God
being God
A
dog chasing its tail –
such
is our search for God.
How
tenacious is the ignorance
that
cloaks the human mind!
I
was briefly allowed the illusion of liberty,
the
illusion of wandering a bit,
but
in Reality I’ve never left
God’s
fenced-in backyard –
never
a moment without His eye upon me;
His
hand upon my shoulder.
He
has allowed me a lifespan of explorations –
of
my world and my humanity,
of
my loneliness, longing and revelations,
of
my fragile attachments and fleeting delights,
all
seemingly essential components of my adventure.
I
might guess in my old age the whys and wherefores
but
in the end it is God’s secret and all I can
insipidly
suggest is that it’s merely God being God.
O
child of God, cease barking up the wrong tree.
Grow mute enough to
hear the voice within.
The
dance of the seven veils
God
awoke after a timeless nap,
stretched
Himself and (per Meher) asked
Who
am I? and thus began
our
adventure in corporality.
But
surely the All-knowing One
knew
the answer beforehand!
Perhaps,
existence is merely God’s
thumbing
through an old diary
reading
it through our mortal eyes, ears,
mouth,
nose and skin to revive the narrative.
There
may be nothing new under the sun,
but
there is also nothing new
in
the darkness of the Void. God woke up
to
shine a light upon Himself
with
Maya being central to the plot –
its
revelation, conflict and resolution.
O
child, corporality is the dance of the seven veils.
Be not enchanted by
the performance.
Returned
to the Ocean
I
live alone but seldom feel lonely.
When
I do, I allow my solitude
to
remind me of the eternal aloneness
and
infinite loneliness of God
Who
created me as His companion.
I
haven’t changed much in the last few years.
I’ve
only become more myself, believing,
at
long last, that I am and always have been
precisely
the way God has ordained me to be –
a
curiously structured, affectionally ragtag
element
of His great scheme of things.
Feeling
more and more His hand upon me,
His
existence within me, my only comfort
in
the otherwise absolute emptiness of the Void.
O
child of God, existence is a river and unremittingly
you are being
returned to the Ocean from which you came.
Snapshots
I
have a photograph tacked
to
a corkboard in my office
of
a nearby river – a paper image
silent,
small and dry;
capturing
a moment, freezing the flow.
Our
perceptions of this world
are
but a string of fixed moments
wherein
we might imagine
a
continuity of sorts
but
our interpretation of such images
is
always, always, always
partial,
limited, fleeting and false.
O
child of God, even our brief, separative lives
can be viewed as
snapshots in the eternal flow of time.
