Don't circle me

Don’t circle me                                                                                  
 
I’m a moth caught on fire, 
said the old disciple.  Don’t circle me.
 
I’m a moon whose silver is stolen
          from a hidden sun.
Don’t circle me.
 
I’m not the proof.  I’m circumstantial evidence.
I’m a dancer who left the ritual
 
to circle a greater periphery,
to listen to a more distant tune.
 
The Maypole is back yonder.
Don’t circle me.
 
But, I can take the witness stand;
point to the One who made me like this.
 
I can reflect His gold-red majesty,
the raging furnace of His Being.
 
I can point to the Hub, again and again,
standing apart from the spinning crowd
 
and answer His beneficence
with all the grace, art and passion I can muster.
 
O child of God, Meher gives you the Light
no darkness can dispel.