Maybe it just isn’t mine

Last night, I walked out to a pier, just a few minutes from my apartment, with a bottle of water in one hand and a glass jewelry box in the other. In my beautiful box with a gold trim were all my stones and crystals. Selenite, snowflake obsidian, tiger’s eye, serpentine, bloodstone, citrine, carnelian… There must be a dozen of them. I’ll admit that I hadn’t been paying much attention to the crystals. To be completely honest, I’m not the kind of person who feels connected to them or has successfully used them for healing work. I just like collecting them because they’re pretty and holding, wearing or looking them serves to remind me of my intentions and beliefs.
Anyway, last night, I decided to cleanse and charge them in the light of the moon. I said a prayer over them and set my intentions for clarity, comfort, connectedness, courage and confidence. But I didn’t leave the pier with the box. I tucked it underneath a bench so it could bathe in the moon’s light while I slept. This morning, I returned to the bench on the pier only to find that my beautiful box had vanished. I was instantly grief-stricken. Moreso for the box than its contents, because it was a gift.

I sat in the morning sun for a bit, allowing myself to process the new reality: my box was gone. In that moment, I was reminded of an idea I’d been pondering since last night: we can never lose what is meant for us. We only lose what is not (or no longer) meant to be with us. At the time, I was thinking about relationships or jobs but today, I challenged myself to apply it to possessions as well.
I found myself replaying my last moments with the box and then imagining its new owner discovering it in my little hiding place (sigh)
I prayed that it would spark joy in the life of whoever found it and that they would cherish it and make good use of it. It felt good to send out kind wishes for this stranger. I soon started to see that all was well. Besides, I could replace the box and buy new crystals.
This cheered me up a bit but the truth is I’m still really heartbroken. I know that this isn’t the biggest loss I could have experienced but it feels like it is. It hurts just the same. That’s interesting to me. My emotional reaction to this event is so strong. I am experiencing a sense of loss, desperation and despair and maybe it’s the energy of the Full Moon but it feels intense and heavier than I would have expected. It’s almost as if I’m grieving more than just the loss of this one object. It feels as though any and all dormant grief has been called to the surface and I’m feeling it all.

As I’m writing this, I’m remembering something else I prayed for last night. Usually, I use the full moon as a time to reflect on forgiveness and letting go-releasing whatever no longer serves my highest good. Last night, I asked to be detached emotionally from the people who had recently left my life. While I felt no resentment or animosity towards them, there was still some energy between us, as if they were still present somehow, wandering in the halls of my mind even when I wasn’t actively thinking about them. It felt like I was somehow still holding onto the version of me that created and fed those connections. Finding the confidence to step forward into this new direction meant showing the courage to let go of who I no longer am. I asked to be freed, completely from any attachment to those people and that they would be freed from any attachment to me. I called my energy back-clean and clear and returned their energy to them, pure and bright. It felt so natural and automatic that I didn't think to do it and I hadn’t thought about it again until now.

I wonder if that could be why I lost the box. I won’t pretend to know or understand the mysteries of this life but I’m having the thought that maybe I asked for this. Maybe I needed this as an invitation to grieve, to confront the feeling of loss and to integrate it, with grace.

Maybe it is impossible to part ways with anything that is meant for me. Maybe things only leave when they are ready to. This means that either my box will miraculously show up or I’ll never see it again. Either way, whatever comes of it is exactly what is meant to.
I’m building the belief that what is mine cannot leave and what isn’t mine cannot stay. Maybe it’s time I stop experiencing those vanished objects and severed ties as a loss. I didn’t lose anyone and they didn’t lose me, either. We simply do not belong with each other in this moment and we possibly never will again. And that’s okay. I want them to find and fill the spaces meant to hold them, even if it isn’t with me. That’s where I’m at. It still hurts. I don’t like losing things or people. But maybe I can practice the belief that people and things that go away are never lost, they are only ever on their way home.

So, maybe I didn’t lose my box. Maybe it just isn’t mine (anymore).

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