Rod,

Letting go of letting go is the strangest thing.

At first, it doesn't even make sense. Sure, you can try to let go, but what does it even mean to let go of letting go? It seems to be an invitation to stop letting go, and to just continue with life as usual. But of course, that misses the point, and when we keep working with the idea of letting go of letting go, we get some sense of what it could be, we find some sense of handle, some type of traction. We begin to realize that our attempts at letting go were not quite complete, and we learn to let go more. But in the process, we're still trying to let go. And letting go of the whole notion of letting go seems to be the hardest thing to do; no longer impossible or inconceivable, but hard, very hard. And then, suddenly, there can be moments or situations where we suddenly notice that we've dropped the project of letting go, in a refreshing realization that the actual dropping of letting go was the easiest thing in the world, a total paradox. And then, before long, we find ourselves trying again to let go of letting go, and it becomes hard again, as soon as we try. And yet, if we just give up trying, we fall back in our usual state of not paying much attention to what's going on. So we try to be attentive, yet we try to let go, and we try to let go of letting go. And we realize that trying is too much, so we try not to try, and that is too much too. It seems hopeless, yet the longer we sit with it, or walk and talk and live with it, the more something matures.

I'm writing this in the `we' rather than `I' form, since I've heard friends describe similar experiences, and your accounts also resonate.

This brings me to another way of formulating the working hypothesis: there is nothing to do. In short: relax. But I have to smile at such a short summary, because that one is bound to be misleading.

A more positive way of formulating the working hypothesis would be: everything is wonderful, as is. In short: wonder.

Wonder does not require time or judgment. We cannot easily make a project out of it.

And there being no thing is part of what is wonderful about `everything being wonderful' so the word everything can be misleading too; `all is wonderful' may be better.

You see, I'm still chewing on formulations of the working hypothesis. I think the idea of working with a hypothesis rather than a (blind) belief is a good one, but I haven't found a single succinct way of stating it. I can intuit what a good working hypothesis could be, but I haven't found the best way of stating it. Do you have any suggestions? Does wonder appeal to you? 

Piet