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Poetry That I Love

    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’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.

    — Jalaluddin Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks (The Essential Rumi)

    The Uses of Sorrow | Mary Oliver

    Someone I loved once gave me
    a box full of darkness.
    It took me years to understand
    that this, too, was a gift.