I was at brunch with a friend on Saturday when I noticed that the restaurant’s patio décor included a big pot of mature rosemary. One of the overnight frosts we had last month fried my nascent rosemary plant and I hadn’t been able to find a replacement. And I was having lamb for Easter, so I required a couple of fistfuls of rosemary as well as considerable garlic. It occurred to me that the restaurant mightn’t mind if I pruned their substantial shrub discreetly, so yesterday I walked over with a plastic bag in my pocket for that purpose.
Well, it’s been well over a year since I’ve been
on those paths, and I got a little lost on my way. I’m so grateful I did,
because I came across a stunningly beautiful rock garden. I mean—just look:
I couldn’t capture the splendor in stills; I needed to go to video
to provide a sense of visual flow, because the more I looked, the more there was to see:
The architecture is spectacular, balanced by the whimsy.
(And you’ll notice that there was a guardian keeping a watchful
eye on my shenanigans.)
Well, that unexpected treasure leads me to today’s entry for
National Poetry Month, “The Guest House”, by Rumi. The 13th Century
Persian mystic, scholar and poet was born in what is now Afghanistan; his
family fled their home ahead of Mongol invaders and settled in Turkey. You
might say that Rumi was a refugee. And we are lucky that the leader of the
country where his family sought asylum didn’t ship them off to the 13th
Century equivalent of Rwanda for “processing”, because the world is so much
better for his body of works.
In “The Guest House”, Rumi speaks to the need to welcome the
unexpected into our lives—whatever that may be. It’s good advice, and that’s
part of my gratitude today, too.
(Oh, I did get the rosemary, Easter Day was gorgeous and the lamb
was delicious.)
“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’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.
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