Letting go means to un-attach, release, relinquish.
Who, what, when, where, why and how should we let go of? Anything—person, place, or thing; be it physical, mental, or emotional—that inhibits the unfolding of something positive, uplifting, constructive, and healing.
In letting go we lose illusion. In letting go we gain freedom.
In releasing our self from futile efforts, we reclaim energy we’ve been pouring into something that no longer serves us well. Two of the most difficult things for me to let go of are control and expectations. Perhaps you have something too.
Below is an excerpt from my book, Note to Self: A Seven-Step Path to Gratitude and Growth. It’s a true story about letting go; about how Susan Wisehart, author of Soul Visioning: Clear the Past, Create Your Future, used holographic time to take me forward in time to see my future self. I was somewhere in my very late eighties or early nineties, and I was referred to as Granny B.
One of the things that clinical hypnotherapists learn in our training is past-life regression. When it’s done accurately and well, it’s very interesting. But just like anything that you get a lot of (chocolate cake, pizza, ice cream), it can become monotonous or boring after a while. So when Susan Wisehart invited me to move forward in time, that really piqued my curiosity.
My husband, son, and I went to the Infinity Foundation in Highland Park, Illinois, where we were part of a group of about sixteen people. After the first part of the day, we returned from lunch to find that our chairs had been replaced with yoga-style mats, which we each lay on.
Susan started talking in a voice, tone, and rhythm that are common in hypnotherapy and guided imagery. I was thinking, Oh, brother, what’s new about this?
I can’t tell you the who, what, when, where, why, or how of it—I don’t have those answers—but I found my current self in a tropical location. It was as if all of my molecules and atoms came together—reassembled themselves—in that geographic location.
Looking around, I saw, in the near distance, my future self. She turned around and looked my current self square in the eyes.
I felt compelled to walk forward, hands extended. She took them in hers. And for some reason, I had the feeling that the clock was ticking very fast, that I was about to run to of time with her.
I looked into her eyes and said, “Please tell me what I need to do to get here.”
With a smile and a twinkle in her eye, she said, “Let go.”
It was at that point that I started wondering about my husband. And though I didn’t voice any questions, she answered me with her mind. Turning to my left, in the distance I saw Len sitting on the end of a dock wearing a baseball cap, fishing pole in hands, feet dangling over the water. He was obviously content. Somehow I “knew” that his back being to us meant he was dead. But I also “knew” that everything was okay. He was quite well on the other side.
Just then, a tall, slender young woman with shoulder-length brown hair came up with a tray of sweating glasses of water and said, “Grant B., would you like something to drink?”
Just like I “knew” about Len, I “knew” that she was my granddaughter. I would guess that she was somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties. In current time, my son was not even married.
I looked back into the smiling eyes of my future self, who was still holding my hands. She conveyed the message “let go” one more time (nonverbally), and I dissolved (for lack of a better description), and then everything came back together again. I was physically reassembled back at the Infinity Foundation in Highland Park.
To this day, I’m not exactly sure what it is that I’m supposed to let go of. I’m confident my future self wasn’t specific on purpose, because now every time I hit a bump in the road, my current self simply remembers her words.
In not being specific, she made letting go a current, regular practice.
Letting go is an example of something that is simple but not easy. It involves allowing things to change. It requires an ongoing examination and revision of closely held thoughts and ideas, and an ongoing willingness to release them.