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Vibrant Days…. 
Flourishing with Sensory Processing Sensitivity
May 2014


Holding On, Letting Go

It’s the end of the month so I know what that means: newsletter! I enjoy blogs like many of you do but I am beginning to wonder if any of the bloggers I read struggle like me to get the dang thing out! I hold good intentions to be helpful but this month the aim is hopeful.

Last week a young hsp sat me down and told me to listen to a song. (This act of “do you want to listen to a song?” has become one of my favorite demonstrations of love). I leaned back, closed my eyes and out came the song Holding On And Letting Go. (song is in WATCH section)  Immediately the lyrics offered me a frame for what the core of earthly life appears to represent. As I listened to the song I saw several situations in my life I’m “holding onto” and felt my body relax as I envisioned letting them go. And then as I engaged in my habit of over thinking I wondered what fears and tense circumstances seem to grip me and imagined myself “letting them go.” Many challenges. Changes ahead that merely thinking about make me tremble. Can I live more like the spiritually seasoned folks and hold life more loosely? Could the facets of beauty and richness I claim I cannot live without actually be treasured instead of clung to? Can the intensity of my longings somehow be met with gentle acceptance? And of course the daily battle to live in this very noisy and fast paced world with my sensitive frame. (and may I add not expect the non-sensitives to understand me?)

Here in the mid west I am watching a parade of spring unfold and feeling surges of awe and hope infuse into my being and thought life. We can do this. We can live in our very delicate and deep selves and not completely crumble apart. We will need to hold on to that which is unchanging and learn to let go. May I repeat, learn to let go.


Do you want to listen to a song?

Click Here


Holding On and Letting Go

Click Here


The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf

Like something almost being said;

The recent buds relax and spread,

Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again

And we grow old?  No, they die too,

Their yearly trick of looking new

Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh

In full grown thickness every May.

Last year is dead, they seem to say,

Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Philip Larkin
In this together,