The Guest House, by Rumi
October 2, 2020
The Guest House
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 are 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 whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
— Jellaludin Rumi, translated into English by Coleman Barks
Written by our in-house Grief Counselor, Amanda Nelsen.
In the last few paragraphs of Greg McKeown’s book, Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less , the author tells a heartbreaking story of a man whose three-year-old daughter has died. The father wished to put together a slideshow of her little life to play at her funeral. He had documented on his camera every outing he’d ever taken with his daughter, and he had hours of footage. But as he scrolled through the thousands of photos and videos, he realized, with growing alarm, that nearly all the images he had captured were of the sights, views, meals, and landmarks of their trips. He had practically no close-up images of his daughter. He had failed to recognize what was essential in his life until she was gone.
Dear Ted,
Dear Ted,
Gained in Translation
The first known obituary dates back to about 60 BC, found carved into the stone and metal tablets hung in the Forum of Julius Caesar’s ancient Rome. The obits section of these “early newspapers” was considered part of Rome’s social news, listed alongside gladiator battle results and notable marriage announcements.
The visceral experience of grief within one’s body, mind, and soul has often been compared to weather phenomena: a tidal wave, a raging storm, or even a gentle breeze.
