The other night, I came across this old photo of my dad and his high school buddies and it made me think of this poem by Rumi. And the Rumi poem made me think of the image below which I made at a small northern Michigan cemetery.
That’s my dad on the far left. He stayed in touch with those guys for the rest of his life.
Be With Those Who Help Your Being
Be with those who help your being.
Don’t sit with indifferent people, whose breath
comes cold out of their mouths.
Not these visible forms, your work is deeper.
A chunk of dirt thrown in the air breaks to pieces.
If you don’t try to fly,
and so break your self apart,
you will be broken open by death,
when it’s too late for all you could become.
Leaves get yellow. The tree puts out fresh roots
and makes them green.
Why are you so content with a love that turns you yellow?