I ease the door closed behind me and tiptoe quietly into the back of the auditorium. It’s a grand meditation hall, finished in an elegant wood, cedar would be my guess, with high ceilings, tall windows, statues, and flowers, and all the other spiritual trimmings you’d expect to find in a yoga and meditation center. At the head of the room perched on a slightly raised dais sits a robed yoga teacher talking animatedly as sixty or so rapt students hang on his every word. My entrance catches the teacher’s eye, and he gives me a subtle mid-sentence nod, perceptible to probably no one but me.

I hate being late, but a two-hour delay in Atlanta combined with a rental car foul up has conspired to make it so. I take a seat on the floor at the back of the group trying not to distract from the class and settle in trying to catch up on what I’ve missed. From what I can piece together, the talk has been about the practice of surrender, or as we call it in yoga, Ishvara Pranidhana.

Bernie, the teacher and long-time friend of mine, is just finishing up and the floor is now open for questions. A man in his mid-forties sitting off to the left of the stage is quick to raise a hand. A staff member quickly whisks him a handheld cordless microphone so all can hear his question. The man takes the mic, taps on it twice before placing it before his mouth and then, entirely too loudly says “is this on?” startling both himself and most of the other people in the room.

The microphone works.

He introduces himself as Norman and then proceeds to unload a prolonged harangue about his wife, his kids, his boss, his employees, his dog, his insurance broker and a cast of lesser characters, all of whom, from what I can tell, do little else in life other than piss this guy off.

Bernie listens attentively then gracefully coaches Norman as to how to use the practice of surrender to navigate through the prickly patch he finds himself in.

“Let me start with a question, Norman: in any given moment, in what way are your wife, your kids, your boss, and everyone else on the planet acting?”

“In a way that irritates me.” Norman says in a heavy Brooklyn accent, “That’s the problem.” The room breaks out in a torrent of laughter.

“That does seem to be the case, doesn’t it?” Bernie laughs, “but in a more objective sense, they’re acting…” he draws out the last syllable begging for an answer.

Norman just stares up at him wordlessly shaking his head.

“They’re acting how they’re acting.” Bernie coaches, “Isn’t that true?” He looks out at the audience for confirmation. “And that’s true of every person in every moment: they are simply acting how they’re acting.”

“Well, yes,” Norman answers, “but that’s obvious. And to tell you the truth, I don’t see how that helps my, uh, you know, my predicament here.”

“It all has to do with the one thing in the world that can’t be any different from how it is.”

Silence.

Bernie leans forward and looks Norman square in the eyes. “Do you know what that is, Norman? Do you know what can in no way be any different from how it is?”

I can tell that Norman is feeling the heat, but it’s good—this exchange, he’s not likely to soon forget.

Bernie pauses and looks over the audience. “Anyone?”

Nothing.

“This!” Bernie throws up his arms, gesturing to the room. “This moment is what cannot be any different from how it is.” He again turns his focus to Norman. “Isn’t that right, Norman?”

He nods, and while I can’t see his expression from where I’m sitting, I’d bet a Krispy Kreme doughnut that his eyeballs are as big as saucers.

Bernie then turns to the audience, “So what does that mean?” he asks.

A timid voice in the back of the room chimes, “He needs to surrender?”

“Yes!” Bernie exclaims, “Although I wouldn’t say needs to, but I would say that if he doesn’t it has consequences.”

“Consequences?” Norman inquires.

“Yes, let’s say that your boss is being difficult.”

“Mister Ball-busta’.” Again laughter.

“We’ll just call him Mr. B?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Okay, so in the moment that Mr. B is being difficult, in that moment, in that moment that can’t be any different from how it is, you have a choice: on the one hand, you can surrender to the situation, allow it to be as it is, and you get a difficult boss. Or, on the other hand, you can resist the situation, and get a difficult boss plus frustration, irritation, and suffering. Either way though, you get a difficult boss.” Bernie looks out at Norman for some confirmation. “Get it?”

Norman nods.

What Bernie is helping Norman to see is part of a classic teaching—and part of how reality works. The fact is that this moment is how this moment is; and if you want to be happy now (now being the operative word), you need to learn how to co-exist with the moment and all that it contains. Most of us would rather abandon this moment for the hope that something better is coming around the corner—and hope’s a killer of happiness. But we can talk about that later.

