The dot of an umbrella thwarting
the mighty sun and the rain – imagine that!
The ball of an eye containing mountains.
God (You say) is the Ocean of Love.
Why on earth then, is Love such a rarity?
If it shines everywhere, falls like rain
and I don’t know enough to strip down
and run around in it, why then
is there such a longing in my soul?
One cup of wine – I get weepy, incoherent.
Imagine an Ocean of It!
I’m too small to drown,
too lightweight, too hard-shelled
to soak It up and sink to the bottom.
Grimly, I clutch that bit of debris
known as other-than-Ocean, floating,
ever floating, upon the surface
of my obliteration and liberation, tossed up
again and again onto the wild, foreign shore.
Otherness is illusion, Meher said.
You and I are not we, but One.
O child of God, otherness is illusion.
You and the Ocean are not two, but One.
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