The Guest House- translated by Coleman Barks
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.
The Boarding House
My soul is a boarding house.
Guests come daily through my revolving door.
Misery just left a freshly widowed mother
and traversed a two day’s journey
to wipe its charcoaled feet at my doorstep.
It snores like moans in its sleep.
I offer it Earl Grey tea the next morning.
It prefers no sugar.
Fear rat-tat-tats with metallic fist and bolted knuckles.
I chuckle at it with an awkward tone.
We discuss the debts I owe it
and iron out installment plans.
Loneliness is wide
and drapes the floor in the main room
Like a Persian rug.
No other guests find room to sit when it visits.
They have no place else for respite
and the plastic “Welcome” mat won’t make a liar out of me.
So my boarding house stays fully occupied
until these rolling stones feel it’s time to head on their unmerry way.
When they do, I will clean with elbow grease and lemon and repentant prayer.
by Dorian “Paul D” Rogers
