By the light of the harvest moon, I practiced jo kata, and bid farewell to old loves, old hates, old stories, and old hair, shaved from my head unceremoniously by strangers. I wrote things, names, sorrows, on paper, crumpled it, and offered it to the fire, to practice, just practice, just practice over and over again what it feels like to let go.
Today: I am practicing letting go of fear, specifically, of the fears of being misunderstood and being invisible.
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