Drumsound rises on the air,
its throb, my heart.

A voice inside the beat
says, “I know you’re tired,
but come. This is the way.”

Rumi
Translated by Coleman Barks

Zzzzzzzz.  Zzzz.  Zzzzzzzz.  Quiet, then once again Zzzzzzzz. Zzzz. Zzzzzzzz.   On its own, the repetitiveness of the sound was akin to a joyful hum, seemingly celebrating the deep pulse of life.  It had its own rhythmic pattern of rising and falling, circling into and back out of itself like the eternal cycles of existence. As a simple...