The dot of an umbrella thwarting
the mighty sun and the rain -- imagine that!
The ball of an eye
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.