Other worlds exist above our heads,
below our feet, and right inside our palms.
Sometimes these worlds erupt
their boundaries, cross the lines that divide.
After all, they are as thin as cellophane
and more permeable.
What separates us from them
grows less permanent, more fragile
as something beckons, something calls,
hovers like a relentless hummingbird
with wings droning in the ear,
stirring memory.
Will you hear the call
and pick up your drum,
or will you settle back
into the easy chair of your old life,
content just looking out the window?
Get up and walk outside into the grass.
Leave behind the porch of this life,
the house of the ego.
Call to the spirits; call loudly
from your heart.
Sing out your soul's song,
which thrashes against your ribcage
for release.
There is bliss,
there with the spirits,
free from the body
and from this earthly pain.
There is perennial compassion
in the redtail's wings or the wolf's howl
and with this you can return to the world
heart spun open, hands outstretched
bathing those who suffer in light.
This is your birthright from the beginning.
Claim it.
Get up.
(author unknown)