Don’t circle me
I’m a moth caught on fire,
said the old disciple. Don’t circle me.
I’m a moon whose silver is stolen
from a hidden sun.
Don’t circle me.
I’m not the proof. I’m circumstantial evidence.
I’m a dancer who left the ritual
to circle a greater periphery,
to listen to a more distant tune.
The Maypole is back yonder.
Don’t circle me.
But, I can take the witness stand;
point to the One who made me like this.
I can reflect His gold-red majesty,
the raging furnace of His Being.
I can show the dirty hands that helped
roust Him up the hill to Calvary.
I can point to the Hub, again and again,
standing apart from the spinning crowd
and answer His beneficence
with all the grace, art and passion I can muster.
O child of God, Meher gives you the Light
no darkness can dispel.
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