Rumi's great at this. He's a laughing mystic. Reading The Guest House (below) with a little extra attention, maybe like an actor trying on a role, letting our feelings and facial expressions go with the script, we get to audition for spaciousness.
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house,
Every day a new arrival,
a joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected guest.
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 whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
(translated by Coleman Barks)
This being human is a guest house,
Every day a new arrival,
a joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected guest.
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 whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
(translated by Coleman Barks)
What makes you smile? Or cringe? I marvel at Rumi's outrageous advice. All the negative bits are framed by words like welcome, entertain, treat honorably, meet, laugh, invite, be grateful.
I think engaging life with this kind of intent is what being 'a gatekeeper in the house of my God' is about--welcoming, welcoming, never mind the clothes or the smell or the rowdiness or the sense there's just not enough room! Welcome and entertain them all.
