There’s no choice, He said.
I’m all you’ve got.
Forgo the negotiations –
you’ve no collateral.
Forgo the calculations.
You’re in over your head.
There are no inducements
to any sort of compromise.
It’s the falsity of yourself or the truth of no self;
this apparent, ephemeral insubstantiality
or the resolute putting of it to a stop.
Grab hold of Me, He said, or go around
(around and around) trying to stuff
into your empty pockets fistfuls of diaphaneity.
O child of God, the dream can’t be grasped.
All you have to hold on to is Meher Baba.