Surrender

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you…” (Matthew 7:7, KJV)

A long time ago, someone I no longer call Friend scornfully said to me—probably more than once—the only reason you are nice to people is so they won’t be mean to you. This was in response to my saying that I just try to follow the Golden Rule—Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. This ethic of reciprocity is likely the simplest and most prevalent of moral codes throughout all religions and cultures. Another way of saying it—Do not do unto others what you would not want done to you. I knew then, and I know now, that regardless of what we do, we can't predict or control the behavior of others. We can, however, in spite of anything to the contrary that life doles out, do what we know to be the right thing to do.

This old friend, who is one of the most talented people I’ve known, blessed with worldly resources, none of which he had to earn, might also be one of the most selfish people I’ve known. He was then self-absorbed, spoiled, vindictive, jealous and controlling—to name just a few of his ways—and likely is the same today at age 63. Being around him, I found myself doing everything I could to protect myself when he would go dark, dark, usually while drinking, and lash out at me over just about anything and on the most personal level. Twenty-five years of such insanity is 25 years more than anyone should tolerate—and God forbid, permit. Yet, I have to ask myself, why did I allow it? Worse, did I enable it and nurture it? How scary is that.

I’ve had two other friends—neither part of my life now—who went to the dark place on alcohol. One, another guy, was “in recovery” a couple of years ago. He wanted to be more important than he felt. The other, a female, told me the last time I saw her that she was trying to kill herself—with alcohol. She felt, for some reasons, that life was cheating her, had by her account been cheating her, and oh, did she resent her lot. To be perceived as wealthy weighed mightily on her, manifested especially when she sought to lose herself in drink. She, too, wanted to be more important than she felt.

Misery abounds for any of us who choose to ignore the goodness within us and that surrounds us. These three gifted people with whom I have walked part of my journey—people blessed with intelligence, talent, a sense of humor, a spark of generosity, who know the value of work, and yes, people who at least at some level live by the ethic of reciprocity—failed to see the abundance within them and staring them right in the face. Spare me from choosing to starve in the midst of plenty.

For me, it is important to put yet another spin on the golden rule. Do not do to yourself what you wouldn’t want another to do to you. One afternoon each week I am part of an intentional group of spiritually evolved people who bring their triumphs and failures, their highs and lows, their intentions, indeed, their very “godness”, to share with one another. I have been reading that the love we need lives within us. At least it lives within us if we allow it. As surprising as it may seem, love is not something we should be seeking anywhere outside of ourselves. The well of this elixir is ours to tap into, and it is a well that will not run dry.

This week our meditation centered on love. I am reading that in meditation one of the things we can ask is for our heart to speak to us. I am reminded of a gift that someone for whom I care deeply delivered into my hands a while back—and not without complication and consternation, regrettably, on my part. The gift—a recorded sermon titled, “All you need is love.” I am reading that for every weakness we perceive in ourselves, there is a strength that balances out that weakness. I am reading that one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves and others is to love ourselves. “I release these words into the Law knowing it is already so. I release all attachment and let go. I surrender, allow and let God. And so it is.” Such closes a prayer, a blessing that comes to me each day. And so it is.

Surrender—Santa Fe, New Mexico (May 21, 2009)
R. Harold Hollis