Suspect
death
When you
begin to suspect death
is not an
exit but a roundabout
and you
feel your ribs as bars of a cage;
your
loneliness ghostly – chronic and eternal,
then the
God within you begins
to elbow
His way to the surface.
You think
it’s a quest but it’s a dismantling.
It’s not
life eternal you’re after, but permanent death,
finding out
later it must come to you
(like the
death of an aged body) of its own accord,
a
predestined step toward resurrection;
the last
one-and-only-true death to undergo
before (by
Meher’s promise) you cease to exist entirely
within His
everlasting Oneness.
O child of
God, let your imagination soar
but only to
aid you in the matters at hand.
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