Great religions and spiritual traditions speak of detachment--letting go of the things of the world for spiritual purposes. Did you ever try it? It's so hard! I first noticed my penchant to cling to the things of the world. Like Dylan Thomas, I am one to "go not gently into that good night." I cling to my best friend, to my son, to my opinions, to my unique family and history. Recently, I realized I even cling to my faults and my problems.
Such a problem is my lifetime battle with insomnia. That started when I was a tiny person. I would get up and go to the bathroom during the night and then be afraid to go back to bed. I would sit on the toilet all night waiting for some sound from my parents' room indicating they were awake. At the same time, I was afraid to flush for fear I would wake my Dad and he would be angry with me. I was awake and terrified until daylight. I still am sometimes.
Insomnia shapes my life. I don't like to travel because it affects my sleep patterns. I won't stay at other people's houses. I won't stay anywhere unless I have a bathroom connected to my bedroom. Naturally, I also won't sleep in the same room or bed with anyone lest I have to use the bathroom or lest I can't sleep all night. What will they think of me? Will they love me less because I am not the strong woman they know in the daytime? I have turned down jobs, opportunities to fly to foreign lands on private jets, and even marriage proposals because of my insomnia.
I was reading something about detachment this morning (after a rough night) and the author suggested that detachment doesn't just relate to people but also to problems that you obsess over. I immediately realized that I obsess over sleep or the lack thereof. What would happen if I turned sleep gently over to the Big D, my higher power. I envision myself wrapping it gently in gossamer threads, a lumpy package with defiant tendrils trying to escape and come back to me. I stand before my higher power and, as if pledging my troth, close my eyes and hand over the shapeless mass. I feel it fall from my hands but I don't know if it was taken lovingly or whether I am imagining my relief.
I don't suppose it will be so simple as giving it over to the higher forces, but recovery and all spiritual guides suggest we "let go." If you think about it, clinging to anything of the earth is a pointless activity. Either there is gravity holding us or there isn't. All the clinging and clutching in the world doesn't make us more securely attached; it just means we can't move about the beautiful earth as easily. I'm letting go, lettting go already. More to come, Roxie
Such a problem is my lifetime battle with insomnia. That started when I was a tiny person. I would get up and go to the bathroom during the night and then be afraid to go back to bed. I would sit on the toilet all night waiting for some sound from my parents' room indicating they were awake. At the same time, I was afraid to flush for fear I would wake my Dad and he would be angry with me. I was awake and terrified until daylight. I still am sometimes.
Insomnia shapes my life. I don't like to travel because it affects my sleep patterns. I won't stay at other people's houses. I won't stay anywhere unless I have a bathroom connected to my bedroom. Naturally, I also won't sleep in the same room or bed with anyone lest I have to use the bathroom or lest I can't sleep all night. What will they think of me? Will they love me less because I am not the strong woman they know in the daytime? I have turned down jobs, opportunities to fly to foreign lands on private jets, and even marriage proposals because of my insomnia.
I was reading something about detachment this morning (after a rough night) and the author suggested that detachment doesn't just relate to people but also to problems that you obsess over. I immediately realized that I obsess over sleep or the lack thereof. What would happen if I turned sleep gently over to the Big D, my higher power. I envision myself wrapping it gently in gossamer threads, a lumpy package with defiant tendrils trying to escape and come back to me. I stand before my higher power and, as if pledging my troth, close my eyes and hand over the shapeless mass. I feel it fall from my hands but I don't know if it was taken lovingly or whether I am imagining my relief.
I don't suppose it will be so simple as giving it over to the higher forces, but recovery and all spiritual guides suggest we "let go." If you think about it, clinging to anything of the earth is a pointless activity. Either there is gravity holding us or there isn't. All the clinging and clutching in the world doesn't make us more securely attached; it just means we can't move about the beautiful earth as easily. I'm letting go, lettting go already. More to come, Roxie
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