Back from India
Still fragrant with spices and colorful silk
Radiating the serenity of walking in shady bazaars
She runs into me in the corridor of Busch Hall
And that brings tears to her eyes
Overwhelmed with the generosity, I put my arms around her
Back in my office – still overwhelmed-
I reach out for Rumi’s Divan
And start with a short ghazal
Which opens like a gentle discrete song
And there upon, in his shocking habit of teasing and tricking
Expands quickly beyond the page
Until it spreads beneath my feet
Like an exquisite red carpet
Leading from the second floor of Busch Hall
To some remote, inviting, intimidating Mountain top.
“What a place to be ecstatic in!” I think to myself
I think, half amused, as I close the door of my office,
And get distracted with the curious light that filters through the shades
The pulsating unknown!
And the joy!
That spreads like a wave of heat
Or an explosion of light
From the core of my body to the smallest object in the room
And my heartbeat in the background
Like a magnificent daf played by a master drummer
Interrupting the flow of silence
With neatly carved pieces of geometric sound
Holding tight to my chair
In the left corner of my office – with my back to the computer
And still worried about the class I am to teach in half an hour
I know exactly what happened 760 years ago
When someone I know well whirled for the first time.
St. Louis, August 31, 2000