A
prompting of the heart
I
come to the end of the highway
and
strike out across the rough terrain;
no
welcoming arms out this far,
nor
friendly company
and
no turning back. This is my path
and
always has been –
solitude
being a lifelong companion.
Only
the periphery changes.
No
hard proof of anything yet –
just
a few scattered clues
and
a prompting of the heart.
A
settling in to the notion
that
nothing much matters.
It’s
either grace or nothing.
Coming
to the truth of either
is
my only succor –
to
find out or die trying. Alone as always
except,
perhaps, for my Beloved.
I
can let go now His promises
since
there is no turning back,
no
turning aside from whatever
the
Truth might be.
O
child of God, examine yourself in a last attempt
to embrace your one
true Friend.
Heart
condition
Remember
Me, said my Lord,
and
forget all else.
Not,
perhaps, by thinking of Him,
nor
repetition of His name.
Remember
Him with that
which
is referred to as the heart –
a
warmth in the chest you might feel
if
you were in His physical presence;
a
soul memory from the Original Oneness.
You
are drawn to Him now from so far away,
so
foreign a shore, because
of
your recognition of Him
as
your one true Self.
O
devotee, honor this recognition;
let
it consume you.
Smolder
in its flame.
O
child of God, you have a delicate heart condition;
apply liberally the balm
of remembrance.
This
is God
Consciousness
brings to mind daily
innumerable
questions but gives only one reply –
whimsically
called God. At every turning,
again
and again, innumerable questions
and
the answer is always God –
a
short, neatly-wrapped, throw-away answer,
a
meaningless answer, no answer at all,
merely
the question itself reiterated and rephrased.
God
asked Himself once (per Meher)
(and
is still asking) the Self-same question,
Who
am I?
and consciousness arose
(and
still yet arises)
with
one silent, ineffable, at least partial
answer
– This. This. This is God.
O
child, so many questions you ask,
as if your mind could
ever contain the Truth.
Perfectly
apt
Everything
is perfectly apt, apparently.
Unparalleled
and perfectly apt.
Everything,
everything.
We
may disapprove, protest,
denounce
and abhor aspects of it
from
our precarious perches
on
the sleek, sheer surface of time and space,
but
everything is God (Meher assures us)
and
in His Singularity
and
from His solitary, all-knowing perspective,
everything
is suitable and fitting
and
perfectly apropos.
O
child, would you dare take on the weight
of altering even the
least bit of God’s handiwork?
