Last Saturday was the funeral of my dearest Mom, and it has been, and will continue to be a time of coming home to myself as I let this sacred journey unfold inside of me.
Grief has no rules, nor knows no road map. It seems to take us where we need to go, in it's own time. For now it's still fresh, and cloaked with soft numbness. But I'm sure that will change into something else. In fact, the only thing I can be sure of, is that it will change.
Deeply personal, we each experience loss in a our own way. There are no right or wrongs, nor should there be.
For me, this poem 'The Guest House" by Rumi is a tender reminder to welcome all the guests that come knocking at my heart as I take each tentative step forward. To embrace each one with humility. And above all, to be grateful for their presence as I do believe that each has been sent to help guide me down this path.
Namaste
Namo Amida Bu. _/l\_
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.
Rumi
No comments:
Post a Comment