Letting Go: The Four Seasons
By Jesse James Ziegler
Introduction
As a child, I had a strong intuition about things, places, and people. I had a deeply abiding sense that I would live long enough to see the world go through a fundamental transformation on a massive level. I somehow knew by the age of 12 that I must transform myself into a person who would be ready for the future I saw in my dreams. When there were first whispers of a novel virus coming forth from the city of Wuhan within the Hubei Province in China, I somehow knew in my gut this would be the cataclysmic event - a great catalyst if you will - which would transform the world as we know it, and myself in the process.
Photos/Jesse James Ziegler.
Spring (emotionally letting go)
We come into the world crying, unknowing how to ask for help, yet needing it desperately. This is our first display of emotion, but it will not be our last. We express emotion in broad sweeps of creative output, as well as the subtle nuance involved with slight gesture, fluctuating tone, and facial micro expressions. When coronavirus began to take hold on our own shores, I noticed many things within my own community as an artist. Businesses began closing, toilet paper leapt from the shelves, and firearm sales spiked across the Battleborn State. Emotions became heightened and yet the constructive outlets for those emotions began to rapidly dissipate. In a time of uncertainty and panic, face-to-face visits were increasingly questioned. Thus, roughly 93% of communication (non-verbal) could not be aptly absorbed. This transformation of the dissemination of information gave social media an even stronger hold on our overall communication, and our collective emotions suffered greatly for it.
I personally was forced to turn further inward with my emotions, as were others. My chosen art form of poetry began to revert back to childhood journal entries for my canine audience in the backyard rather than slam poetry submissions for a packed house at the Holland Project. Writing monologues and spoken word pieces to reverberate in the garage became the replacement for a live audience in the comfy black couches at The Brüka Theatre downtown. I had to let go emotionally of connecting with an audience, of being in an audience, of being able to share face-to-face. This led to high functioning anxiety and depression on levels I hadn’t experienced since fifth grade when I lost my favorite teacher in a car crash. I digress.
Life is an extended process of letting go. COVID-19 sped up the timeline. The impact on the economy magnified the issue, and quarantines made me lean on creativity and art more than I ever had in my life. I am forever transformed by this entire process. There exists the poet before, and the poet now. I have emotionally let go of the idea that I will ever revert back to my former self entirely.
Summer (mentally letting go)
I quickly realized I had to mentally let go of the illusion of control. I had to mentally let go of the idea that I would once again be preparing for events, attending large gatherings, and volunteering at local theaters. I had to mentally let go of the idea that I might ever be able to attend Burning Man, memorize lines for a play, gather costumes for an independent film, or snap pics at any one of the amazing annual festivals in the area. All of this Letting Go mentally drove me back to the basics. I dug even deeper into poetry and personal photography than I ever had before in my life. I reached out to friends more often over the telephone, and buried myself in reading.
As we age (hopefully increasing in the maturation process) our brain is shaped across the expansion of time and memory. Five months of coronavirus time felt like five years of normal earth time, and my memories of chosen family became frozen as I had last seen them. I had to mentally let go of the idea that I was alone in this process and embrace the idea that society at large was engulfed in tempestuous times. No one was frozen as in my mind. Everyone was limping forward toward an unknown horizon. I had to mentally let go of many aspects of usual routine as well as many opportunities for spontaneity. Gone were the days (at least for an unknown duration of time) of sitting and writing at busy events with my finger on the pulse of society. It became more difficult to shake the dust off of truth, and gather its implicit wisdom. The previously palpable energy after shows would no longer be the spark to ignite my poetry into the wee hours of the following morning. I had to mentally let go (for the most part) of outside inspiration, and have more faith in that inner voice which cannot be extinguished, cancelled, postponed, or indefinitely rescheduled.
Autumn (spiritually letting go)
When church services, open mics, readings, and theatres began the process of ‘going virtual’ I began focusing on the increasingly fabricated nature of our human exchanges rather than the uplifting and organic impressions we leave upon each other. It became abundantly clear to me that something was missing in the nether world which could only hint at allowing me to be spiritually fed. Cafes, rehearsal spaces, music venues, and worship halls had all served the purpose of ‘church’ to me before. Fellow audience members, cast members, Spoken Views Collective Poets, educational peers, and mentors in the humanities had all been ‘chosen family’. A microphone had been the conch shell in our real world Lord of the Flies scenario and artists from all walks were my fellow warriors in this great battle for love through storytelling in all its many forms.
I had to spiritually let go of my most consistent connections besides the one I had constant access to with the author of life. I had to spiritually let go of gathering for large meals with family members out of a healthy respect for infection and sickness. However, isolation became the sickness, and worldwide fear became the greatest wounding agent. Adrenal fatigue became a topic of meditation. I had to spiritually let go of a great piece of art achieving resonant frequency in a full auditorium. I had to spiritually let go of the previous senses I had for community, belonging, and gathering in a group. I have always been an introvert, but the pandemic erased most options I had for cravings I had which could only be fulfilled by being a part of something larger than just myself. Spiritually letting go meant the erosion of ego, the absence of teammates, and the foregoing of a place in the choir; becoming a single lonely note unable to hear the symphony of all life.
Winter (physically letting go)
When the leaves have all fallen, and the earth sleeps beneath its thick white blanket, it dreams of new growth and yet it must acknowledge the physical shells we shed along the journey. Such is life. As Vonnegut wrote, “So it goes.” In May of this year my Dad passed away. He was not stricken with coronavirus but cancer in four forms. However, his passing in the age of COVID-19 meant an interrupted and incomplete grieving process as there would be no funeral or celebration of life. I was forced to let go of my father physically in an age of misinformation and dis ease. His passing forced me to acknowledge that I too will one day draw my last breath and exit stage right.
His progression to the grand dessert in life’s banquet made me feel my own physical age more abruptly somehow while also taking comfort in the fact that he is no longer in pain and simultaneously in a better place now. As he would physically let go of every possession in this plane of existence I would tenderly grasp some of those implements such as his antique desk and his rifle. Arms and letters, as Cervantes would’ve wanted it. His hand would guide me to that desk often as a child to read the poem encased in glass beneath its surface. The content was one of the first reasons I fell in love with poetry as an art form while still a tiny warrior in training. I can still feel his hand in mine, but I must physically let go so as to hold hands with others as he would have wished. I will continue to make art with forever in mind, honoring his legacy the only way I know how: through storytelling, kindness, and being true to The Man in the Glass, with the closure I’m provided.
In Closing
Across the remainder of my days, beyond COVID-19, beyond politics, beyond events both cancelled and held, I will continue to let go. As will we all. Letting go emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and at last, physically will transform me in ways I cannot fathom now. My personal four seasons of letting go may resonate with your own, but they will be uniquely mine along the path I’m called to walk. This transformation will not be complete until my final breath, the ultimate act of letting go.
Jesse James Ziegler is the first ever and current Poet in Residence at the Brüka Theatre of the Sierra in Reno, Nevada. Through Brüka, he is the host of Collective Breath, a weekly wellness writing workshop. He is an active poet, special event series host of Poets of the Caribbean, principle photographer, and board member of Spoken Views Collective. He has performed in many main stage acting roles between Good Luck Macbeth and Brüka Theatres. His premiere chapbook of poetry, FIVE debuted at Brüka’s annual Biggest Little Theatre and New Works Festival. His photography has been previously published by Nevada Humanities, and he is the CEO of Sideways Eight Projects.
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