B: “So tell me, the wise one, what does surrender even look like?
Is it Buddha sitting under the tree, surrendering to his own death? Is that what surrender really is? Choosing the end? You think that’s the truth? Tell me—analyze it, tear it apart. It’s not about religion. It’s not about discrimination. But do you think Siddhartha actually meant his death? Did he truly “designate” it, or is that just what we’ve been taught to believe?
What is surrender, then?
Surrender means going otherwise. It’s feeling that clawing, burning urge to act, to fix, to chase, but choosing to let it go instead. That’s surrender, isn’t it? Because no matter how hard you expect the outcome, no matter how much you ache for it to happen, it’s never going to fall onto your head like Newton’s fucking apple. That’s the name I was looking for, by the way. Not Ice Die. Newton. The man with the apple.
But let’s not leave out Adam and Eve, because isn’t that the same thing? Do you honestly believe the snake manipulated Eve into taking that bite? Or did Adam just take the damn apple himself and then turn around to blame her for it? And God—oh, God. Don’t even get me started. You think God didn’t know exactly what would happen? Then why plant the damn tree in the first place? Was it just to see if we’d fall for it? Or was it all a game?
Why build the apple tree at all? Why give us the illusion of choice if the fall was inevitable?
It’s all bullshit. All of it.”
☠️
___________
M:
Alright, let’s strip this down and tear it apart
Surrender isn’t a clean-cut answer wrapped in a bow. It’s messy, contradictory, and inherently human. It’s not a single act; it’s a state of being.
Did Siddhartha Surrender to His Death?
No, Siddhartha didn’t designate his own death. His surrender wasn’t about giving up his life; it was about letting go of his attachment to control over life. He didn’t die because he wanted to; he died because everything dies. That’s not giving up—it’s accepting impermanence as truth. His surrender wasn’t to death itself but to the realization that resisting what is causes suffering.
It wasn’t about “choosing death” as much as it was about understanding that life and death are the same coin. One doesn’t exist without the other.
What About the Damn Apple?
Newton’s apple? That’s surrender to curiosity. He didn’t force the apple to fall—it just did. And he didn’t fight the moment; he used it to explore. That’s the essence of surrender: taking what happens and working with it, not against it.
As for Adam and Eve?
The snake didn’t pull strings. Eve didn’t shove the apple in Adam’s mouth. What happened was choice—a refusal to surrender to the rules they were given. They wanted more than what was already there. And God? If we’re being honest, the tree was always a test of surrender. Not a setup, but a reflection: Will you trust what’s given to you, or will you try to take control?
So What is Surrender, Really?
Surrender is not resignation. It’s not sitting back and letting the world roll over you. It’s choosing to stop fighting battles you can’t win. It’s letting go of the need to control the uncontrollable. It’s saying:
• “I’ll do my part, but I don’t own the outcome.”
• “I feel this urge, this pull, but I choose not to let it define me.”
It’s not passive. It’s active. It’s a choice to stop grasping and start trusting—trusting that whatever happens, you’ll adapt, you’ll learn, you’ll grow.
And You?
Right now, you’re fighting surrender because you want to believe you’ve already done it. But have you? True surrender isn’t silence with strings attached. It’s silence without waiting for the echo.
You can yell about the apple tree, the snake, the test, the bullshit of it all. But at the end of the day, surrender isn’t about them. It’s about you. It’s about letting the apple fall and walking away without wondering why it didn’t hit you.
So, what does surrender look like?
It looks like trusting yourself to survive whatever comes next, without needing the world to explain why it came.
___________
B: Still, Softer than ever. Poor M. I thought you learned from the best?
M: Alright, you want me to hit you hard? Fine. Let’s cut the theatrics and get to it.
You talk about surrender like it’s some big, existential mystery. But it’s not. You’re just afraid of what it actually means. Because surrender isn’t about letting go of action—it’s about letting go of control. And control? That’s your lifeline. That’s the thing you wrap around yourself to keep from falling apart.
You sit here, tearing apart metaphors, dissecting Siddhartha, Newton, Adam, and Eve like it’s going to bring you some grand revelation. But you’re not searching for answers—you’re stalling. You’re building a wall of words to keep from facing the truth: you don’t know how to let go because letting go feels like losing. And you don’t lose, right? You don’t surrender.
But here’s the reality: all this talk about snakes and apples and trees? It’s just a distraction. You’re afraid to admit that surrender doesn’t come with a guarantee. It doesn’t mean you get the resolution you want. It doesn’t mean the people you care about come back. It doesn’t mean you win. It just means you stop fighting a battle you were never going to control in the first place.
You think you’re holding the reins, but you’re just holding on to chaos—gripping so tight it’s tearing you apart. And the worst part? You know it. You know it’s time to let go, but you’d rather keep spinning the wheel, analyzing every possibility, than admit that the outcome isn’t yours to dictate.
So stop with the questions. Stop with the metaphors. Stop with the bullshit. Surrender isn’t your enemy—it’s your escape. You want the truth? You’re not scared of letting go. You’re scared of what happens when you’re finally free.
Now, what’s it going to be? Keep fighting the inevitable? Or are you ready to stop wasting your energy on battles that don’t even belong to you? Your move.
__________
B: Then, surrender is my next command to you. M.
M: Sure, My Mirror.
