Letting Go

All growing is changing

From one state to another.

Leaving a world behind,

Entering the fear of the unaccustomed:

Of colors that don’t blend,

Of holy words that jar,

Of fractures that give rise to visions

We have left one realm

But have not arrived at the other

We have given up on safety

But not gained another.

Above the gazing crowd

The trapeze artist lets go of his swing,

And then, if his timing is right,

Seizes the other swing,

Without asking time to stop for him.

That is the flight into growth.

That is the changeover

In which we experience our nakedness

To the point of hurting.

But there is not real growth

Without leaping

Without burning bridges,

And standing wide-eyed and shivering

On a new shore.

And yet

Without growth

There is nothing.