Dust

This past weekend my husband and I traveled to Leavenworth to spend a couple days with his brothers and three of their cousins (the “girl cousins,” as they called themselves). Spending all of my time around 20-somethings and 14-year-olds, as I seem to these days, it was a treat for me to be the youngest. (“Our new cousin!” I was called, although Bruce and I have been married 28 years.) We arrived late, as getting our daughter Annie moved to Western (WWU) was a priority, and we left early, as our youngest had doings we needed to attend to. But it was splendid.

I promised to post some pictures of my writing cabin, inside and out. I have spent 5 hours out here this morning. Now it’s time for a shower and a trip to Bellingham (Annie forgot to take a raincoat). Tonight, I drive to Chehalis to spend some time with Mom. Having written this morning, I know I’m anchored, like a plant, sinking roots into soil. I’ll be back Wednesday morning.

In the meantime, here’s a poem from Rumi. Whatever you’re doing this morning, be inspired!

This being human is a guesthouse,
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 thoughts, 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.

-Merlana Jelal-uddin Rumi