September 17 2023
When the dark comes to my door, I want to invite them in and set the table for them. Who knows what they have to say?
I haven’t, but I’m trying. It’s easier to run 50 miles in the Appalachians than it is to welcome the dark. You can trust me on this. So maybe my first move in this new way of being is to unlock the door, leave it shut, walk away.
What a wild move.
Then next time I might crack the door and peak out. Beyond the door’s threshold might be the disappointment of a lover, the absence of a mother, the failed project or the loneliness that’s been locked out. I say, “You’re out there for a reason. Stay the hell away. You have no home here.” Then I close the door and bolt it shut.
But — I cracked it open and spoke. I do a dance.
No one or no thing goes away. They stay outside the door, needing no food or water to survive. They feed on me whether or not I let them in, taking my connection as I am at work or with my boys. I can feel its absence. My boys are with me but I am not with them. I am on my dumb phone or busying myself with cleaning so as to not be in the slow time of sitting on the floor with them, legos under my butt. “Can’t right now pal. I have to do this thing I avoided until this moment.”
The dark knocks again. I’ve been listening, and now I am familiar with the sound of its fist against the wood. I know its rhythm. I twist the bolt, crack the door, peer through the opening and see all of them there. This time anger is stands in front of the rest. “It’s you. Hello.” The door stays cracked. I walk away and call my brother in Oregon. We have different mothers but the same one. He answers even when he can’t answer. He’s packing up the car to go to his kid’s soccer game with his wife, his ex-wife, and his cancer. I tell him who is at the door. He says ah yes, I know them too.
He tells me what Rumi told him.
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.
I tell him that sounds like a bunch of horseshit. How’s that for being human!
Maybe today will be the first day I open the door wide and leave it open, having no fear in me. Do not be afraid, the Christian scriptures say over and over and over and over. Maybe I don’t go as far as to invite them all in and treat them honorably, and that’s fine. I’ll still do my dance.
