Such a weak word.
The beginnings sound so strong, as though ready to gather something huge to itself,
ready to hold on to all it can muster.
The cocktail of ideas and self.
The good, the bad, the ugly and beautiful…
all scattered and gathered by "surr".
The useful and the utterly useless.
The pleasure and pain.
The fails and wins.
The glory and shame.
The pride and humiliation.
The life and death in one.
Ah, yes, it is gathering them.
The gathering grows stronger and deeper.
It holds tight and taut, as though the ropes are holding in all that it sought to gather.
Ah, yes, it's all in one place.
The 'en' puts them all in one place.
A place where it sits and asserts itself.
It is gathered there at its feet.
All of a sudden it let go.
Like a man taking his last breath and releasing it to the hands of the Custodian.
But you started so strong!
Why, why, why did you just let go?
I told you surrender was a weak word.
It gathers and ends it all on a weak breath.
It gives it all up.
Who would do that? How?
Like a man drinking darkness and all that is ugly and dead in the world,
gulping it all into a vessel kept sacred and pure for over 3 decades.
That man taking every honour and life, every possible benefit and entitlement, and
laying it all out to be pinned on a wood.
And that man giving it all up in a weak breath,
"It is finished".
Gather it up. Roll it in.
Except a seed falls down and dies,
it remains a seed.