A
returning
Time
to go home, I pray; time to go
where
there is no time and, perhaps,
no
imaginable sort of home.
This
dream of creation
is
fraying at the edges, bursting at the seams.
Even
the Perfect Ones Who we faithfully entreat
for
comfort and aid are not free
from
human fates and frailties –
the
sorrow, illness, pain and death of this realm,
each
One dutifully bound to return, per schedule,
to
where it all begins . . . ends and begins again.
Round
and round, up and down –
a
returning, always a returning,
to
what must be (we surmise) a perfect stillness,
an
unassailable serenity, an eternal slumber
in
a realm where time dares not enter.
O
child of God, you have no choice
but to trust the
benevolence of your Creator.
A
hillbilly song
I’m
performing my usual juggling act –
one
red apple, a bowling pin and a chainsaw
while
walking a tightrope far above
the
three rings, the caged beasts
and
the roaring crowd and I wonder –
will
anyone request a hillbilly song?
Mightn’t
it help some fallen soul?
Provide
perhaps a ray of hope?
Baba
said to become helpless and hopeless
but
I don’t think He meant it thisaway.
I
live in a little trailer behind the big top
and
all I can do is sweep out
its
daily accumulations as I spy them
through
these age-beclouded eyes.
O
child of God, someone in the crowd
is requesting Angel
Band and Sweet Beulah Land.
God
in human form
The
Avatar has come and gone
and
how thrilling is His advent
and
the promise that He never leaves!
As
we trudge ever onward
in
this here-and-now New Life
with
no Saviour to our rescue,
there
being (per Meher) no one to save,
only
deeply-sleeping dreamers
yet
to be awakened. Our daily companion
is
now, instead, our Elder Brother
Who
is God in human form
with
emphasis on His helplessness,
sharing
in every step our vulnerability,
our
grief and joy, triumphs and mortal travails.
O
child, the New Life is your awareness
of God’s presence in
every ordinary moment.
The
thoughtful mind
Take
no thought for the morrow,
advised
Saint Matthew,
the
apostle’s counsel being to dwell
only
in this one fearless moment.
The
past – merely the wisp of a dream
within
a dream within a dream
and
tomorrow but a great imagining.
Only
the now approaches
any
sort of truth or utility, emerging
hot
and fresh from God’s creation,
where
the thoughtful mind,
(made
of scraps and whimsies),
operates
only as a hovering,
haunting,
ineffectual ghost.
O
child of God, where shall you find refuge?
Even the eternal now (per
Meher) is an illusion.
