What if the babbling brook was not permitted to babble
Nor the whispering wind able to sigh
What if there was never any opposition
No friction, no resistance, no struggle
What if all the stones were as the river rocks
Smooth, even, and flat
What if we loved our spirit more than our life
Than what prayers would we need.
The play continues, the wheel turns
And we feel that we have never been here before
We fear tomorrow, as we fear the unknown
We hold fast to the wavering reed
As the current of false impression (Maya), glides over us
Here in this stream of life.