Contemplative, appreciative, grateful,
my cat Rumi, the best of our tribe,
knew how to thrive and survive.
I am quite sure of that.
As at home in a crowd
or in seclusion
nothing could phase this cat.
From the moment I saw him,
contentedly caged at the refuge, I knew
that this was a very calm chap.
When I took him with me
to my whimsical house,
where a hidden mirror
out in the garden
reflected a profusion of flowers,
Rumi gazed, with no consternation,
curled his generous tail softly about himself
and fell asleep there for hours,
but wow, and meow, he knew how to play
when the kids were around and ran wild.
Affectionate yes, never pushy,
he was the one who followed his duty
in sustaining the peace of our house.
I found my own centre
in watching him watching a trickle of water
run from drainpipe to gutter
with close attention
and the eye of a silent saint.
He showed me the importance of flow.
He had no need to know where it came from
and didn’t much care where it went.
Ah the purring of Rumi, a mantra.
Rumi was heaven sent.
The Dreaming Path 