I was walking with a friend
In a beautiful place
Called Buttermilk Falls near Ludlow.
As we approached the falls
Through the forest
From below
The sound of the water became deafening
Like a great white noise.
As we walked around it
The noise noticeably subsided
Until, when we were standing above the falls
Among the pines that grow right to the edge,
We could hardly hear it at all.
My friend drew my attention to the stream.
He tried to make sense of how the gentle stream
Could be the same water
That just ten feet later
Created the thunder of the falls!
Being a poet who is not writing much these days,
My thoughts turned to my old teacher, Rumi.
He, of all people,
Would know how to address this in a poem.
And then I thought, maybe the reason he can do that
Is because he is the gentle stream
And he is also the thunderous falls.
And I tried to remember if I was ever like that.
And I think I was.
And then I wondered
Could I be like that again?
Rumi: "How dare you ask such questions!
Are you ready to thunder?
Is there room in your life for a waterfall?
Didn't you know I would ask you this
When you evoked me?"
I am so far from being able
To make a good poem out of this!
Rumi: "You aren't there yet.
You're trying to get your foot in the door
But there is no door here!"
(Article changed on May 12, 2023 at 9:44 AM EDT)
(Article changed on May 12, 2023 at 5:49 PM EDT)
