There’s a shelter, rain on the roof,
wind in the trees, the only sound.
And your own breath.
Leave behind the raging storm.
Hard to find and keep,
a hidden niche in a valley
deep with loneliness, habit and fear;
false assurances, reckless promises;
the urge for artificial light.
This is where the new life begins,
a different journey, the outward,
the known discarded, trusting someone,
something other than yourself,
shrugging off the weight of the world
and reaching out a hand
to be led wherever truth may take you;
the small room where you trust
because you no longer care
and give yourself over to the steadfast shelter
of the only permanence you have ever met.
O child of God, Meher Baba said,
take your stand on the truth within.