Across the Kansas plains they stood at attention, arms extended. Windmills. Solid and free. They were fully surrendered to the wind. That must be what it’s like to let go. Not in unmanaged torrents, this way and that, but relaxed, calm, and in tune with the motion of a Greater Force.

I wondered what it might look like for me to allow such freedom into my body, mind, and soul. Certainly I must already be surrendered to the Greater, Higher, my arms extended. And then questions enter stage right. Will the wind come? From where? How should I stand? Maybe I should fold my arms in and wait. Ah, my arms are surrendered but my fists are tight. A heart-sized clenching of my fingers and shazam I’m not free.

Fear that I might float away into the outer spaces of my pain keeps me from releasing the fists. Overwhelm at the thought of not being in total control keeps me from releasing my fists.  What will others think? Thoughts that he needs me or if I could just get it right somehow keep me from releasing my fists. So many restrictions. So many excuses for not quite free. Bondage. Bound to the lies that I’ve known since birth. Ones that have stalked me my whole life.

How do I release the fists and welcome freedom? One finger at a time. Like when a grownup is holding a penny, and a child tries to take it. Pry up one finger. Pry up the one that might be the easiest to free. So I begin by . . . 

correcting the thought that’s just not true—Indeed, I am whole and worthy just as I am . . . 

allowing circumstances to change . . . 

letting the schedule be interrupted . . . 

using my voice to speak a boundary . . . 

taking a 10-minute break to cry or scream or safely throw something.

I feel it already. My fists are still tight but a lightness begins as I make an attempt at freedom. Arms extended. Fists beginning to loosen. Solid and free. I am fully surrendered to the wind.  Greater. Higher. This must be what it’s like to let go.