Śaraṇāgati
I do not know the way. I am willing to be led. I am willing to be carried. Śaraṇāgati.
Surrender me to... The ellipsis represent both ineffable Ultimate Reality and whatever is in my present moment.
Surrender me to the breeze. Not as an object apart from me, but as movement meeting movement. Surrender me to this breath. Not because this breath is everything, but because it is here. Surrender me to this moment before I name it. The mind rushes to classify, improve, fix; life arrives whole before interpretation. Surrender me to this sorrow. What is resisted hardens; what is met may reveal hidden tenderness. Surrender me to this joy. Without grasping or trying to save it for later. Surrender me to not knowing. The deepest transformations often occur in uncertainty. Surrender me to what is asking to be loved. Here. Now. In this very appearance. Surrender me to the Life living me…
The river is not taught how to flow. Flowers do not need instructions to bloom, and stars do not consult maps. Perhaps the question is not how to become aligned with Reality but how to stop interrupting it.
Surrender me to what is. Surrender me…
The power that brought me into being beats my heart and shines all suns. Realization never depends on one’s efforts alone.
Surrender me to... does not require me to figure it all out. It asks for willingness. Surrender me to… does not want me to think about the Self. It takes me to Self.
And over years — who knows? — perhaps the distinction between breeze, moment, sorrow, joy, Self, and God quietly dissolves on its own, without anything having to force it. For now, I need something to help me return again and again.
I used to judge having to return as failure, but I am coming to see it as a practice of deepening. And acceptance of return — peace in return — even joy in returning — I am learning.
The bell rings. I return. The mind wanders. I return. The heart closes. I return. I become distracted by self-concern. I return. Eventually the emphasis shifts from Why did I leave? to Oh, how beautiful that I can return.
The lake does not scold the stream for re-entering it. The shore does not criticize the wave for returning. The breath does not resent the exhale for ending. Everything in nature moves by return. Perhaps spiritual practice does too.
Surrender me to… Reality finishes my mantra, moment by moment.