“So what you’re saying, is what I’ve really intuitively known for a long time to be true,” Norman responds, “That my irritation isn’t making the situation any better.”

“Not only is it not making it better, it’s making it worse.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Norman says, “but what do I do?”

“Practice surrender, or if you’d like to put it a different way, practice allowing.” Bernie offers, “Now of course this doesn’t mean you become a door mat, you still might let your boss know that you don’t appreciate the poor treatment—but you do this while being allowing of how he is. It’s a bit of a trick at first but experiment around with it. As you’re able to surrender more and more to what is, you’ll find your anger evaporates.”

Norman again nods and then thanks Bernie, now with a lighter tone in his voice. Another hand shoots enthusiastically out of the crowd and Norman passes the microphone in the direction of the hand.

Bernie recognizes the student with a lift of the eyebrows and a tilt of the head, “Dorothy.”

She waits for the microphone and then clutching it with both hands she looks nervously around at the crowd surrounding her. “Hi,” she says, now directing her attention to Bernie. “I have a problem that is similar to…uh,” she turns to Norman, “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Norman smiles, “Norman.”

“Yes, thank you. …similar to Norman’s in that I have a particular thing in my life that is making me not just angry, but furious, but surrendering to it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Okay, what’s the issue?”

“It’s my little girl, Kimmy. She’s six years old and is battling leukemia.” She says, “It’s terrifying, heart-breaking, infuriating and just seems so unfair.”

“Before we begin,” Bernie starts, “understand that surrender doesn’t mean to give up. It means recognizing that this moment can be no different than how it is, and that resistance to it only causes more misery.”

“But…”

Bernie raises his finger as if to put Dorothy on pause. “And” he emphasizes the and, “we do our best to help the subsequent moments to be their best. What this means is that surrender doesn’t mean giving up effort, it means that you recognize that your effort has no effect on this moment. It’s this recognition that helps you to relax while you make effort to help subsequent moments to be the best they can be.”

Dorothy nods.

“You exert your will—take Kimmy to the doctor for example—while surrendering to each moment as it arises. It’s a blend of will and surrender.”

Bernie makes a key point here. So often, when people hear about the practice of surrender they equate it with rolling over, giving up, throwing in the towel. And in truth, it has nothing to do with that at all. Surrender, in the yogic sense, invites us to be completely engaged in life, participating and living fully. But it encourages us to do so while recognizing that what is happening in this infinitesimally thin slice of time called now can be no different than how it is—at least for now.

The practice of surrender then has to do with coming into a healthy relationship with this moment. Rather than waging an angst-ridden war against it, or equally popular, continually postponing our happiness until circumstances are just right, surrender asks us to relax and be happy now.

But again this doesn’t mean to do nothing. We relax with what is while skillfully doing what is prudent to help the next moment (and subsequent moments) to be the best they can be. But—and here’s the key—no matter how these subsequent moments show up, we recognize that for the moment they can be no different from how they are. So we again relax and allow. Or as they say in the shampoo business: rinse and repeat.

I can see the tension has eased from Dorothy’s demeanor.

“And in practicing this way,” Bernie summarizes, “your anger will subside.”

“Thank you.” Dorothy says handing the microphone back to the attendant.

“You’re welcome.” Bernie says,

Somebody off to the side of the stage gets Bernie’s attention and points to her wrist. Bernie nods, and looks out over the group. “Well, it looks like it’s about time.” He adjusts his meditation cushion, “Let’s close our eyes.”

The energy of the group quiets as we sit in meditation for a few minutes, then with a resonant chant of Om the session ends.

I’ve been invited here as a guest teacher—it’s my first time back since the construction of the new meditation hall. I’m impressed. The retreat is a ten day program on the principles of yoga, but my schedule only allows me to be here for three days. So it’s a couple of days on the Yoga Sutras then I’m gone: strictly a get-in-get-out-nobody-gets-hurt kind of thing.

The room continues to empty, with some students lingering to ask questions of Bernie; I quietly hover at the back of the room waiting to greet my old friend.

The last few students file out of the room, though Dorothy is still chatting with Bernie in a corner next to the stage. He waves me over.

“I want to introduce you to an old pal,” Bernie says, “Dorothy this is E.”

“You’ve known Gopal for a long time?” Dorothy says, referring to Bernie.

