This is your day.
It belongs to you, like dew belongs to the morning.
Your one and only task today
is to take the hours back
from the voices that tell you
you must be industrious,
you must be productive,
yet, you must remain seated until the bell.
What if we all were to rise,
refuse to be enslaved a moment more
What wise knowing would rush to the surface
if we dropped the chains of progress, and ran free into the fields?
I say we, all at once,
refuse to call each other names
go about the business
of setting out on the water to cast our nets,
and carrying the corn to the mill.
Question the shoulds with their fearful advice,
and question their children too.
They have no idea.
Shake off their stories
like a drunk shaking off his wine habit
and get back to work on your life.
Refuse to fight any fight that is not yours.
Refuse to let anyone tell you
what your fight should be.
Because they will be wrong.
Question the laws of men that you didn’t make,
and the social contract you never signed.
You are a child of seeds sown on the wind.
Where you would land, no one knew.
But they all trusted you would run with it.
So, get up and run.
Get to doing
whatever the too-busy world kept you from
when it thought it had convinced you
that your cage was necessary.
You know now, it was a lie.
Run like they’re hot on your trail with cannons and guns,
because they are.
Dive like mad toward your own sacred evolution.
promise to return, another new day
to hold high the glistening pearl you’ve found.
Inspired in part by the lovely song “Our Game,” written by Pepper Proud. Thank you.
This poem originally appeared on Elephant Journal at this link.