Distant Drumming

I seem to hear a distant drumming,
a slow rhythm, a beat, that is almost
lost in the subliminal.

Or maybe, I think, it is distant thunder,
reverberating through the mountains
and the valleys in a magically pulsating way.

I hold my head up high,
and sniff, smell, the air
and to me there seems to be no trace of rain.

I look up higher at the clouds
and there are many of them,
mostly white and huge and fluffy,

nothing like the coming signs of rain.

I seem to see a light flashing,
a burst of light, just beyond my peripheral vision.
Beyond it, so that to say that I see it,
may be stretching the simile.

But I feel the flash of light as it comes,
on just the right beat, of the drums or thunder.

That distance drumming that I hear,
or imagine that I hear.
It is the same with the light, lightening.

The rumbling rhythm makes me think,
that if there was a flash of light, in my minds eye,
it was lightening.

Again I smell the air, no explosions, no fires
and if there is lightening, it too is distant,
like the drumming and far beyond my sense of smell.

It’s there, it’s not there,
I see it, I don’t, see it,
I hear it I don’t hear it.

Is it me, or is there really something going on here?
Ah yes, there it is again, the drumming,
the thunder, the flashing, the lightening.

But I am no longer where I was a moment ago.
A moment ago, I was a young man,
all a wonder with the world around me.

Who believed, beyond any doubt,
that he could smell the thunder,
the lightening, the rain.

Just by holding his head high and believing,
never stopping to consider that doubt existed,
that yes, he could smell the thunder,
the rain the lightening.

Because God had given him this gift
as his right, and he was one with the world.
Both its master and its servant.

Both an ingredient and the whole pie,
freshly baked and steaming,
smelling like heaven,
ready to be eaten,
and to be reborn again.

But this time, everything is the same, but me,
I hear the same rumbling,
the same flashing.

But I do not hold my head up high to smell the air.
Instead, I only wonder, if I heard it or not
and passively wait to see if I will hear,
see, it again, to tell me that it is true.
No longer a master who can read the signs,
with knowledge and certainly.

Something has changed,
which makes me one who simply waits,
must wait…..

being no longer a part of the whole,
no longer having received the gift
of prophesy, as my right.

Or is it something around me,
in the atmosphere, on the oceans,
in the earth, valleys, seas , sky,
or mountains which has changed?

No, no, it must be me.
I take note, that the distant rhythm,
if nothing else, seems closer this time.

The flashing, the lightening,
if that is truly what it is,
seems somewhat brighter too.

Its as if this song, this dance is getting closer,
as if it were moving toward me,
as thunder and lightening surely will.

The rhythm seems clearer, somewhat louder,
its almost, as if, it were murmuring something to me.

The light behaves almost,
as if it were trying to throw a picture,
onto a magic screen in front of my eyes.

To show me something, which,
I had not previously seen.

There is a movement to my right
and another to my left
and suddenly I am hit by an inspiration.

Its not so much that I know, I perceive,
the nature of the change.
Time is passing.
Time is passing
and the young man who could smell the rain
has been battered, somewhat senseless,
by the very rain of life,
that once he knew, was his to command.

Time?
It’s a stranger to me.

If it has changed anything
it was without my knowledge or permission .
That’s for sure.

Who is this Time, to come along bringing changes,
in its wake to me?

Something strange, really strange has happened.
The rhythm, that drumming that was behind me,
off in the distant mountains, just past my sense of perception,

that lightening that was just beyond my peripheral vision,
has rolled, rumbled, clashed, thundered and flashed pass me.

Where I once thought I heard it approaching me,
I now see it passing off into the distance,
in front of me,
fading and dying away,
leaving behind it, just a very still, very bright sun,

that I am now content to feel warm the top of my head
and then my face
as I lift my head up high, once again,
to smell the essence,
the meaning of its presence.

Once again, I have the gift of precognition by right.
Once again, I can both see the past in total clarity
and foretell the future with perfect ease.

Something has changed again
and it is that same fool who keeps pestering me.

First teaching me to learn,
learning me to know
and then showing me that I have learned and know nothing
and all it seems, in the blinking, of one soft tear moistened eye.

And from here,
from this exact same place,
from which I first heard the rhythm

and saw the clouds and the sky
and the flashes of light
and the movement of life,

I can see that everything is everything
and nothing is nothing,
as they used to say on the street that I am from.

I can see the future very clearly.
No, not the little details,
the little, really, seriously, unimportant details,
but the big final result.

Me and time rocking gently,
this time hand in hand,
quiet, very quiet,
on the porch,
gently remembering the rhythm,
the drumming, the thunder,
the lightening,
gazing, smiling at the sun.