“A while.” I smile. I had almost forgotten that he had taken a Sanskrit name since we last saw one another. “It’s lovely to meet you. Sorry to hear about Kimmy.” I say.

“Thank you.” Looking back to Bernie, she says, “Well, I should probably get to bed, 6:00 rolls around pretty early, plus based upon our talk tonight, it looks like I have a lot of surrendering to do. A girl needs her sleep for that kind of thing.” She smiles and then turns to me. “Nice meeting you E.”

“Good night, Dorothy.”

She turns, bends down to gather her things and walks out the side entrance of the meditation hall toward the dormitories. We watch her leave and I find myself unconsciously shaking my head.

Bernie notices. “What’s that for?”

“Nothing really, we can talk about it over dinner.”

“Fair enough. It’s good to see you, E!” He gives me a great big bear hug.

I step back and look him up and down. “You look great!”

I have to inwardly smile. This man now known as Gopal looks like anything but the Bernie Finkleman from Schenectady, New York that I met years ago when we were both young students at a meditation retreat. He is dressed in flowing white garb, ornately stitched, and is draped in beads, lots of beads. Bernie has adopted a very Indian style of teaching since I last saw him. I’ll admit, the whole package seems to work well for him, though it’s not really my bag. While I’ve been known to wear white—and once in a great while even flowy white, for special occasions and the like—truth be told, I’m much more comfortable in a tee-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket.

Despite the new packaging, he’ll always be Bernie to me.

“How’ve you been?” I ask.

“If I was any better, I’d have to be twins.” He says. Classic Bernie.

“I still have to get settled in my room. How about we meet down in the dining hall in 20?”

“Done.” He says, “I’ll see you then.”

I first started coming to this meditation center over fifteen years ago when it was still an odd collection of mobile homes tucked into the woods. Even then it was beautiful, but now with its architecturally stunning accommodations, perfectly manicured grounds, and twenty-odd years of sacred practice having been done here, it feels truly like hallowed ground. I make my way back out to the rental car, lug my bags back to my room, and get ready for dinner.

The dining room, also new since I’ve last been here, is every bit as impressive as the rest of the center. I look around for Bernie and find him seated at a small table in an out-of-the-way corner of the room. He waves. I walk over and he motions for me to sit down. He’s already fixed me a plate of what looks like lasagna. That’s Bernie, always thinking of others.

I sit down and we make small talk about what we’ve each been up to since we last ran into one another, then the conversation turns to my earlier head shaking.

“So tell me,” Bernie asks, four chews into a mouthful of green salad, “what was the head shaking about back there? Something she said?”

“Actually something you said,” I’m trying to tread delicately.

Bernie shoots me a quizzical look.

I get a bit more direct. “You know you set her up, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know and I know that she’s never going to be okay with her little girl being sick—nor should she be. Hell, Bernie, what kind of parent would she be if she did?”

“Success or no, that’s the meaning of thy will be done.” he takes another bite, “You should know that E, aren’t you teaching the Yoga Sutras this week.” He chides with a wink and a smile.

I appreciate Bernie’s relaxed and easeful manner even amid contention.

“You’re treating emotions as if they were some alien force that needs to be eradicated from our lives.” I say, “This is the thing Bern, mothers are supposed to be upset when their children are sick or dying and to suggest that they shouldn’t be is to leave them worse off than when you found them.”

“Worse off?” He says, shoveling a healthy forkful of lasagna in his mouth. I forgot how much Bernie likes to eat; I’m getting full just watching him put down the chow.

“Yeah, when you tell Dorothy that if she can just muster up enough surrender she’ll be free from her anger is to shackle her with a whole other reason to be angst ridden. Isn’t it enough to be upset about your sick child without having to also be upset about your upset-ness about your sick child?” I ask.

His reply is unintelligible.

“I can’t understand you through your lasagna, Bern.” Mastication: 1, Enunciation: 0

Bernie gulps hard. “You’ve got a point.”

I reach for my fork—I’ve yet to touch anything on my plate and I notice a quizzical look emerging on Bernie’s face.

“But where’s the surrender in letting your emotions run amok?”

