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Some equate the
with the end of the party.
Depends
(doesn't it?)
on the definition of party.
If your idea of a party
is to be what you've always been
(or perhaps a little more so)
then, yes, you win:
the
IS
the end of the party.
But there's more to our lives
(of this I'm pretty sure)
than being secure.
There's jumping off the cliff.
There's hang-gliding.
There's floating on the updrafts
until you get the big picture.
And there's letting go.
Which, in fact, is more attractive?
Clutching (with eight fingers,
two thumbs,
and ten toes,
with two clenched knees and two canted elbows)
to keep from letting go—
or just not clutching any longer?
And what will happen then?
I'm not talking about letting go
so that you can move into
what you think "next" will be.
I'm talking about letting go
when who knows what will happen?
Unclench your little toes-ies, tootsie.
Unclench your little tootsies, dear.
Pry your frozen fingers from the railing
of that safety platform.
One finger.
Two fingers.
One hand off.
With that free hand,
drum on your knee
that, with its mate,
still twines around the pole.
Dum-ditty-dum-ditty-dum-dum-dum.
Pry away the fingers of the other hand.
Clap those two hands together
And feel the beat.
Are you still perched?
What's holding you there?
Tootsies, tootsie?
Well, wiggle your toes.
Spread those toes apart.
See the broad plane of your foot as it lets loose,
Toes spread and alive.
Can it fly, this foot?
Can it glide through water like a manta ray?
The other foot now.
Oh, free at last! Free at last!
So now what's holding you?
It's your long legs crossed and twined
As if you were shinnying up to heaven.
Let go! Let go!
It's time to let go and fly!
I'm talking--
and you are listening, I hope--
about the end of the party.
Whatever your idea of a party is,
would you consider, instead,
the party of letting go?
I won't tell you that you'll fly.
You might not.
I don't know what will happen.
And neither do you.
And that, dear tootsie, is the party.
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