Pull off the road
I’ve wanted to pull off the road for a long while.
I don’t care much about arriving anymore.
Almost a whole lifetime spent, rarely
carefree and cozy in this old world.
Fear is mostly what I’m made of;
not much love to counteract it.
This old car stalled again at a crossroads.
Rather than attempt another repair
I think I’ll abandon it altogether;
strike out through the rough country;
find out for sure (or not) if there is
and always has been, a companion at my shoulder.
If He’s not there, I’ve lost nothing
I had before I started and surely
the desert will welcome me
into its warm and empty, ragged arms.
O child of God, Meher said most wayfarers
turn
to Him only as a last resort.
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