January 27, 2014

Here’s My Take on Rumi: He was a Time Traveler.

Here’s my take on Rumi: he was a time traveler.

You see, I think five years from now, Waylon will be on one of his hikes in the Rocky Mountains—not far from Boulder—on a crisp sunny April Fool’s morning.

He’ll meet a hermit in one of the meadows, or fields, so they start chattering about the beauty and chaos of our world.

The old fella—kinda of a Gandalf character—with his long white beard will be gathering fire wood. He’ll ask Waylon to carry some of the branches back to his hut. Of course, Waylon—being the respectful young man that he is—will gladly help, enjoying the wisdom of this elder on the slow meander back to the hermit’s hut.

After a few cups of dark coffee and some pieces of vegan peanut brittle, the old man will confide that he’s got this gadget.

Waylon will lean forward, asking about it with a gleam in his eyes.

The hermit will slowly walk to his bookshelf—filled with dusty books like Me Talk Pretty One Day and The Sun Also Rises—he’ll press a button, so a drawer opens at the bottom.

The hermit will slowly lift a gift, wrapped in burgundy cloth with a golden ribbon looped around it. He’ll unwrap it, slowly, of course, as Waylon watches, eagerly—wondering if there is a magic love potion inside.

The hermit will slowly pull out a silver wristwatch and a small charging device that it rests on.

“Wow,” Waylon will mutter, wanting to touch the watch.

“So—my nephew passed this trinket on to me before he passed away. Steve loved inventing things. I’m the one who told him to keep the auto correct—such a great way to make people laugh—seems like everyone is so serious these days…”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but how does it work?” Waylon will ask.

The hermit latches the watch around Waylon’s wrist, and then punches in 1248.

“Nothing happened,” Waylon will laugh, wondering which one of his friends had set up this April Fool’s joke.

“Oh, wait—I remember now, I’m supposed to press this button…” the hermit says, and clicks on a red light. Nothing will happen, again.

“Let me see,” Waylon will say, as he fiddles with the watch, “Oh, I think we have to hit the green button, right?”

“Well, I’m not sure…” the hermit will pause, looking at the puff of smoke where Waylon had been sitting.

“Oh my, I guess Steve Jobs also invented the iTrip.”

The hermit will fiddle with the buttons on the charger—like a remote control for the watch—until he hears a thump, looking over he will see Waylon sitting in the chair again.

“Well—tell me about it young man,” he will ask, kneading his hands together. “Where did you go? What did you see?”

Waylon leans forward, rubbing his hands over his eyes, and then opens them, telling the hermit, “There is a field…”


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Editor: Bryonie Wise

Photo: Author’s image

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