why do you,

check into the guest house/ghost house of my mind

sweep open the door; sweep up the verandah

early morning antics of clarifying the nightmares

of tantalizing images of wild abandon with you

peek in the corners; stare at the broken furniture

smashed windows; scattered images

early morning madness of broken wings,

and tea

 

Picture of window by Ray Flanagan

Poem

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 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.

–Jellaludin Rumi

Imagined for mlmm Writing Prompt 187,  Collage 34 – The Guest House

@ lorraine & her frilly freudian slip