I am taking another look at the poem, The Guest House, by Rumi that I posted yesterday. I see it challenging me at a deeper, more personal level today. (That is how poetry is, how all art is). I would like to suggest that the unexpected guest is one’s self. I think I will do a rewrite of the poem as I ponder this idea. You can refer to yesterday’s blog to see the original.
This being human is like a guest house.
Each day, a new part of my self arrives.
Sometimes joy, sometimes depression as I witness
a meanness in me.
These awarenesses are unexpected…
I don’t know where they come from.
I try to welcome them all, even if they bring me sorrow.
Some have been violent, a horror to admit
that these aspects of myself exist.
But they seem to come for a reason at a particular time,
perhaps because I am more open and less fearful.
They seem to come with a goal…
“Look me in the eye” they say.
“Stare me down”.
Early on, when I would let such visitors come in,
I would fall into darkness and shame.
But now (who could guess it would come to this?)
There is laughter and gratitude.
Another character defect swept out the door!
Another apology to make…but I know I can handle that!
Oh, I am so full of gratitude!
Where did I get the courage?
From others who have gone before me.
And lest I forget:
For not all my guests are villains.
Some bring sweet truths.