The guest house
Her website includes a poem by Rumi - The Guest House. I know this piece. I am fascinated by the idea of embracing every aspect of our human-ness. I aspire to this. Seeing this poem feels like an invitation. I will work with her. I will focus on The Guest House and Jeni Couzyn's House of Changes. I want to understand who is in my guest house, whether they are bickering, whether we can be friends.
The Guest House - Jelaluddin Rumi, translation 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 are a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honourably. 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.
House of Changes – Jeni Couzyn
My Body is a wide house. A commune of bickering women, hearing their own breathing denying each other. Nearest the door ready in her black leather is Vulnerable. She lives in the hall her face painted with care her black boots reaching her crotch her black hair shining her skin milky and soft as butter. If you should ring the doorbell she would answer and a wound would open across her eyes as she touched your hand.
On the stairs, glossy and determined is Mindful. She’s the boss, handing out Punishments and rations and examination papers with precise justice. She keeps her perceptions in a huge album under her arm her debts in the garden with the weed kill friends in card-index on the window sill of the sitting room and a tape-recording of the world on earphones which she plays to herself over and over assessing her life writing summaries.
In the kitchen is Commendable. The only lady in the house who dresses in florals she is always busy, always doing something for someone she had a lot of friends. Her hands are quick and cunning as blackbirds her pantry is stuffed with loaves and fishes she knows the times of trains and mends fuses and makes a lot of noise with the vacuum cleaner. In her linen cupboard, newly-ironed and neatly folded, she keeps her resentments like wedding presents- each week takes them out for counting not to lose any but would never think of using any being a lady. Upstairs in a white room is my favourite. She is Equivocal has no flesh on her bones that are changeable as yarrow stalks. She hears her green plants talking watches the bad dreams under the world unfolding spends all her days and night arranging her symbols never sleeps never eats hamburgers never lets anyone into her room never asks for anything.
In the basement is Harmful. She is the keeper of weapons the watchdog. Keeps intruders at bay but the others keep her locked up in the day time and when she escapes she comes out screaming smoke streaming from her nostrils flames on her tongue razor-blades for fingernails skewers for eyes.
I am Imminent. I live out in the street watching them. I lodge myself in other people’s heads with a sleeping bag strapped to my back. One day I’ll perhaps get to like them enough those rough, truthful women to move in. One by one I’m making friends with them all unobtrusively, slow and steady slow and steady.
The Guest House - Jelaluddin Rumi, translation 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 are a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honourably. 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.
House of Changes – Jeni Couzyn
My Body is a wide house. A commune of bickering women, hearing their own breathing denying each other. Nearest the door ready in her black leather is Vulnerable. She lives in the hall her face painted with care her black boots reaching her crotch her black hair shining her skin milky and soft as butter. If you should ring the doorbell she would answer and a wound would open across her eyes as she touched your hand.
On the stairs, glossy and determined is Mindful. She’s the boss, handing out Punishments and rations and examination papers with precise justice. She keeps her perceptions in a huge album under her arm her debts in the garden with the weed kill friends in card-index on the window sill of the sitting room and a tape-recording of the world on earphones which she plays to herself over and over assessing her life writing summaries.
In the kitchen is Commendable. The only lady in the house who dresses in florals she is always busy, always doing something for someone she had a lot of friends. Her hands are quick and cunning as blackbirds her pantry is stuffed with loaves and fishes she knows the times of trains and mends fuses and makes a lot of noise with the vacuum cleaner. In her linen cupboard, newly-ironed and neatly folded, she keeps her resentments like wedding presents- each week takes them out for counting not to lose any but would never think of using any being a lady. Upstairs in a white room is my favourite. She is Equivocal has no flesh on her bones that are changeable as yarrow stalks. She hears her green plants talking watches the bad dreams under the world unfolding spends all her days and night arranging her symbols never sleeps never eats hamburgers never lets anyone into her room never asks for anything.
In the basement is Harmful. She is the keeper of weapons the watchdog. Keeps intruders at bay but the others keep her locked up in the day time and when she escapes she comes out screaming smoke streaming from her nostrils flames on her tongue razor-blades for fingernails skewers for eyes.
I am Imminent. I live out in the street watching them. I lodge myself in other people’s heads with a sleeping bag strapped to my back. One day I’ll perhaps get to like them enough those rough, truthful women to move in. One by one I’m making friends with them all unobtrusively, slow and steady slow and steady.
Week 1: preparation
I want to prepare myself. I am willing to work hard. I am searching for liberation from these things that hold me back. I want to find out who is living in this guest house. I make eight stories to take to my first session. Some old pieces - clearly guests. After six I am surprised I have only identified unwelcome guests. Are there any guests I am happy with? I go searching and find two.
I want to prepare myself. I am willing to work hard. I am searching for liberation from these things that hold me back. I want to find out who is living in this guest house. I make eight stories to take to my first session. Some old pieces - clearly guests. After six I am surprised I have only identified unwelcome guests. Are there any guests I am happy with? I go searching and find two.
|
|
Week 2: scared little (silenced) girl
Didn't realise she was so scared.
