Morning Muse 76 : The Song of the Bamboo: A Lesson in Surrender

True surrender is letting God hollow you of self, so He can fill you with His song.

The Song of the Bamboo
I stood tall, rooted in my place,
Until my Lord came with a gentle face.
He said, “My friend, I must cut you through,
For there’s a song I wish to play in you.”

The knife was sharp, the pain ran deep,
Through hollow heart, my soul did weep.
But when His hands had done their part,
I found His breath within my heart.

Now I am nothing, yet I am all,
For at His lips, I heed His call.
In His music, my life I found —
In surrender, I am forever bound.

Full Version
Every morning, Krishna strolled into the garden, His face glowing like the rising sun, greeting the plants with a tender, “I love you.”
The plants swayed with joy and whispered back, “Krishna, we love You too.”

One day, Krishna entered in haste. His steps were urgent, His eyes serious. He walked straight to the bamboo.

“Bamboo,” He said softly, “I need something from you — but it will be very difficult.”

Bamboo straightened and replied, “Krishna, if I can give it, I will. Tell me what You need.”

Krishna’s voice grew tender yet firm: “I need… your life. I must cut you down.”

Bamboo trembled. “Is there no other way?”
Krishna shook His head. “No, my friend. No other way.”

Silent for a moment, bamboo then bowed in surrender. “Then, take me.”

Krishna took His knife and began to cut. Each stroke sent waves of pain through bamboo’s hollow heart. And then, as if that were not enough, He carved holes into its body — and with each cut, bamboo wept.

But when Krishna was done, something wondrous emerged. From the lifeless stalk, He had crafted a flute so sweet, its song could melt stone. The flute never left His side — day and night, in the fields, by the river, even in the moonlit dance of the Gopis.

The Gopis, though they loved Krishna dearly, felt a sting of envy.
“O flute,” they asked, “we are His beloved, yet we see Him only for moments. But you… you are with Him always. What secret do you hold?”

The flute replied, “It is simple. I surrendered completely. I let Him do whatever He wished with me. I endured the cutting, the carving, the pain — until nothing of ‘me’ remained. Now, I am only His breath, His music, His instrument. That is why He keeps me so close.”

This is the essence of Sharanagathi — surrender so deep that God may shape you, use you, and play His music through you. When you trust Him fully, you realize: in His hands, nothing can ever truly go wrong.