submission

Life on the seesaw

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Seesaw

Credit: diabetessa.org.za (2019)

When I started this blog, I had a very different idea of the direction it would take. It was going to be very cushitic, very chic, very now, very me, or so I thought. And my definition of all of these things was distinctly African, very black, very woke…very me, ahem. And when I really got into it, it became very conservative, very tawakkal, very surrenderish, … is that me? I’d constantly question myself. And yet here I am with one more post, errr noticeably similar to my previous posts, one could say. A deep dive into those touchy feely uncomfortable things. Urrgghhh. You know, I have never considered myself to be soul searchy.  And always looked askance at any stranger who tried to get too deep with me. I’ve always thought that that stuff is meant to be private. So I don’t understand why I’m obsessed with blasting these things out into the world wide web. Life truly is an oxymoron.

The thing is, I can’t promise that every subsequent post wouldn’t be a stir fry of an overthinking mess. Or weird. Or my favourite, soul searchy – that’s the thing. I’m realising that it’s the filter to my life. My marking scheme, so to speak. No matter the vibrations of life, it’s always – I’m okay if my Lord is okay with that. And I’m in pieces if He’s displeased, no matter how very okay it all looks like from the outside. And it’s funny that I’m writing this down, because I’m sat here feeling absolutely urgghhh after closing an equivocal deal for a good client. It’s especially hard when it concerns people you genuinely like. Because you want to do everything in your power to see them succeed in life. But surely not at the cost of the pleasure of The Sublime. For what then would be my definition of success?

A reprieve. It’s been cancelled, I’m informed, as I write this. You simply can’t script life subhanallah. I’m humbled with gratitude. Don’t get me wrong, I’m disappointed for my client, but I don’t want to be a part of that train. My Lord, put it all in rice. Ahem. I’ve probably said this several times, and have gotten some recoil regarding its authenticity and relationship with adverse mental health. Life honestly has no meaning for me, without His grace, and His hope, and His promise. Seeing unjust people live amazing lives, and the kindest people struggle in life – none of it makes sense to me without the lens of religion. The fact that this is literally a test. That we must account for everything. Resources, relationships, time, all of it. And a true life beckons. It’s the one thing that keeps me going, the fact that His promise is certain. Because I’m weak and I flounder, and I sometimes exceed my limits. And I hate myself. And I sometimes inordinately love myself. And I’m inconstant, but what I know for sure is that He isn’t. It really is the only thing that gives me hope. That no matter what I perceive, I know my Lord has got it figured out for me.  That I only have to worry that I’ve put in my call, because He will be there to lift my chin up, keep me sane and alive. It’s the last thing I want sometimes. But we’re here, and I’m grateful, my Lord.

I’ll be the first to admit that I fall on the other side of the seesaw. When I think of the blessings in my life, between you and me, I don’t deserve it. No matter what I tell myself, I’m worthy, anything your therapist and Michelle Obama would say, I honest to God do not deserve anything I have. And it’s a lot. I think back and wonder sometimes..my Lord, you know me, the real me, and still…this? What do you give the people that you love? To the people who worship you without measure? And this is coming from an innate competitor. No matter how hard I try, I fail and fall countless times. But my Lord, you know I can’t stand accounts. Literally and figuratively. So keep me amongst those you won’t take to account, I beg of you.

I’ve never really got the answer to a recurrent question. How is it no matter how strong I consider our bond, nothing about it seems enough? There isn’t any satisfied aspect when it comes to this side of my life. It translates to an insatiable thirst for me. It’s always no no, no matter how much I take my fill, there’s always more, more prayer, more fasting, more charity, more goodness that I’ve still got to do. It’s incredible. I’m constantly in the space of…help me, move me, rectify me. It’s always my Lord this, my Lord that, when I’m lax in my obligations towards Him. I’m always, I want more, oh I need this, I want more. The need to get closer and closer to Him. The need to surrender and place all my trust, my hopes and my dreams there. To abandon my mind, my soul, my heart and body to His cause. Because he’s the Causer of causes, Disposer of all affairs, The Expediter and The Delayer, The Subtle One, The Supreme Giver. 

There are no answers to the fact that I’d be up in the clouds at 8 a.m and in the pitts by 8 p.m. None of course other than the ones You provide. For better tomorrows, there’s no one else to turn to but you my Lord. And until we meet again, always make it so.  

The Surrender Experiment

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Surrender

Credit: Zolan Milic, Getty Images (2017)

Lol. You know I was rolling my eyes when I started reading about this.  Surrender? What is surrender? Surrender for what? Surrender for what reason? What is surrender? Right, so besides Eartha Kitt’s voice booming in my head, I did honestly try to get into the spirit of things. You see, self help books and I are like African dictators and corruption. We’re inseparable. So there we were, gritting our teeth reading about it all, but I just couldn’t get into it. There is no retreating nor surrendering of that nature that goes on in my life. We fight tooth and nail against every single thingamabob that seeks to disrupt our lives. However powerless we may seem to be. There is a distinctive difference, I thought, between surrender and patience. To be patient means to grit my teeth when you’re telling me nonsense. Cut it short and walk away afterwards.  And to surrender means to react to your nonsense. To take the time to go down to your level of rubbish and debate semantics of…the magnitude of your crapola. Really. We must think about that one again!

