Holding Meher Baba’s umbrella,
my long legs, tall frame keep pace
as He strides the rough terrain
of early Meherabad.
We halt in the middle of a field
and after a long silence He turns,
gestures for me to step nearer,
out of the harsh sun into the circle of shade.
I obey and leave beyond its rim myself,
my quest and all such fearsome bindings;
leave behind the rest of the world.
No need for anything else
save His Presence, this shelter
beyond attainment, beyond understanding.
O child of God, to trust Meher
is to become unencumbered of woe.
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