Having crossed the threshold of the Beloved’s Tomb,
o pilgrims, now we begin to die the only real death.
Shall we stand, arm in arm at the ship’s rail;
watch the familiar landscape recede into the distance?
Shall we sing together as the ship itself sinks
into the fathomless waters of Meher Baba’s Ocean?
There is a muted quality to my heart now,
canceling out sharp pleasures and the allure
of worldly
enchantments
like the deadened gong at Meherazad
that when struck, responds in dull, reluctant tones.
This life is but a dream.
Let me dream of Love,
a great, fiery Love, intense enough to consume the dream
itself.
The edges of it are curling now and turning to ash.
Let me awaken in the arms of the Awakener!
O child of God, cling to your Beloved.
His ship will one day plunge over this dream world’s edge.
(from The Garden of Surrender, 2004)
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