Yes, yes, I “get” that attachment leads to suffering; that “letting go” is what it’s all about.  Letting go of the past, letting go of the yet-to-be, being right here right now is where it’s at.  And, I even believe that to be true.  However, we are branded with a navel at birth.  That constant reminder that we survive by having been successfully attached is right there-- a bull’s eye on our bellies.

Not too much is said about the grief that goes along with blowing those seeds off the dandelion-of-life and being left with….what?  Something more to let go of.  Shedding tears to drench the ground, more of that “letting go” thing. Taxing our tendons to stretch out fingers—all—the--way; exposing the vulnerability of our open hand to allow whatever is there to be released. Now that is simply counter to our human reflex. Fingers curling tightly around the slightest touch to our palm; grasping endlessly is our nature--think newborns. We are clingers.

Carl Whitaker, one of my all-time favorite rebels in the field of psychotherapy, has a list of practices to live well.  “Practice dying” is one of them. (I know, Plato said it first, but I have more affinity with Carl, call it attachment.) That phrase has held different meaning to me at various points in my life.   Today’s version is quite tender; I’m practicing (as I gaze at my belly-button).