At the center of attention, I’m the author of chaos –
things ever-shifting outside myself and within –
rise and fall, come and go; strong winds afoot;
east and west never to meet; time marching on.
But when I make it to the periphery,
a hush falls over existence; a timelessness
comes to the ever-changing scene.
Things settle into a pristine order;
beauty rises on the wind; subtleties
become obvious and celebrated.
Moving from the center to the periphery
the center disappears – God has my back.
I’m no longer surrounded;
the past forever behind me,
returned to that sustaining,
mighty arena of the Unborn.
When I lose my grip on the periphery I am told,
I’ll go hurtling off into Oneness.
O child of God, the great illusion, Meher said,
is that you have ever been separate from the One.
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