800 year old pandemic advice from Rumi…
You’ve made it out of the city,*
that image of your body, trembling with traffic
and fear left behind.
Your face arrives in the redbud trees, and the tulips.
You’re still restless.
Climb to the ladder to the roof.
You’re by yourself a lot,
become the one that when you walk by,
luck shifts to the one who needs it.
If you’ve not been fed, be bread.
*So many people living in the city are already out of the city by staying at home. LA freeways are quieter, some people walk in the street to keep distance from those walking on the sidewalk. Few cars in the street hinder their walking always at a distance from each other, with no where to go. Some stay in their own backyards, much safer, and probably have not been visited much in the past many years. Living as if you are in a city is not impossible even if you live in the woods. The “city” is more internal than external. I moved out of the city 44 years ago. But, I still returned from time to time to earn money (as an acute dialysis nurse). My inner city has gotten quieter over the years, too. I still need reminders to leave it behind. The mountains and wildflowers outside my windows do their best to nudge me every day to leave the city behind. For 35 years, I have offered my guest cottage to help others do the same. This Rumi poem has been above my kitchen sink for a couple of decades in a floral frame…reminding myself to be bread whenever I can.
[“Rainbow Poppies” digital collage © Elsah Cort]
…an early collage made from a photograph of poppies
growing along Dry Creek Road near by…