To the question, what shall we do to be saved in this World ? There is no other answer but this, Look to your Moat.

On a terribly clear day,
A day that made you wish you'd worked hard
so you'd not work at all that day,
I caught a glimpse, like a road through the trees,
Of what might after all be the Big Secret,
That Great Mystery we talk about.

I saw that there is no Nature left,
That Nature does not exist,
That there are mountains, valleys, plains,
That there are trees, flowers, grasses,
That there are rivers and stones,
But that there's no one great All these things
belong to,
That any really authentic unity
Is a sickness of all our ideas.
Does it exist ?

Nature is simply parts, nothing whole,
Maybe this is the mystery they talk about.

And this, without stopping, without thinking,
Is just what I hit on as being truth
That everyone goes around looking for in vain,
And that only I, because I wasn't looking for it,
Did I found ?
Does it exist ?