“Here we come to know the paradoxical nature of sacrifice: that in letting go, we receive – that the harvest is both a time of death, but also a time of reaping rewards, of achievement. Sacrifice, understood in this way, is seen as a letting go or giving up of something in order to move to a higher, deeper, more creative level. The corn, in being sacrificed at harvest time, is transformed into bread. Seen as such, Lughnasadh becomes a Festival of Transformation.”
This year, the festival seems more poignant than ever. It has been a year of letting go and reaping rewards, of sacrifice and transformation. It has been difficult, but I do believe that by giving up our old ways we are moving to a deeper, more creative level – at the level of the individual, our local communities and our collective consciousness. We are reaching a deeper level of understanding our interconnectedness and the creative possibilities for new ways of living together on this earth.
Perhaps the hardest lesson of Covid-19 for me has been to let go of the illusion of control. For the pandemic has brought it home that there is so much that is out of our control. At first I found this frankly terrifying, as someone who rigidly maintained the illusion of control in so many ways – a coping mechanism from a chaotic childhood. Once I accept that control is an illusion, then I can let it go. As I have embraced the recognition that none of us have control over anything except our own responses, I have found a kind of liberation and a serenity that comes with acceptance.
Letting go doesn't mean being completely passive. I still plan for the future, as much as any of us can in the current circumstances – it would impossible to do this or any other work without some planning for the future – but I let go of my attachment to the outcome. All the plans I had at the beginning of the year have changed. I have had to let go of expectations, of my preconceived ideas about the way things should be, of my attachment to outcomes. I know there will be more letting go to be done, that this is an ongoing journey, a continuous process.
This weekend Greater Manchester has gone into a second lockdown and things are more uncertain than ever. In such uncertain times, I am learning to focus on what I can do rather than what I cannot; to keep trying to consciously bring myself back to the present, to engage with the here and now, to ask myself, what can I do in this moment? As the 19th century Unitarian Minister, Edward Everett Hale said, “I am only one; but still I am one. I cannot do everything; but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.”
The grain harvest includes 'separating the wheat from the chaff' – the chaff is the protective husk surrounding the grain kernel, but this husk is inedible and must be removed to get to the nutritious kernel beneath. We carry many protective layers around us and we may not be aware of them all.
The lockdown has given most of us the opportunity to go deep within, to discern our own core. As well as considering what I am letting go, I am also considering what I am holding onto – what is the wheat that sustains me?
I am holding on to my belief that love is our life's purpose, and my experience that we thrive in community and connection and creativity. I am holding on to my conviction that people are essentially good. I am holding on to my understanding that there is a unity underlying the diversity of all things, the interconnected web of being. I am holding on to the sacred nature of the earth and the life it sustains.
Over the next week or so I invite you to consider your own wheat and chaff – what is it that you have let go of and what is it that sustains you?
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