The Guest House

The Guest House: By Rumi

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.

The house-wrecking sorrows and the paralyzing depressions. . . those house guests are very loud and very persistent down here in La Esperanza.  They stand on your doorstep, screaming and banging until you let them in.  When I was here 8 weeks ago, every day was a struggle.  I cried often, swore always, and lived under Eyeore’s rain cloud.  In preparing to come back, I worked my ponpones off to be in a centered, zen state.  And I’m so amazed at how much a little perspective and a few deep breaths has kept my feet planted firmly on the ground.  There is still the same tornado happening around me – kids are malnourished, gunshots ring out (in fact, a gunshot came through the school building during one night, and went through two walls), all of the kids and teachers and volunteers demand nearly every minute of my every day, and the program has a continually growing to-do list.  But, within all that, I still have carved out a few minutes of sacred time, where I meditate and sing and dance and practice a little gratitude.  Of course I still get sad, and frustrated, and soul achy.  My stomach hurts when I see the gunshot hole in the wall. But I know that those fear emotions won’t consume me.  I know that I can let them in to my guest house, feel the emotion deep in my bones, and then I take a deep breath and then do a silly dance.  Or I run outside and play jump rope, or find a hug, or ask my brother for a joke. 

My English team right now consists of 1 teacher who has been here for a year, 2 that have been here for 3 months, and 2 that are brand new.  I was planning on jumping back in with both feet to work on curriculum and behavior management tips and tricks and other teachery stuff I assumed the teachers needed (this is all their first time teaching).  But what I found, was an INTENSE need for connection, creativity, and vulnerability.  One of my new teachers is terrified being here – of the community and the classroom. Another teacher is angry and exhausted.  One teacher has not connected well with the others, and another was feeling so many emotions she was crumbling inside. There was no feeling of community among my group of teachers, but lots of feelings of frustration, confusion, anxiety, depression and discontent.  So, I threw my plans out the window, and have been knee deep in creative facilitation research. 

In the last two weeks, we have become poets, artists and actors.  We have played and laughed and danced and cried together.  We have pushed through the fear of judgment and comparison, and shared incredibly vulnerable things about ourselves and our experiences here.  We have found new respect for each other through the sharing process of our creativity.  We have connected with each other, through understanding that we each experience the intense emotional dichotomy of life here - “It’s not just me!” is such a liberating realization. We still have a long way to go.  Every week I have planned a different creative workshop – each one asking us to step out of our comfort zones, be creative, and be vulnerable.  We will practice self-compassion, meditation, gratitude and a drum circle. 

I have absolutely fallen in love with this process!  I am so grateful that I have the honest empathy to facilitate this for these women.  I have been in each of their shoes before.  I have experienced the unbearable rage at the injustices here, the deep depression that kept me glued to the couch, the soul aches of missing home, the heart wrenching sorrow of hearing and seeing death, the confusion, disbelief, horror and despair.   This time around, thanks to my conscious decision to stay grounded, and the open doors of my guest house, I am able to help them in the middle of their tornado.  We’ve only had three workshops so far, but they have blown me away.  When people are courageous enough to be vulnerable, it gives me piel de gallina and tears in my eyes.  It gives me such respect for that person, makes me notice their radiating beauty, and reminds me of our shared humanity.  

My collage from one of our workshops, showing the dichotomy of emotions