Letting Go

Opportunities to let go exist every day. Two days ago while walking on the beach at Oak Island, I found a perfect little channeled whelk in the surf. The snail appeared to be dead, so I took the shell home. As I sat at my desk observing it, I wondered what magic this shell holds for me. Channeled whelks are rare finds. I often find broken pieces of them on the shore.

There’s something affirming about finding such rare treasures on the beach, almost as though it is an affirmation that I am exactly where I need to be, that divine timing is at work in my life. In this regard, the shell becomes an object that holds my sense of belonging with the Divine.

I left the shell on my desk, and when I returned several hours later to find that it had moved, I realized that I had mistakenly brought home a live whelk, and I knew I had to let it go. It was too late at night to take it to the beach, so I put it in a bowl of water and hoped for the best.

By the next day, it was barely moving, and I was in tears. A friend convinced me that it would likely die now even if I took it back to the ocean, and that keeping it may be a way to honor its life. Reluctantly, I kept it, convincing myself that what my friend said was true, that by now it would die even if I released it.

Later that night, as I was telling the story to another friend, she asked, “Why didn’t you just take it back to the ocean?” I could see how this situation could seem so simple, but by now, it had become another example of the comfort and burden of belongings, and I was experiencing a good deal of suffering in my desire to keep something beautiful along with my sense of responsibility for causing it harm. Of course, it was again too late at night to return it.

Today, it was still alive. I photographed it as a way of remembering and honoring it, and I took it back to the ocean in the rain. I walked the distance to the protected area at the north end of Wrightsville Beach, took the whelk out into the surf, cupped it in my hands, brought it to my lips, and whispered, “Please forgive me,” and I lowered the creature into the surf.

A large wave washed over it and pulled it into the sea. As I stepped away, I was sobbing. In my imagination, I saw all of the beings that I had let go in the past 10 years. I named them aloud, and I felt into the memory of just six weeks ago when I had released the ashes of my three dogs in this same spot. I stood doubled over, sobbing until there was nothing left to release, and then I walked away.

For some reason, I turned around, and I saw that the sun had emerged through the rain and had created a hue of yellow ochre on the white-capped waves. A full rainbow stretched from the shore of the neighboring island to the sea. I imagined that all of the spirits of those whom I had named aloud had arrived to comfort me and affirm my place in the order of things.

I bowed to the sun, sea, sky, and rainbow. As I raised my head, the sun shone more brightly, and a second full rainbow appeared over the top of the first. The sunlight was bouncing off of the gray rain clouds, creating a more than usually magnificent pre-dusk golden light. I was again witnessing what Robert Johnson in Balancing Heaven and Earth so aptly describes as the golden light of heaven. I felt as though I was standing between heaven and earth.

It was clear to me in that moment that I didn’t need to keep the little whelk, and in fact, my spirit felt significantly lighter after releasing it. The gift of experience that I received as a result of releasing the whelk was far greater than what I had felt while holding onto it. The image of these moments on the beach will be etched in my memory, providing a sense of wonder, awe, beauty, and belonging in every recollection.

What can you let go of today? What can you create in the letting go?