathers and fills, the poles open to one another, and the process of releasing and opening the body’s energetic channels begins to restore us to health and balance.
Two poles. One, Yin within Yang; the other, Yang within Yin. One is the waves, the other the ocean. Yin, anchoring; Yang, enlivening. Yin, internal; Yang, external. Both in communication, in a process of never ending exchange. One reliant on the other, completing the circle. Ebbing, flowing, interchanging, transforming. Here our circle becomes the the Taiji symbol of Yin and Yang, something arising out of nothing. If we nurture our Shen, our spirit, and keep it contained within, and we build our Qi diligently, then we can find a higher energetic state – we can be fulfilled. The circle spins and mixes Yin and Yang in equal parts. No more separation. We transcend our “small self”. We must create the correct conditions, and then our bodies and minds can heal and reach new levels of openness and vitality. Only when we grip and hold on to something does the circle stop spinning. It goes off-balance. It wobbles. Perhaps it falls. Perhaps it breaks. When the motion is halted, something stagnates, or it depletes and its opposite grows excessive. Then we have imbalance, and what emerges is ill-health of body and mind. Discomfort. Discontent. Disease. We hold on to our “little me”, our wavelike me, as though it exists by itself, and we separate ourselves from the rest of the cosmos. Then we are not living in harmony with nature. We are no longer aligned with truth. We are mistaken, but we do not step outside the circle, so we cannot see it.
You have to let go. You have to get out of your own way. Then we move with things, not against them, because we have no preference, and life is easy. That’s not to say that no difficulties arise, but when they do we can understand them better and know how to respond intelligently. Sometimes we can step aside or recognise and deal with them before they become problems at all. And nor is this to say that we become like nothing, nonexistent, nonentities, or that we are at the mercy of the will of others. In Taijiquan this becomes clear. You can do two things in tai chi, which are really the same: blend your centre with your opponent’s, and disrupt his balance or uproot him with Fa Jin by allowing the Qi to pass through unhindered; or, you can Song and release your mass to the floor so you are not there at all, and he is effectively attacking his own imbalance, his own tension, his own self. Both require you to let go of your self. You do not raise your energy against his, you do not stiffen or become angry, you do not defy or resist, but nor do you run away – you simply blend and release, and he is defeated. He is defeated, and you are not even there.
This is a very high level of skill of course, and one that I certainly cannot profess to have attained, not by a very long way. But it applies in all aspects of life, and in some aspects of my own life I have seen it work to great effect. By blending and releasing, you drop your self and become one with the whole. By letting go, you can attain mastery of your own being. You are no longer a nervous, confused and self-attached mind in a tense, imbalanced, uninhabited body. Mind and body align in harmony and you simply act in accordance with what is right. Not a moral, intellectual “right”, but a natural, universal and comprehending “right”, which might be termed De, or Virtue. By letting go you fall into the Dao, into the natural way, and you attain to De.
I have managed to successfully, even easily, drop some very long-standing addictions and unhealthy habitual thought patterns simply by letting go. It’s not even something you need to learn to do. You already know how to relax, but you are clinging too tightly to your self, so you cannot. Instead, you distract yourself and call that relaxation instead. You fill your life and fill your mind when you should be emptying it. Paradoxically, only by emptying your being will it become full. If you simply release the tension in your body, relax your breathing and let your mind sink naturally to your centre, then you can begin to experience what it is to truly let go. You have to be diligent and accept your imperfection. Embrace your own absurdity. Watch your own mind closely. See where it moves, how it gravitates to things and reaches out. It’s easy to do, but not to maintain. Know that you will fail, but that is when you learn. Be patient and generous, and next time, maybe you will remain mindful. Bit by bit, you release deeper and deeper. You have to unbind the mental, emotional and bodily clinging of a whole lifetime – that is no small endeavour. But if you practise, you will notice that your life is gradually becoming smoother. Recurring problems and difficulties no longer arise, or they fade away more quickly. You are lighter, but also more grounded. You are more responsive, more adaptable, less serious, less narrow, and more self-aware. This is not about achieving some mystical insight, some flash of enlightenment, or supernatural wisdom. It is simply a return to a more truthful and centred version of your being, which exists even now beneath the unhappiness and delusion that arises simply from holding on. Everything is right, just as it is. Even you. There is no need to hold on. Let go, let go so you can find a place of equilibrium and underlying peace. Not stasis, but harmony. Abandon the wave, and the ocean will catch you. It was you all along. You just thought yourself a wave. So draw yourself up and let go. Through loss, only gain. When you get out of the way, everything is clear.
Things flow. Flow with it.
The Azure Dragon 