The Guest House - Rumi

and one of my most favourites....
 

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.






Rumi

Watch for the Time - is there Ever Enough?

Like many of my generation, we count first and spend second. We were raised by parents who worked hard to accumulate and did not have access to a credit card. Did you know that the charge card did not become well known and used in Canada until the late 1960s? Can you imagine how many dollars sat hidden under mattresses until then?

When I saw the watch that I had been coveting, on a 30% off sale, my heart started to flutter. There is nothing quite as alluring as “the hunt”, it is my feeble attempt at beating the system. Yes, darn it all, I am a rule-follower (for the most part). 

Once a deal is spotted, what happens to you? Is there a voice that says “do it!”, or like most of us is there a trail of big and little voices playing in our heads? Do you hear, “what do you need that for?”, “are you sure you can afford it?”, and sometimes most loudly “do you deserve it?” The echoes of all these voices can continue in varying volumes depending on circumstance.

Then the next phase began. Instinct one: see if my children will share the cost and give it to me for Christmas. Yes, denial to deserve raised its ugly head. Maybe sharing the guilt would make it easier, I could justify the “gift”. Instinct two: consider it my own Christmas present and wait 54 days to put it on. Procrastination, maybe by then, I would feel like I deserve it. Instinct three: (in a quiet voice but certainly getting louder over the years) Wear it, love it, enjoy it. Instinct three won out and on the weekend, that watch became mine.

In light of a month that ended with several tragic accidents that took many young lives, I ponder the passage of time. The brevity of life to do the things we truly enjoy, to share our happiness with abounding joy. My heart goes out to the families of those lost and of the persons that took those lives. No one is left unscathed, just our roles differ. For an old colleague, who died quickly but not without pain, thank you Jon, for all you gave to the world.

So today, I am wearing my new watch. I have subdued the voice that said that “ I didn’t need it”, and I have opened a sufficient number of bank statements that say “I can afford it”. 

In tribute to those who will not enjoy the luxury of time, I wear a watch that will bear witness to each moment passing.

Mischief

No great..er Mischief: and so lineage carries on. The misspelled words, quaint recipes and the tendencies to drink (too much). The succeeding generations cannot foretell when the unexpected red-haired child will appear, the crooked little finger (in my family often incorrectly diagnosed as arthritis), I see it in my one child’s approach to sleeping sprawled like a conqueror and in the other’s fascination in all things chocolate. Have you ever wondered at your musical ability, or a sibling's fashion sense, why is it that your parent still has the energy of a 20 year old?

I admire the lines that brought courageous people across turbulent waters, surviving unspeakable experiences involving food and toilet facilities and their stoic faces burying their loved ones. I see them turning their stiffened shoulders on windy cliffs and passing on that grace to the coming generations. The smiling triumph of mountains scaled, crops grown to harvest, and raging rivers forded. I wonder at their tenacity to not quit, not stop until the job was done. Give thanks for your great grandfathers and great grandmothers for they truly were “great”.

Read: No Great Mischief – Alistair MacLeod. Thanks to Christine for leaving this book behind in the staff room.

Corridor of Free Expression

Someone mentioned to me that she had written on the wall above the photocopier. Nothing too profound, just the code for copies so she didn't have to repeat it many times through the day. The building is coming down you see, as are many others along 17 Ave, making space for the LRT extension.

This got me thinking of all the expressions we could scribble in our spaces, to make it truly our own. Would the gentle draw flowers and write prose and the more angry be prone to armoured tanks? Will we draw smiling faces, write love stories, tape up photos of memories shared?

Perhaps we could start a wave of creativity along the construction route, where for a brief period we could feel the courage to be ourselves. Will our words be more real when we know that they have a terminal date?

As I drive and see the empty lots, see buildings staring back with vacant eyes, see the large orange barrels, I do my best to follow the zig-zag of the freshly painted solid lines. How quickly I have forgotten what stood on that corner, how quickly we have become used to the relocation of a favourite coffee-drinking spot. We search out parking each morning, put on identifying tags; no one wants to end their day with a missing vehicle. Losing our personal space is quite enough for now.

But wherever we go, we take ourselves and the choice is ours - will we pack up our grudges along with our post-it notes and stapler or only bring our ha-ha jokes from our files?