The Gift of Goodbye

By Amara Rose

In order to make room in our lives for the new, we often have to release something we're attached to - mentally, emotionally, spiritually, or physically. Letting go with grace may be the hardest task most of us will ever master. And it isn't necessarily people we'll be called upon to release.

Twice on my own evolutionary odyssey, I lost jewelry that was precious to me - both times, when I was at a crossroads in my growth, and needed to relinquish a way of being that no longer served me. Each time I was walking along the beach with a male companion who challenged my self-concept in a major way.

In the first instance, I'd placed my driver's license and some money in a small change purse in my pocket. Just before we stepped onto the beach, not wanting to risk getting sand in my beloved onyx ring, I put my ring in the purse, too. When we reached the car after our stroll my change purse was gone, and my ring with it. We retraced our steps along the beach, to no avail. An elderly Chinese man, observing my distress, asked what was the matter. As I related my tale of loss, he said sagely, "You lose something today, something better comes tomorrow. That's the way it works!" But I was inconsolable.

A year later: another beach walk, another challenging relationship. I was wearing my favorite pair of rhodonite and onyx earrings. (Onyx was an important gemstone to me then. Interestingly, according to a crystal and gem awareness guide, onyx is said to assist one in mastering detachment.) At the conclusion of our walk my right earring was missing.

Several years later, I participated in the Four-Fold Way training offered by Angeles Arrien, Ph.D., at the Esalen Institute on the ruggedly beautiful California coast. Part of our initiation involved making Native American "prayer arrows" and offering them to the Earth in whatever way we chose. I elected to give my prayer arrow to the sea. Crawling carefully out onto one of Esalen's majestic rock formations, I suddenly became aware that I was wearing all of my "replacement jewelry": the earrings I'd had made after the above-mentioned incident, and an onyx and pearl ring I'd bought to assuage the loss of the old onyx ring. I hesitated, uncertain whether to continue and perhaps lose my new jewelry, too. Yet I felt differently this time. I was conscious in the moment of what was happening and knew it would be okay.

I completed the release of my prayer arrow and later, when I shared my experience with the group, Angeles said, "This is an important story. The lost parts of ourselves always return when we are willing to attend to what we ignored or were attached to and integrate it into our being."

I'm continually amazed at how kindred our lives are. A friend who is in the midst of his own soul journey shared how he went dancing (another great form of release), first carefully placing in his pocket a treasured beaded bracelet that he considered his "power object." At the close of the night, the bracelet was gone, and though he combed the dance floor, it did not materialize. He recognized the call to let go, and did so. A few days later the woman who had made him the bracelet resurfaced in his life, although they hadn't been in touch for years.

A few months ago, I had my greatest epiphany yet; a "clothes encounter" that completely challenged my concept of reality, and illustrated in Technicolor how much of a tendency to blame I still carried within.

I was on the road for the latter half of 2000. I had left California in August for the East Coast, packing winter clothes in anticipation of the upcoming months. I thought I'd packed my long green winter dress and another elegant long dress and jacket that I've worn when giving presentations, but when I finally wanted them, in late November, they were nowhere to be found. Obviously I hadn't packed them after all; why would I bother taking a party dress I might wear once a year? So I phoned my friend in California, at whose house I'd stored boxes of my belongings, to ask if she could please mail me the green dress. I clearly remembered leaving it packed in a box of clothes atop the desk in her garage, I told her.

I received a note the following week saying there was no box of clothes on top of the desk, and she couldn't locate a green dress anywhere.

Frustrated, I wore other another outfit to holiday gatherings.

When I returned to California in February and went to retrieve my stored items from her house, sure enough, there was no box of clothes where I knew I'd left them. But other items had found their way into her garage since the previous summer, and I assumed the box was in there somewhere. My friend John, who helped me move, teasingly suggested that the dresses might be upstairs in her male roommate's wardrobe! But I didn't find his idea funny, or comforting.

With all I've surrendered on my spiritual journey-health, home, friendships, and many "possessions"-how could a few articles of clothing possibly matter? I realized it wasn't about the dresses themselves; it was the sense of loss (and loss of control) their disappearance represented.

In March I was house sitting for a month and finally decided to unpack, wash and iron everything from my trip. There, pushed down into the bottom of the small red suitcase that I hadn't unpacked since I'd left Virginia the previous September, were my missing dresses.

My mind was reeling. Yes, now I remembered burying the dresses (which had started the trip on hangers covered by plastic) deep in my suitcase, reasoning that I wouldn't need them for quite awhile-and then my mind totally erased having packed them at all!

The lessons all tumbled kaleidoscopically into my now-receptive brain. Oh, how we tend to look outside ourselves for answers when, like the dresses, the truth has been buried within all the time! The episode recalled a childhood game I once learned at camp, "Who Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar?" Each child, when named the perpetrator, sings innocently, "Who me?" and the group answers, "Yes, you!" The child sings, "Couldn't be!" and the group questions, "Then who?" The circle continues, with one child after another singled out as cookie thief. We become adept at pointing the finger and passing the buck, which only contributes to our sense of loss and lack.

As I gazed at the dresses, stupefied, I felt cleansed and empty. It was the same feeling of non-attachment I'd experienced recently when a woman who'd had my Grandmother's pearl necklace for five years finally mailed it to me, along with some costume jewelry I'd long since forgotten I owned. And then the greatest miracle occurred.

What if the same is true of people? I mused. What if my desire to have a certain person I care about return my feelings, evaporates upon seeing him again? He'd been a great teacher for me. During our dance together, he had done exactly what I called him into my life for: helped me to master detachment. What if I was now blessed with having integrated this gift? To be able to care without possessiveness, from a place of deep compassion, love and release?

This thought freed me and I laughed in wonder. Every voyage reaches its natural conclusion. My partner had been my ferry; he brought me to a farther shore. Now I must travel on without this particular boat. There are other means of transport, such as being in integrity, telling the truth, releasing blame and judgment, selfless service. At the speed of enlightening, these vehicles take us where we most need to go.

We are all one cell in the body of God/Goddess/Spirit/Source/Universal Mind. Every goodbye is also a hello.

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Amara Rose is committed to guiding others through personal and professional transformation. Adept at bridging the mainstream and metaphysical, she offers individual coaching, playshops, and her signature Eve-o-lution Discovery Salons, which facilitate the integration of our feminine and masculine selves. Amara is the author of the CD/cassette, What You Need To Know Now-A Road Map for Personal Transformation, and a contributor to many health, business and new thought publications. She may be reached at http://www.liveyourlight.com. E-mail: Amara@liveyourlight.com, or 707-522-9529.