Let It Be

Driving to our weekend property near La Grange recently I listened to a podcast with Paul McCartney detailing the backstory behind the greatest hits of the Beatles and his own solo career. He was telling the story of Let It Be, a song he wrote as it became clear the Beatles would break up, with all the anger and angst that would bring. He recalls that one night amid all that stress and conflict he had a dream. In it, his mother, Mary, who died when he was an adolescent, came to him and consoled him, guided him to acceptance and peace, in essence…to let it be. In a time of turmoil, the resulting song and its meaning became a great comfort to him, an anthem of sorts for the band, and a message of peace for the millions who would listen to it for the next half century and beyond.

Later in the interview, it came to him that perhaps another origin of the song may have come from studying Hamlet in high school. We all remember the “To be or not to be…” soliloquy, but almost no one remembers that later in the play, when his fate is sealed, acceptance emerges and Hamlet answers his own question twice, once nearing death when he tells Horatio, “Had I but time…oh, I could tell you… But let it be.” Well, clearly Mc-Cartney remembers Hamlet better than I do − apparently, I had my mind on other things in high school − but Shakespeare’s point is made along with countless songwriters and poets, saints and prophets: acceptance is a pathway to peace.

After a long day working and clearing my head around the property, in the early evening I sat down as a few swallows made their final flights. Sitting near my fledgling apple grove, the pond nearby with its large turtles still moving about, I was at peace. Nature is the great salve and sitting in the gloaming my mind wondered where it will, but mostly I observed creation. The neighbor was cutting hay earlier, partly interrupted by a brief shower, and the fragrance of wet hay lingered. With the creeping darkness, the songbirds were silenced. The sounds of faraway tractors, of cattle trailers rattling down the narrow county road, of the occasional far away whine of a chain saw disappeared and there was quiet. Gradually it was replaced by the croaking of frogs, all manner of insect noises and more − all the sounds of the night that a city boy can neither identify nor be entirely comfortable with.

I have been blessed beyond measure in my life, but lately there have been worries − about a good friend, about work, about the health of some people I love, about a season of change. With some effort, it’s set aside − even if just for a few breaths at a time − and replaced with acceptance and gratitude and faith. Having worries is inevitable. Living with patience, kindness, and joy in the face of it is one of the great challenges of human existence.

The world was coming to rest, even as nocturnal creatures began to prowl, unseen. But high above the cabin, above the pond and the fire, there was a crescent moon rising and countless stars with their timeless stories, and it was time to sleep. Soon enough we will rise again and there will be challenges, sometimes even tragedy, but most certainly there will be joy and beauty. Like lamenters in the Psalms, I may shake my fist at times, but always, always, I will be in love.

Let it be.

Brian is a rheumatologist in Austin who enjoys spending weekends on his property near La Grange.