There could not be a more perfect candidate for this surrendering business, I thought. No one has ever not complained that my duas are too detailed. No honey. We don’t leave anything to chance. Chance? What is chance? Okay okay, I’ll try to stop. We most certainly are not a fly by the seat of your pants type of girl. And do not even try to equate that level of balderdash to recreation. I promise you, nothing of that sort will endear you to us. But the contrast to that is self sufficiency. And here’s the thing. I’m not. No one is. It goes against the principle of this world. And the laws that bind us together. We need each other, just as much as we despise each other. And this is coming from an innate people hater. I meet people, and think oh God, you too I have to deal with? People who prefer to communicate and work through skype and email are my favourite kind of people in the world. And texters are my conscripted soldiers. My soul’s companions. Not soul mates, mark you. I don’t believe in the idea. Not when everything is meant to test your patience in this world, and when everlasting joy lies in another lifetime. But conscripted soldiers? As a parameter, it checks me every time I find myself inclined towards someone known to entertain evil. No way am I allowing you into my life, however magnetic you are, not when I’ve got cracks in mine and still have to sort out my own energy.

You know how you feel when people tell you something you’re vehemently opposed to, however accurate? Something like, you’ve reached the end of your tether, honey, please take a breath and relax. And you’re not superwoman, you know? But I am, I growl. But you’re not says that voice firmly resident in your head. And you growl again for the heck of it but concede? Chuck that voice. I’m here to tell you that that voice is a completely different person from you. Well not me really, but Michael Singer’s Untethered Soul which truly is a journey in self awareness and lays the foundation for the surrender experiment. The title says it all really. How to surrender and thrive in the vicissitudes of life, that is the overriding message. So here’s the thing. It’s easy to lay back, accept and thrive in the flow of life, I mean theoretically. Reasonably, the idea that you’d just let things happen without diving in to help it along or resist it all is alien to me. And quite frankly to the way we’re built.

And it’s remarkable that I’m so opposed to the book when its premise is similar to the submission required of me as a believer. Surrender, solitude and meditation are the hallmarks of classic monotheism. To be aware of the greater being. And the purpose to life. But that awareness isn’t passive. It’s raining cats and dogs, and I’m looking out, trying to relax and thrive in the harshness of thunder. There was a particular crackle to the last boom, and we’re shaken. Surely there must be a tempering to the flow demanded by Singer. One must strive, and one must also be patient and observe. Suffice it to say that the surrender experiment and I are having some trouble getting along.

I’m a human being, and I’ve long accepted that I’m unable to take the world by myself. I need people, my Lord help me never to. Rah! You know I’d be fighting this to my last breath. When you’re a lone ranger in these streets, you’re obsessed with beating the competition. Don’t ask me who or what the competition is, I’m still trying to figure it out. But that is my biggest fear – to fail in life. I remember telling someone this once, and they asked me what would happen if I did, and I….didn’t have an answer. I’d feel bad. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, I thought. But what catastrophe would be occasioned by this failure? Will I die? Will I be damned to eternal hell? Will I collapse? I’d probably puke my guts out in blood but…I will get over it.

I was recently overwhelmed professionally. As usual, I had bitten off more than I could chew, and was trying to pull all nighters to get to par with the commitments I had made. And I remember waking up one night and thinking…I don’t have the heart for this anymore. I’m no longer 21. And the following night, I was attempting to read for an exam, and again… I couldn’t understand a thing about what it was I was reading. And, I’m still like of course I’ll do this paper and hack it. And a peer is telling me to back out and avoid starting 2020 this way. And I was trying to think – what would Michael Singer do? And for the life of me, I couldn’t apply his advice to my practical life. Surrender to what? Surrender for what reason? I tried.

I attended a meeting recently and one participant felt compelled to personally attack me. The appalling quality to my English and some such nonsense. Self esteem issues, you know the drill. And I remember looking back with dagger eyes, and was one statement away from blasting it (hahaha) and taking it through a crash course in professionalism. And you know, humane behaviour. It belittles you as a leader to behave disrespectfully in front of your peers. And sis had a draft of an email ready to send and blast (it) in front of its peers. And thank God I did not. The art of knowing is knowing what to ignore. I read this, and there just isn’t anymore to be said is there? Reacting to people and their idiotic behaviour is not in my list of challenges. Nor my league of achievements. This aspect to surrender I can take. It’s the rest that I can’t seem to swallow.

Surpassing my goals. And failing. That’s what pushes me. And haunts me. A sort of score card or scarlet letter on the extent of my abilities. I once did french language exams, and had one paper left to get my diplome but had to go back to uni, and for the life of me, I’ve never forgotten that missed niveau quatre exam. It goes back to my definition of honour and hypocrisy. To fail to honour my commitments, especially those that I make to myself, is a sign of hypocrisy in myself, isn’t it? Is this surrender? Sigh. Does it ever get uncomplicated?

There are certain aspects to my submission that are unquestionable. The foundation of my being is to surrender to The Supreme. For whom else would I submit to? And whose other decrees are worth submitting to anyway? The definition of surrender in my life is so far removed from any western or indeed eastern ideal of spirituality. It’s almost too simple, I find. I submit to my Lord and my Lord only. Readily and most willingly. Every dawn, and every dusk. And every noon, and afternoon. And before the witching hour. In solitude and in company. And I would never hesitate to do so. Even when I’m prostrate with exhaustion. Whatever the complaints of my flesh, my will and spirit is ever ready. What do I get in return, you ask? Peace.

This is my surrender experiment. And everything else is play. Boom.