In one of my meditations last week, an eagle soared into my view. But as it aimed for the sky, something held its leg. The eagle shook and squirmed, flapped frantic wings. And then suddenly, the “something” let go. First, the eagle soared free, up and up; and then, she simply floated, surrendered, the wind carrying her in all her power and luster.
The message was clear and beautiful and welcome. This is my time to let life carry me. (Where will it take me?) All I need to do is surrender. To let go of the grasping thoughts, the free-floating anxieties, the list of shoulds, the fear of what might happen if—so that I am no longer caught like that eagle’s leg. So that the wind can guide me wherever it is that I am meant to go.
Tomorrow, my mom leaves after living in my home and in my life for three (wonderful) months. Today, and in and out of a restless sleep throughout the night, I felt myself flapping frantic. Grasping to all of the things I don’t want to end (our morning mediations; watching West Wing in the middle of an afternoon). Rolling around in all of the things we could have and should have and oh how I wish we’d done these last months (taken more photos, that Friday evening yoga class). Fearing the long list of things to fear (my first morning alone; the too-quiet daytime hours; solo-parenting with chemo-fatigue strapped to my shoulders).
I could have spent all day with my leg, my spirit, caught. And then I remembered my eagle. Let go. Let go. And so this is what I got today: An arm-in-arm walk on the bike path. My first sun in what feels like seasons. Lunch downtown on a Thursday afternoon. A hug in the kitchen. The wind carried me into all these gifts with my mom. In the words of a friend surviving metastatic breast cancer, “It was a good day.”