The Guest House

Today is March 21 and I have absolutely no “excuse” for not having posted on Yellow Brick Road since February 26. Yes, we have had house guests off and on for the past six weeks. Yes, I have been riding up to 20 miles per day on my bike this year rather than the normal 5-8 miles of recent years, including time for stopping to share affection with this kitty on Harbor Drive.

Yes, I have completed 19 one-thousand-piece puzzles, and, yes, I have also read five books since we arrived here in Punta Gorda early December, but, the real reason my posts have been few and far between is far deeper.

The real reason is I am profoundly present with the play of light and darkness within my mind and that can be awkward to speak about. At Tuesday evening’s North Fort Myers Bluegrass Jam after the sun had gone down light was pouring in from from the nearby baseball field behind the line of trees. I was transfixed by this juxtaposition of the light and darkness so I snapped a photo.

I am likely continuing to mine gifts of intentionally working with shadow. These past years of classes with Barbara Brodsky and John Orr and Aaron during which we navigated the Sacred Darkness. Sacred Darkness is very much with me. As is the Light. Each experience brings myriad thoughts, feelings, sensations, emotions…. all can be welcomed, even while not all are comfortable, and some are outright uncomfortable.

As a guide, Rumi’s poem “The Guest House” comes to mind frequently.

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Copyright 1997 by Coleman Barks. Posted with permission. All rights reserved. From The Illuminated Rumi.

Every line of this poem played itself out on Sunday when I watched a china pasta bowl I bought at the flea market for one dollar break in half against the asphalt. A hundred things cannot fully express the thoughts, feelings, sensations, and emotions melded into an experience.

“It was only one dollar,” were the words I spoke at the time of the crash.

Totally true words, but not the totality of my experience.

I could not get that bowl out of my thoughts.

I wished I had taken it to the van.

The best way to describe it is like a too-brief encounter that leaves you yearning for a deeper knowing of one another. Who made this? How did it come to be at this flea market today? Who gave it such a low price? What is/was it’s real value? What would it feel like and look like filled with delicious food sitting in the middle of the table?

I wished I had taken a photo of that bowl it to remember it by. I think I recall there having been a couple of butterflies and some flowers. I know there was green along the rim. The bowl was made in Italy, but I do not know if it was hand painted. I wished I had carefully brought the two halves home and glued them back together rather than having John toss them into the trash can. It could not hold pasta but perhaps it could have held fruit on the counter…. I grieved the loss.

Complicating factors were the unanswered questions around the mishap. Details I did not have access to as I longed to put my mind at rest. I wanted to know the who, what, when, where, why, and how. I longed to free my mind of the ruminating. This being human is a guest house.

The experience is not just about that bowl. It is about the nature of mind. A loved one dies. A loved one survives. All of the unanswered questions. A welcomed baby. An abused child. Kindness. Unkindness. Pleasant and painful. Light and darkness playing itself out on that inner landscape of mind.

This being human is a guest house. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. ~ Rumi