there I was thinking about how I wasn't getting to do what I wanted to do; wondering where Gayle and I went wrong if our boys couldn't fix their own weenies; thinking it was a good thing we were on record against forcing kids to be vegetarians; and debating whether a dead free-range chicken was more spiritual than a dead chicken.
In a sense, we all have two minds—one whole and peaceful, the other, fragmented and busy. I was definitely in my busy mind. Just then I remembered Gayle's final words as she headed out the door: “I think we should say in the book, ‘Make your state of mind more important than what you are doing.’”
Oh.
And maybe apply that to ourselves as well?
If it were possible to summarize all mystical teachings in a single sentence, this one would come close: Make your state of mind more important than what you are doing.
I have practiced letting go enough to know that it feels a whole lot better than not letting go. Although my mental state wasn't too bad, it was not whole, happy, or at peace. Why must even this little bit of misery be endured? Why can't a couple of small tasks be done happily?
My mistake was the one Gayle indicated. I had made circumstances more important than my state of mind. Now I had to reverse that. I had to let go. In my experience of this process, I've come to see that it involves three steps:
The first step of letting go: To remove what obstructs your experience of wholeness and peace, you must first look at the obstruction.
Well, I wasn't out-and-out upset about the weenies, but I was a little resentful about what I was not getting to do, and a little conflicted about what I was doing. As I went deeper into these feelings, I found the obstructing thought: “I shouldn't have to do what I don't want to do.” I looked at that idea for a moment and realized I didn't even believe it. I do things all the time I don't want to do. In this case I wanted to fix my boys this food and I wanted to read John's proposal.
Check off step 1.
Before we go to step 2, I want to emphasize one aspect of letting go that is crucial to its success. In seeking clarity about what I wanted, I would have sabotaged the entire letting-go process if I had slipped into wanting my boys, Gayle, or the situation to change.
The moment I think, “I shouldn't be fixing these weenies,” all I can do is wait to be saved from the weenies. Maybe the electricity will go off and I can announce, “I tried, boys, but there's nothing I can do about it.” Then I can shake my head in frustration and go back to my writing. Or perhaps Gayle will get back early and take over. Or maybe John will come into the kitchen and say, “Dad, you've been cooking weenies all your life. I think it's time I took over. You go back to writing.”
Whenever our desire is for people to change or circumstances to go our way, we are not taking responsibility for our state of mind. Because now all we can do is be a victim and wait to be saved. We obviously can't let go if we are waiting to be saved. Certainly there are real victims, but most of us put ourselves in this role needlessly. And we do it every day.
When our goal is to maintain our sense of wholeness and connectedness regardless of what the day throws at us, we simply will not become a victim. Nothing is “beyond our control” because we are not interested in control. We let the people and situations we encounter be who and what they are. We are not motivated to reform or remake them. This doesn't mean we like how everyone behaves, nor does it mean that we fail to protect ourselves and loved ones from destructive people. But if we commit ourselves to changing even pleasant people when they don't want to change, we instantly become victims of their reactions. Each little response to our efforts pulls at the strings of our emotions.
For example, possibly you have been amazed, as I often have, by how frequently drivers put themselves in danger just to teach another driver a lesson. They will speed up to let someone know that he or she should not be cutting in line. They will tailgate a driver who is going too slowly. They will “run up the back” of a driver who just dangerously entered traffic. They will cut off someone who just cut them off.
Those who take it upon themselves to reform the driving public are classic victims. They have a good commute or a good trip only to the degree that other drivers act like they got the message. But other drivers never get the message.
No one has ever been made more sensitive or more thoughtful by being judged, bullied, or frightened. Putting pressure on others doesn't change their hearts. It merely engages us in a pointless conflict that splits our mind and muddles our emotions.
The second step of letting go: To go beyond the obstruction, you must be certain that you want to.
This was easy. I wanted to cook weenies in peace. I wanted to grant a simple request from my boys in peace. I wanted to be able to break with my personal agenda in peace. I indeed wanted peace more than I wanted the thought that was obstructing peace. I took a moment to probe my honesty about all of that. I found it was pretty solid.
Check off step 2.
The third step of letting go: To experience your wholeness, you must respond from your whole mind and not from your conflicted mind.
To do this, I had to find the place of wholeness within me. This is an attribute of the heart that we all possess. It is the place where we feel a quiet and loving connection to others. Even though it is always there, if your mind holds a disrupting thought, and if the first two steps are not done honestly, you simply will not feel wholeness or any real connection with other people. But if you are able to go to what has been called “the place of beauty,” then you must respond from this place—and you must resolve not to slip back into your old, conflicted state of mind.
And what is the nature of this “resolve”?
It is simple sincerity. Do we sincerely want oneness and equality with those around us? Do we sincerely want to look at our life in peace? Do we sincerely want a mind that knows stillness, wholeness, and a deep bond with our partner, children, parents, siblings, and friends? Or would we rather hold back our heart just a little? Would we actually like to remain in position to judge, triumph, and be right?
Here's where the third step can get a little tricky: The process of letting go of your more destructive emotions and darker impulses does not require tight control of the subject matter of your thoughts, although most people think it does. In fact, it doesn't require control of your thoughts or feelings in any way. You are not at war with circumstances, your behavior, other people's behavior, your feelings, other people's feelings, your thoughts, or other people's thoughts. You simply are not at war. It is just the reverse. Letting go is freedom. When you find yourself in a useless battle, you merely walk off the battlefield.
An illustration of how this third step works can be found in the way we experience love. All of us have seen examples of the disastrous results of people deciding to have or adopt a child because they want someone who will love them. The reason this doesn't work is that the child has to act like the image of the child that the parent expected. But the child is her own person and acts like herself, so the war begins—and war never feels like love. Similarly, people who decide to get a dog or cat for the same reason end up making themselves unhappy. Inevitably, the pet will disappoint.
Those two scenarios are common enough that many people see the mistake. Yet when it comes to romantic relationships, they don't question their desire to find someone who will cherish them, think they are wonderful, share their interests, meet their needs, have eyes only for them, and adore them even in old age. But that doesn't work either, as our divorce rate shows.
There are many people who love gardening so much that they spend significant parts of their day watering, feeding, weeding, pruning, transplanting, and the like. And they feel adequately blessed by every effort they make. It's a pleasure to walk in a garden that someone truly loves.
How do these blessed “relationships” between person and plant come about? It would be absurd to suggest that they hap-pen the way we are now telling ourselves romantic relations should work—the person who wants a garden looks for one that is astrologically correct, that is the