Funny thing about psychosomatic organisms, humans and otherwise: they have emotions, and thoughts, and good days, and bad. That’s the truth of it. It’s true for the Pope, the Dalai Lama, and your second cousin Mildred. Yet somehow in the spiritual racket we’ve gotten off track. We’ve come to believe that with enough practice, enough meditation, enough good intentions, we’ll be able to completely overcome our humanness. As a result, the quest to become peaceful itself becomes a battlefield.

“Let me ask you this: what is surrender?” I love answering questions with a question.

“Well, it’s to relax and allow this moment to be as it is.”

“Okay, and if I’m pissed off in this moment, isn’t that anger also a part of this moment as it is?”

A smile begins to creep up on Bernie’s face, “I see where you’re going…that’s brilliant.”

“Thanks, but it’s not so brilliant as it is simply true.”

“Yeah, but this is precisely where so many people get tripped up.” Bernie affirms.

I nod. “The idea that your emotional state should be different from how it is, is the same game as thinking that the weather, the traffic, or your mother-in-law should be different from how they are. They’re both are examples of wrestling with present moment.”

“And causing conflict.”

“And causing conflict.” I echo.

“So if I’m surrendering only to external circumstance and not to my internal state…”

“You’re not fully surrendering. It’s like allowing the weather to be as it is but going to war with the traffic. It’s not going to do much for you.”

Practicing surrender to improve your experience is a popular game in spiritual circles, and to some degree it works. When I learn to surrender and to allow the minor disturbances in life to be as they are, I feel less oppressed, more relaxed, and happier. This is precisely what Bernie was recommending for Norman; and rightly so. But this kind of surrender only goes so far. The truth of the matter is there are many things that you may never be able to completely surrender to: a sick child, the death of a loved one, or someone shoving a steak knife into your arm come to mind.

What’s more, by and large, the experience of the moment isn’t responsible for our dis-ease nearly as much as is our resistance to the moment. Being stuck in traffic for example isn’t assaulting at all: sitting in a comfortable seat and watching the scenery go by, albeit slowly, isn’t a difficult experience. Instead it’s our resistance to moving slowly, our craving to going faster, that yields our frustration with the situation and gives it its unpleasant flavor.

And this goes for our emotional experience as well. There’s no problem being sad—unless of course you think you shouldn’t be sad. It’s the resistance that begins to make the emotional experience spiral out of control. For when I resist being sad, I begin to get angry about being sad. When I resist being angry, I get frustrated about being angry about being sad. When I resist being frustrated, I get irritated about being frustrated about being angry about being sad. I could go on, but you get the picture.

Our desperation for happiness destroys happiness, for most of us honestly believe that things have to be different for us to be happy. And that’s the biggest crock of all.

“The bottom line, Bern, is that you need to recognize that thoughts and emotions are as much a part of nature as the wind and the clouds. And resisting them is as futile as resisting the weather.”

“You’re not suggesting that we make no effort to relax with things, to learn how to me more easeful with life’s challenges are you?”

“Of course not. None of this means that surrender of this type is completely obsolete. Norman’s case is a great example, he could actually benefit from learning how to relax. This is what I’d call a preliminary practice of surrender. But for someone like Dorothy, it’s a slightly different game.”

“So you don’t think that Dorothy should surrender to her situation?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.” I say, “You’re right she should work on surrendering to the situation as it is as much as she can, but at some point she needs to surrender to Dorothy as well.”

“And what you mean by Dorothy surrendering to Dorothy is her allowing the external circumstance along with her mental and emotional experience?”

“Precisely.” I say, “We need to recognize that our mental and emotional experience is as much a part of the moment as the clouds in the sky or the person sitting across from you at lunch. You know how I’m prone to say: ‘how you are is not as important as how you are with how you are.’ That pretty much sums it up.

“I think I get it.” He says, ferrying the last tiny morsels of lasagna from his plate to his mouth. He sucks on his fork and scans the table for more, his eyes locking onto my dessert. “So what do you think E? Do you think that you could surrender to the mental and emotional commotion caused by someone stealing your cheesecake?”

I slide the cheesecake across the table. “To tell you the truth, I’m more concerned with the mental and emotional commotion caused by watching you eat the cheesecake.” I wink.

And with that he shovels a full half of the dessert into his mouth, chewing with a ridiculous grin on his face.

I shake my head. Classic Bernie.

Copyright 2008, Eric Walrabenstein, all rights reserved.