Letting Go

My hands hurt. I hold this rope, despite gravity pulling me toward the fire below. It burns, the rope. Lactic acid races to my arms and sits brutalizing every inch I try to move. It's just these hands. They hurt. They burn. The skin is peeling. I look down to the pit below. It is too terrible, so I turn my head  and close my eyes without peeking. Afraid of what I cannot see. We all are afraid of what we can't see.

I have been so comfortable in the way I have felt and always been that I have hesitated to look down. What if I let go? What if I did the natural thing and let go? It is never a natural thing to hold on to the point of torture. So we let go. And we fall into whatever is below because sooner or later we cannot hold on to that rope anymore. It doesn't even matter what is below, or if the fire is too hot to endure. Whatever is down there is more honest than what sits in our stomachs now. At least we aren't lying to ourselves. Honestly is a centerpiece of what our lives should look like. If we hold on to what is killing us, we are choosing a lie over the truth. We are choosing darkness over the light, even if that light is the scariest thing you can imagine. So you let go. You fall for decades, but realize that you weren't alone in your descent. Sometimes hurt breeds courage and loss gives way to love. Sometimes that fall is the one thing you need to make your life what you always wanted it to be. But you have to let go. I have to let go. I have let go.












Sing.
Migrate.