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.
they are as thin as cellophane and more permeable.
What separates us from them grows less permanent,
more fragile as something beckons,
hovers like a relentless hummingbird with wings droning in the ear,
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. T
here 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.