On REALLY letting go.

I once read this very poignant quote – “All life is simply a process of letting go”. I’m usually very impressionable about anything written between quotation marks, attributed to anybody with a famous-sounding name ( in all fairness, I’m also a sucker for any zen/buddhist quotes, and anything written by ‘anonymous’). And so I instantly found a variety of personal experiences to fit the quote, though I would have done just the same had it been ” All life is a process of serendipity” or even ” A good breakfast solves most evils”.

But this one was particularly meaningful when I read it, since I was just getting over a relationship that had screeched to a painful halt. The quote cheered me up quite a bit..If letting go was such a garden-variety occurrence of life, if there was simply no getting away from it, then people had been doing so for centuries past, and so could I. But as I realized later, letting go did not happen naturally, not for me, and maybe not for many other people. Memories of a relationship had to be consciously evicted from my everyday mind – good times purposefully tucked away to a corner of the soul, to be visited only rarely, and bad times cried over many times, before being relegated to some dark nothingness in the depths of nowhere. I did let go, though not very soon, and not effortlessly. And my efforts were of the variety that inconvenienced a lot of close and kind friends at ungodly hours. I had to analyze, dissect, read, discuss, rationalize ad infinitum, before I could be at peace.

Lately I’ve been wondering if one must always live with a slight imprint of the past. Is it possible for a bond that once existed, to become completely irrelevant? I’d imagined that the emotions associated with the past would fade away steadfastly and reliably, with the passage of time – like an attenuating sine wave. There would be the occasional peaks and troughs, but they’d be muted, harmless pulses. And eventually there wouldn’t be even that. But I haven’t yet seen proof of that final closing of the doors. There lingers a tiny flitting channel to the past, a barely-there ghost. It does not bother me much. I could live with it if I had no choice. But oh, I wish I knew how to exorcise it!