At Long Last Love

Wow …

.

What a poem to stumble across today,

a year and a half after I posted it

and just days away from 74.

.

I guess I was going through something;

it doesn’t feel like an issue anymore—

the time and place when an opening door

may beckon troubles me no more.

.

I guess that poem was an answered prayer:

wherever and whenever We are,

We are there.

.

Tony

T, 9.01.2026

9:34 AM EDT

____________________

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At Long Last Love

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As a 72 year old, there is no avoiding

the question of one’s mortality—

the evidence is all around

in all the other leaves

that fall to the ground

leaving so many trees

without their personalities,

their color, their vibrancy,

their capacity to dance

and protect

and offer shade;

they endure, but as what?

they return, but as who?

and with what consciousness?

.

O Tree, are you still you?

Do you still remember who

you were? And even if you do,

who else does? And the rich depth

of personal histories, vanished too,

completely out of reach? And having to

go through that whole readjusting thing

all over again? And will I still be able to sing?

.

And will I still bring the same wisdom

I brought with me this time? And will it

still take so long for me to consciously

reacquire it? Will I even desire it?

.

So today the rubber meets the road

as I realize the one thing, the main thing

I have still not suffered enough to

surrender to You—my mortality

as the me I currently believe

I am. That the time to shit-can

the whole affair will be upon me

in its own appointed way,

at its own appointed time,

and I’m not really going

to have much say

about the when

and where and

how of it, except

within certain defined parameters

of which I still remain completely

unaware. It doesn’t seem fair!

Oh, how feebly the ego protest falls

on seemingly deaf ears that have

heard it all before a million times—

my own ears, the same inner ears

that have heard it all for lifetimes.

Well anyway, today,

it came to a head

as it came to my heart

that an end to the dread

always arrives the same old way,

the same old ever-the-same way,

the way the ego loves to resist

but in the end must give way,

because this kind of mental suffering

must end eventually, with the victory

of heart and spirit over tormented mind,

desperately trying to hold on to

a body that’s been dying ever

since it was born, without ever

changing “me” in the least

or my only real reality:

.

Surrender.

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And so, in a moment,

it came, Beloved:

.

I surrender to You

the time and place

and manner and way

in which I will die—

seemingly die,

bodily die,

personally die,

as this personality person die,

even if I was Keats before

and “St. Vincent” martyred in 303

and maybe a grand inquisitor

or beloved scribe of Pharoah

when that was Your disguise

and I was buried with You alive,

or when I saw You stumbling

with Your cross when I was

was but a child and came to You

to help as only a child can do,

until, sooner or later,

I was walking with You in Quetta

and when I asked You why, You said,

“It’s just that it was your turn.”

.

So many lifetimes, so many lives,

simply to learn … to surrender—

to surrender it all to You,

here and now to You,

whatever “it” is, to You,

without conditions (expressed or implied,

or hinted at or deeply desired) but simply

with love and trust, and faith that grows

every day in every way because You are

the ever-loving, ever-caring, ever-present

Goal and Way, Truth and Life,

Constant Companion

and ever-young

Ancient One—

the Real Me

in this me—

my own ever-loving reality …

.

O God, these words only break my brain,

and only one thing keeps it

sane and whole,

as this very day,

I take hold of it deeply

once again:

.

I surrender to You

the time and place

and manner and way

in which I will die—

seemingly die,

bodily die,

personally die,

as this personality person die,

to live, ever and anon with You

my divine beloved, our divine beloved,

the one and only divine beloved,

god of all gods and the one god,

friend of all friends and the one Friend,

Alpha and Omega, beginning and end

in me and one and all—set free

from now, beyond time and eternally,

the ancient Ent and the newborn babe

in me again—and the Christ child too,

known in our time as Meher Baba,

beloved Baba, the love in all loving,

You.

.

I surrender to You

the time and place

and manner and way

in which I will seemingly die.

.

Because I trust You—

always have and always will

because You have never let me down

and never, ever will …

.

Amen.

.

Tony

F. 12.20.2024

8:58 AM EST