Didn't realised how much was invested in her silence.
The other guests won't let her speak
No wonder she is scared
I am surprised at these elaborate defences
Strategic self
The coper: I can get through this
The pleaser: is this helpful? (now will you love me)
The achiever: you are amazing
The critic: no you're not, you're a piece of shit. shut up
Sssssh
Be quite
Behave
Grow up.
Didn't realise she was so scared.
Didn't realised how much was invested in her silence.
The other guests won't let her speak
No wonder she is scared
I am surprised at these elaborate defences
Strategic self
The coper: I can get through this
The pleaser: is this helpful? (now will you love me)
The achiever: you are amazing
The critic: no you're not, you're a piece of shit. shut up
Sssssh
Be quite
Behave
Grow up.
Week 3: Invisible girl
She is so hidden. Unheard. Unseen. Unloved. I decide to embrace her. To listen. I talk to her. I build trust. I ask her to speak to me. I can feel the pain. It hits with mind blowing force. I am surprised I am not thrown from my chair. I am surprised people don't come rushing. It's incredibly powerful. I don't know what it is. But I try to catch it. Frightened little girl.
She is so hidden. Unheard. Unseen. Unloved. I decide to embrace her. To listen. I talk to her. I build trust. I ask her to speak to me. I can feel the pain. It hits with mind blowing force. I am surprised I am not thrown from my chair. I am surprised people don't come rushing. It's incredibly powerful. I don't know what it is. But I try to catch it. Frightened little girl.
|
|
|
|
She whispers: you don't see me, that is why I am so scared. I listen intently. I have been here and discarded this so many times before. Crumpled into a little ball and thrown away. Shouldn't-feel-like-this. CBT: how likely is it to occur? Unlikely? 5% chance? Okay, now imagine putting it on a leaf and floating it down a stream. Doesn't that feel better? No, it doesn't. ACT: breathe into it, sit with the pain. I am, but that doesn't help because I don't know what the pain is and it keeps coming back. This time I pick up the crumpled paper and hold it to my heart. We all sob uncontrollably. I see you now. YOU. Yes, YOU. I see you. I see you. We need to talk.
|
Week 4: Soldier (chemical warfare)
There is a war going on in here Chemicals are being used I know about corticosteroids I know fright Why wasn't I told about oxytocin? The politics of fear Focus on chemicals of mass destruction I didn't know about oxytocin About the 90 second hug These chemicals could be cultivated If corticosteroids moved to one side And created some space in here …. We are all happy There is talk of a treaty We are willing to lay down arms but how? |
|
|
Week 4: Kakapo
One big step back - was it? I shouldn't have Trigger Tidal wave Little child No corticosteroids Just grief And paralysis Words, lots and lots of words Paralysis Kakapo - flightless bird Watching - actionless Surrounded on all sides Paralysed Overwhelmed Paralysed. |
Week 5: guest house dispute
|
|
Ouch it has been a tough week. It has been on for young and old. I can see clearly now what is going on. I know who the trouble makers are. The Coper and The Achiever are bossy. They dominate. They block The Scared Little Girl - Invisible Girl. They won't allow her to speak. They won't allow her space. Any time there is space - they fill it. They tell her she is not welcome here. They tell her they don't want to play with her because she is a cry baby. I can see that this is making things worse for her. Exacerbating her hurt and sense of abandonment. I have been working hard to change this dynamic. I have been listening - but it feels like I am walking backwards into the wind. It felt I have turned my whole world on its head. Utter chaos. Why walk backwards when I am so much faster and efficient and accustomed to walking forwards? I know why. Because this has to change. She has the right to be heard. The Guest House will not be liberated until she is. So I work at it - even though at times I feel bloody miserable. I work at it. I work at it. I work at it. And, now, I can feel it beginning to shift.
|
Week 6: Lotus
She has suggested that I need to consider self compassion. That resonates. I read about what it is. But I struggle to grab a hold of some practical thing that I can do to make a change. Then I discover Tara Brach. There is something here for me. I listen to her teaching on Forgiveness. Again and again and again. And again. She talks about how we create separation from ourselves. She says this happens when we set the bar too high for ourselves and we don't achieve the standards we set. We think we should be different, better. We believe we are flawed. So we turn on ourselves and others. This causes suffering and we develop a hard, armoured heart. In response she says we need to practice self compassion. To forgive ourselves. I can see she is right. I can feel she is right. I recognise that I turn on myself. I turn on the invisible, scared child. I tell her to grow up. I want to change … but how? I keep replaying the Forgiveness teaching to learn a way forward that will work for me. I want something simple that I can practice over and over and over until I am kinder to myself. I write myself an ABC of self compassion from Tara's teaching and also from Kristin Neff's work.
There is a life time of gouging to undo. There is armour to melt away. There is a heart to be liberated. |
|
Week 7: checking in
Trying ABC - its not enough. Its good when there is an incident or a crisis. But don't feel like I am building capacity. Need a practice that is more ordinary. More everyday. Something that helps deal with the mundane. Something that helps mindfulness.
