“Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh and the greatness which does not bow before children.”

– Kahlil Gibran

Wisdom that is free to cry, philosophy which is free to laugh and greatness which is able to bow before children — these must come from the heart.  In the past few days, I’ve had two opportunities to enjoy two of my favorite things, drumming and children.  I love drumming.  I love kids.  When you bring the two together, I love the magic it creates; and I bow before the children.

On Saturday, we attended the Great Djembe Jam at Mayfair, a local arts festival in our area.  A group of drummers had rehearsed some rhythms and took the stage to create delightful beats that filled the air of the festival tent will joy.  Some of us brought our own drums and sat in the audience to participate in the interactive performance.  It was such fun to be a part of the music that drew a crowd to clap and bob and be a part of the process.

Then there were the children.  While the adults in the group sat in the folding chairs provided, the little ones were drawn toward the stage like moths to the flame.  They danced and bobbed and laughed and grinned, climbing the fence at the front of the stage in order to get the best view.  They were one with the music, and they only paused to look around for their parents when one song would end and the next had not yet begun.  A new beat would start, and they would fall right back into the power of the music.  As I sat in the first row, enjoying the chance to play, I found myself taken to a new level of enjoyment by the wide-eyed wonder of these little people.

The experience was repeated last night at our local community drum circle.  Again, we all had fun.  Again, the wide-open and unbridled joy reflected in the faces of the children made the rest of us seem a bit dull by comparison.  When is it that we lose the ability to meet the world with arms wide open and let our joy tumble out in response?  When is it that we learn to trust our thoughts over our inborn sense of joy and wonder?

Yesterday, for the first time in a month, Mark and I took our morning walk together.  We moved at a quicker pace than I do when I walk alone, since his longer legs only need two strides to cover the distance that I do in three.  I suppose I’ve lost my edge for exercise walking since a knee problem last Fall forced me to take a break and come back at a slower pace.  It probably doesn’t help matters that I’ve also grown accustomed to bringing my camera on my morning jaunts.  And did I mention my love of rock collecting?  Well, I have to keep my eyes open for shiny stones, too.  Otherwise, I might arrive home with empty pockets; and that would never do.

We walked for about half an hour, and Mark would patiently walk in circles now and then as I took a picture or picked up a stone.  When we arrived back at the house, he turned to me and said, “walking with you reminds me of walking with David (our son) when he was three.”  I knew exactly what he meant, because David has always had more than the average dose of curiosity.  A walk around the block with three-year-old Dave could take an hour.

At first, I felt a little bit insulted and ruffled by Mark’s observation.  Then I remembered the kids at the Djembe Jam and the delight in our little grandchildren at Christmastime when their Uncle Max let them play along.  I realized then what a compliment my sweetheart had bestowed on me.  Could it be that as I get older my focus is shifting again?  Could it be that my heart takes the lead more often and sees the world with eyes wide open?  Let’s never become to great to bow before the wisdom of a child.  They have things to teach us that we have forgotten.

Here is my son, Max with some of my grandchildren.  (The critic in the background was having trouble sharing his Daddy that day)

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