Selflessness

Selflessness. Our culture spends years cultivating an indifference to other, an intrinsic individualism that shuns all external influence and tells us we may rely upon only ourselves. Yet, without selflessness, there is no understanding love, no understanding marriage and how Christ gave himself up, or Abraham’s sacrifice with Isaac – without selflessness, you imagine he made none but the ram that day - and the selflessness of being a lover, a friend, or a parent who must give up everything to foster life. That’s what selflessness is: fostering life.

I’m a novice to this, a remora on the under-fins of a great, deadly shark. How do we coexist when this beast might snatch me up for a tiny feast? Is this love or even living, this fear?

I paid my dues to selfishness, and now I must let go the coals I’m clasping so tight between my fingertips. I’m no authority, no heroic image or paragon mythic having attained a buddhistic peace and zen relief from hungering to steal for myself. I’m a novice, a shell-less hermit crab seeking new identity, and scuttling along the bottom of a very muddy sea and wondering whether I’ll be et or find a place to be. I’m a fledgling with broken wings, a newborn fawn or foal with flopsy legs.

It’s freeing, this release of selfish identity. A proud, narcissistic king can trust nobody, for if clouds form on the horizon instead of sun, or if food is scarce or the battles no longer won, who will serve him then? And that was me. I’m David running from the Saul of my soul; the Balaam’s ass of my body refuses to go any further with me, for the angel of destiny blocks my path of selfishness with a mighty sword.

I’m learning, please bear with me. The road is long, but not empty, and I expect everyone will be with me, coming and going. I was contemplating on my favorite portions of love, as per 1 Corinthians 13: It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love always perseveres, friends. Always. And it always protects, and it is not self-seeking. Love is not selfish – but am I?

I feel like the sea, bashing up against a coast and getting nowhere. Even if the stones retreat, over time and infinite time, what am I gaining, really? So much purchase in the battle against stone? Love is the gentle retreat of waves on the beach, the mist in the mornings, the opening of the bulbs to receive the dawn dew and light, and the dance of fingertips across the strings of violin as an old woman and an old man hold hands in a garden where no eyes exist.