I need to be present - in this body when there is so much drama around me.
I find a strategy and I practice regularly:
1) What do you see?
2) What do you hear?
3) What do you feel in your body: your toes, your ankles, your calves, your thighs, your butt, your back …. ?
4) What about you - scared little girl - what do you feel?
5) It's okay, I am here. I will look after you.
Trying ABC - its not enough. Its good when there is an incident or a crisis. But don't feel like I am building capacity. Need a practice that is more ordinary. More everyday. Something that helps deal with the mundane. Something that helps mindfulness.
I need to be present - in this body when there is so much drama around me.
I find a strategy and I practice regularly:
1) What do you see?
2) What do you hear?
3) What do you feel in your body: your toes, your ankles, your calves, your thighs, your butt, your back …. ?
4) What about you - scared little girl - what do you feel?
5) It's okay, I am here. I will look after you.
|
Week 8: letting go
I let go this week. Really it was very liberating I was backed into a corner and I let go I felt incredibly strong I felt empowered I didn't feel scared I was quite surprised It took a while to adjust afterwards This new thing - what is it? I realise I have been checking in It helps She is not so scared She knows I am listening This can be a way forward I have to celebrate this To congratulate us all. |
|
|
|
|
Week 12: Inter-guest relationships
Been wondering where to next Are there more people in here? Has anyone left? I have been watching interactions I see things now A friend talks to me about Jung I read Clarissa Pinkola Estes There is something here An essence Its about relationships Inter-guest relationships Its time to explore Its time to talk some more. |
|
Week 75 (or there abouts)
I am holidaying on my own and all hell breaks loose. Small child in distress. Inconsolable. Cannot be ignored any longer. Time to look at inter-guest house relationships. Really feeling backed into a corner. Need to pull out something special here. Then I remember. She suggested 'Whole Brain Child'. I didn't ever finish it. This could be a way of understanding how to support this poor little child.
I am holidaying on my own and all hell breaks loose. Small child in distress. Inconsolable. Cannot be ignored any longer. Time to look at inter-guest house relationships. Really feeling backed into a corner. Need to pull out something special here. Then I remember. She suggested 'Whole Brain Child'. I didn't ever finish it. This could be a way of understanding how to support this poor little child.
NAME IT AND TAME IT: I wander the streets lost in the florid chatter in my head. Vivid. Persistent. Scrambled. Exhausting. Each time I try to tell the story it gets hijacked. Speared by sharp thoughts of not good enough. fat. ugly. old. alone. looser. misfit. Story can't be told. No beginning, middle, end. Exhausting.
|
NAME IT AND TAME IT: Still wild, untamed, unheard. No story. Just words and thoughts. Too many thoughts. Florid. And then it begins to settle. I begin to calm. Emotion spent. I begin to tell the story. It starts. It finishes. I feel my body begin to settle.
|
ENGAGE - DON'T ENRAGE: I'm all alone. I have no one to play with. No one wants to play with me. I'm scared. I'm lonely. Why don't they love me? Why won't they play with me?
|
NAME IT AND TAME IT: I'm such a dork. I could have been discovered in an archeological dig. Everyone else is beautiful. Everyone else is safe. They all hate me. I'm nobody. I'm nothing
|
MOVE IT OR LOSE IT: Yoga begins. My body moves first then my mind follows. I don't want to move but I do. As I breathe I enter the room. It's okay to be here. This place is safe. I create a safe moment. And then another, and another, and another ....
|
CONNECT THRU CONFLICT: Really? Are you sure? If they hurt me I don't want to play with them again. How could they hurt me when I've been a good little girl?
Oh, .... I realise now I disconnect through conflict. I wipe. I blame others for their dysfunction. I see it now ...
|
They hurt me again. small lost child. Autopilot. Numb. Intense pain. The brain goes wild. Then shut off. Too much pain. It hurts. But maybe I could try something new. Maybe I could see this differently. I could respond differently. I see my response. This is not just art - this is strategy that informs art. Do it!
|
|
I gather that part of this process is about having fun together. Well how do we do that? I can have fun - but how do we do that together? Going to go to the beach today and see who comes.
POST SCRIPT: nope! Didn't happen. They didn't play. They didn't even attempt to have fun together. Bossy boots was in control. No one else was invited.
|
|
They are bitches
You should have seen the looks on their faces when they heard we were going off to have fun. They killed it No one wanted to go them Cruel, hard women. |
But then we tried again. We went to tea together. She checked in to see if I was okay. She was soothing. It was comforting. I don't know if that is what you mean by 'having fun together' - but I can tell you I had fun. We all did.
|
I could see she was scared. Actually, she looked miserable. I let her know I was there. I love her so much - sometimes I wonder if she knows that. I must tell her more often.
|
|
It's hard to play when you are in pain and when you are on guard. I see now I was treating shame, embarrassment, worthlessness, lack of self-compassion. Diseases fuelled by the intra-guest conflict.
|
I have much more of a sense now of each guest. I recognise each has their own room, their own space and identity. The layers of complexity begin to unfold. I am learning to value this richness.
|
|
Week 106