Serving the Lord or The Path

 My view on serving someone or something used to be very rigid. Serving is bad. That’s what I always thought. Every form of service I took part in or witnessed always led to something bad. Serving in the army often led to death, especially when the country was at war. Serving in government positions led to despair and the people’s hatred toward the person representing authority. Serving some cultists led to losing one’s own opinions. No matter how I looked at it, service brought nothing but problems. But the real issue was that I was looking at it all from the perspective of a victim. If you approach it from the standpoint of yourself and your own choices, not submitting to someone against your will, then all forms of service take on a new meaning. When a person decides for themselves who to be and which path to follow, the concept of serving someone or something stops being burdensome. In that case, the ego can’t cloud the mind. Can you be free in slavery? I never would’ve thought that was possible before. But now I see that anything is possible, including being a happy slave. I used to think slavery was all about restrictions and loss of freedom, but that’s only because that’s the normal form of slavery in the human world. All devout people, no matter their religion, claim that God loves us and is merciful. That’s where my logic always broke down because we’re all God’s slaves, and in slavery, I saw only suffering. Yet, at the same time, God loves us like His children and is merciful to us. It didn’t add up. But if you remove what humans added to this equation—namely, suffering—it all makes sense. God shows me the path I should follow, and that path is the best one for me. That’s what serving the Lord truly is. Regular church visits, donations to the temple, frequent prayers, or following monastic rules—these are all different practices to learn to see God and your path, which is the real service. My problems and suffering begin when I stray from that path. That’s why serving the Lord is a blessing.

I still don’t understand my true purpose. Maybe it’s because I still don’t know who I am, or maybe I’m not supposed to have a purpose, or perhaps I’m just not supposed to know it. In any case, I have a lot of questions, but all I can do now is walk the path. I’m like a samurai with no goal, only a path. I’m not well-versed in any religion, and I haven’t studied various philosophies either, but I think they’re all similar. The samurai’s path is very much like serving the Lord—in both cases, people rely on communicating with the world and reading its signs.

In that case, I can’t just rely on people’s words. I need to learn to communicate with the world and trust myself more. I have a small framework for making the right decisions for myself. It’s very simple and therefore perfect. It’s not my invention—this framework is as old as the Bible. Though I think it’s as old as the world, it’s easier for me to explain it using biblical themes. When I get an offer and need to make a decision, I just look at where the offer’s “roots” are. It’s simple from there: if the chain of events stems from some sin, it’s nonsense and a path to problematic nowhere—reject it. If the chain is sparked by some virtue, I can agree to it. I don’t know much about virtues, but I understand sins pretty well, so when making a decision, I first try to rule out sins.
For example, recently, Daniel and I were driving to another work shift. The trip was long—eleven hours by car—so we stopped at some gas stations and always visited the last big supermarket on our route, a few hours’ drive from our destination. To use a shopping cart, you had to insert a one-dollar coin. I usually forgot to bring one, but this time I had it with me. I took a cart, and we went to buy the groceries we needed for two weeks. When we finished and returned with a cart full of groceries to the work vehicle waiting in the parking lot, a middle-aged man of Indigenous appearance approached us. He was dressed sloppily, his hair greasy and tangled, his face slightly swollen and weary. His right leg was in a cast, so he leaned on crutches. He asked for the one-dollar coin in the cart’s lock mechanism. He was smiling and didn’t try to play on pity, so I decided I’d give him my coin. I told him he’d have to wait until we unloaded everything. Daniel said he forgot something and needed to go back to the store, asking me not to do anything with the cart until he returned. While he was gone, the man with crutches, after asking a few questions, steered the conversation to his current situation, telling me how he broke his leg and why he was here. The reason for the fracture was so mundane I don’t even remember it—something about an awkward jump. But he also said he wasn’t local and couldn’t get to his hometown because no trains or buses ran from here, so he was waiting for his leg to heal to walk there. Daniel came back. He immediately started verbally attacking the man, pointing out that he’d noticed a few other homeless people standing near the store, supposedly waiting to ask people for cart dollars. I think it really bothered him that these people, instead of working like him, were standing by the store begging. I get his anger—I used to think the same way. If a person has arms and legs, they can work. If they can work but don’t, and instead beg, it’s not fair. I don’t ask anyone for anything, so they should work like me. But now I take it much more lightly. I accept that a person might simply have a different path. The man patiently listened to Daniel’s attacks, apologized, and left. He went to the spot in the parking lot where all the chained carts were, where another homeless person stood, and they started talking. Daniel and I unloaded the groceries, and I went to return the cart to that same spot where the man was. Daniel shouted after me not to dare give the dollar to that guy, but for some reason, I wanted to help the wanderer. I attached my cart to the others, freeing my dollar, and I also took out my wallet, which had ten dollars in cash, and gave all my cash to the man with the broken leg. He thanked me and immediately started saying that everything he’d told me was true and he had no intention of tricking us for money, but I interrupted him, just saying “okay,” trying with my tone and demeanor to convey that I didn’t care whether he was lying or telling the truth. I got back to the car, met Daniel’s disapproving look, and we drove on.

My decision-making logic was very simple. The first reason was that the man with crutches approached me on his own—it wasn’t my initiative. The second was that he wasn’t gloomy, irritable, or playing on pity. The third was that I’d only brought the coin to use the cart, which I’d already done, so I had no reason to refuse him. The final reason, which only confirmed the others, was Daniel. He looked irritable and offended when trying to expose the man, and that proved I was right. These reasons were more than enough to decide to share the money.
It sounds simple, but some situations aren’t so clear-cut, and there isn’t always time to decide. I need to practice this approach more and try not to rush to conclusions, or I might get tangled in something bad. The hardest thing for me is fighting pity for people—it blinds me and keeps me from seeing things as they are. Wanting to help someone, I might only make things worse. Take the well-known proverb: “Give a man a fish, and he’ll eat for a day; teach a man to fish, and he’ll eat for a lifetime.” I always thought this was about opportunities because I put myself in the shoes of the person who could be given a fish or taught to fish. But now I’m thinking from the perspective of the one giving the opportunity. Since I always thought learning to fish was better, I assumed others felt the same, but it turns out people often choose the fish over the rod. They want to eat for life but don’t want to learn. Few care about how to assemble a rod, tie a hook, study fishing spots, or figure out bait and what bites on what. Usually, people just complain about their lives and want pity and something given to them—charity, food, attention, whatever. Sometimes, when someone’s desperate and asks for help in the form of a fish, but I see I could offer a rod, would it be right to toss them a fish? A fish will only prolong their suffering for a bit but won’t help. Insisting on teaching them to fish won’t work—they won’t understand. A person has to reach the point where they either want to learn or face death. So, giving someone a fish, even if they’re begging for it in tears, is just indulging their self-pity, making them weaker.

My morality, like most people’s, was very superficial, but it’s hard to break through because this shallow morality, usually backed by nothing, has spread so widely that almost everyone tries to convince me it’s right without any arguments. That’s why I need to trust myself and the force showing me my path more. I have no idea where it’ll lead. I don’t plan my life anymore. I have some wishes, but if I see fate steering me elsewhere, I hope I’ll have the strength and courage to follow where the world leads.