Croak

Your niece is a caterpillar. Your cousin is a butterfly. Your unborn children are scattered over the Milky Way. The fragile boat of Namarupa, loaded with names and forms, foundered in the waves of the void, and now lies strewn on the shoals of duality.

One nucleotide in your little toe is bigger than your mind. You claim  membership in this tribe, race, nation, faith. But your DNA belongs to the planet, embraces the whole human family, plus many other species. And not just citizens of the Earth, but star kin!

Stop thinking so small. You are not a color. Stop shrouding your soul in veils of black/white left/right east/west spirit/flesh.

O mind, listen to the music of your ribosomes, your protons, quarks and gravity waves, because every dot and bindhu of your body is a black hole containing all the information in the cosmos.

You could be caroling from the green glow of your all-entangled heart. You could be singing all night about your glory, down in the moon-glittered swamp, with Great Uncle Tree Frog.