The Welcome Mat
This being human is a guest house. Today, I’m sweeping off the welcome mat.
While puttering around the house doing projects, I was listening to Sirius XM Radio’s On Broadway channel — a familiar soundtrack whether I’m driving and belting along or simply doing chores. What was unusual today was that two songs played back-to-back, making me stop and sit down just to listen.
First came “Is Anybody There?” from 1776. If you know the score, you know it’s a musical retelling of the creation and signing of the Declaration of Independence. And if you know the soundtrack, you also know that William Daniels isn’t exactly famous for his singing. Yet his rendition carries a bittersweet poignance, especially in our current national mood — and after, for the first time, my choice to ignore the July 4th holiday entirely.
Then Sirius had the audacity to follow that with “The Impossible Dream,” sung by Richard Kiley — who is known for his singing chops. That familiar song invited soft tears, stirring personal chords that resonated deeply with this year’s cascade of grief, anger, forgiveness, redemption — and, gratefully, joy.
I’ve long been enchanted by how the Sufi mystic and poet Rumi painted our human experience as a guest house. In his 1926 translation, R.A. Nicholson writes:
“Be ready at every moment to entertain them honourably:
the heart is a guest house, and the thoughts are the guests.”
Centuries later, Coleman Barks distilled it with luminous simplicity:
“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...”
Like these poets, when I wake each morning, I wonder who will show up for me today. Will I have the courage — and the wherewithal — to host them all? Can I welcome each guest emotion, each fear, each fragile dream with the same respect and graciousness I’d offer a dear friend, a stranger, or a stray in need?
As with most hosts, sometimes I’m successful in how I entertain and comfort; sometimes I find myself utterly devoid of courtesy (or comestibles) to make things right.
Who’s knocking at your guest house today? Grief, joy, an impossible dream?
Maybe in sharing this, it might encourage each of us to sweep off our welcome mats, set them straight, and know — from within our own guest houses — that all are welcome, and the Light is on.
“This body, O youth, is a guest house:
every morning a new guest comes running (into it).
Bewilderment, self-conceit, dishonesty, and the like
arrive as guests from the Invisible World.
Be ready at every moment to entertain them honourably:
the heart is a guest house, and the thoughts are the guests.
If a sorrowful thought comes to you,
a multitude of happiness will come after it.
Be cheerful, do not complain of grief:
glory be to Him who brings guests in plenty to His guest house.”
— R.A. Nicholson, 1926
Amazing, beautifully expressed! Thank you.