Allow, Allow, Allow

Sunshine on Samalaman Island
Originally uploaded by angus clyne
Allow, by Danna Faulds

There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt,
containing a tornado. Dam a
stream and it will create a new
channel. Resist, and the tide
will sweep you off your feet.
Allow, and grace will carry
you to higher ground. The only
safety lies in letting it all in –
the wild and the weak; fear,
fantasies, failures and success.
When loss rips off the doors of
the heart, or sadness veils your
vision with despair, practice
becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your
known way of being, the whole
world is revealed to your new eyes.


I received a healing from a classmate yesterday that was just right for me. It brought into relationship the ever-changing rhythm that is in all life ... the loving flow, the pause, the chaotic currents. As this gorgeous poem reveals, to resist is an act of futility; nature always finds a way through. The grace is indeed in the bowing to, in the allowing.

The current state of affairs in my life find me without a chance if I fight, yet with abundant serenity if I surrender. I find myself surprisingly happy and peaceful with the knowledge that I am totally defeated. And, I am far from being a loser; in fact, I have gained more than I could have ever imagined. A deep appreciation for non-material pleasures, for nature, for simplicity and frugality and for the company of my fellow human being.

My favorite line in this poem is: "... practice becomes simply bearing the truth." This is my work. I have been learning that I can bear the Truth, the Reality of Life. And I live ! I really, really live !! And, I must practice this in every waking moment.

EDIT:  Shortly after I posted this,  my friend who gave me the healing sent a poem that deepened this experience that I am writing about here.    I wanted to include it as well.    It is by  Naomi Shihab Nye.
It brought me to my knees,  weeping ...

Before you know what kindness really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,

what you counted and carefully saved,

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness.

How you ride and ride

thinking the bus will never stop,

the passengers eating maize and chicken

will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness

you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho

lies dead by the side of the road.

You must see how this could be you,

how he was someone

who journeyed through the night with plans

and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,

You must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.

You must wake up with sorrow.

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,

only kindness that ties your shoes

and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase

bread,

only kindness that raises its head

from the crowd of the world to say

It is I you have been looking for,

and then goes with you everywhere

like a shadow or a friend.