How did the Masters roll?
Did they have tight schedules
written on scroll?
Dates and places
just where to go?
Or did the Sun rise
each day fresh,
finger in the wind
no slave to flesh?
What do we FEEL
is needed,
where do we go?
Get into the Light,
pull the pin, let all flow
My will or the god's will
which will be best?
After flowing that,
just blissful rest
An M.O. not of this place
there is no track,
there is no race
there's only flow,
always god's pace
In Grace
we taste
IT
for
IT IS
and we taste
by Grace only
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem