Our dilemma
Touched by Spirit, we transform,
blown away by a bliss storm
but cannot transmit the mist,
which we chose not to resist.
Outwardly we look the same,
so can lay no claim to fame
but nodes within body urn,
metamorphose as they burn.
Grazed by divine magnetism,
we go beyond every ism
and yet we cannot translate,
this hum that does not abate.
As God’s direct transmission,
imagine bliss ignition,
that continues to renew,
with each life breath born anew.
The path kundalini takes,
our conditioned beliefs shakes,
as direct truth known by touch,
on relinquishing thought crutch.
Scriptures are both wrong and right,
for who can track flight of light,
surging forth from deep within,
causing worlds around to spin?
Hoping all become aware,
driven by love, we do share,
though this can only be known,
when we go in and atone.
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