Thoughts for your heart: Guests in your house

Thoughts for your heart: Guests in your house

I recently went to a poetry reading in Notting Hill. It was, in fact, held in the utterly idealistic and charming setting of the real travel book store where Anna Scott, the movie star, met Hugh Grant, the book seller in our favourite romantic comedy, Notting Hill. I have to confess, I have always felt a longing affinity with Anna Scott. She is the movie star, who underneath all the glamour is just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.... okay seriously mushy stuff... but that line has been immortalized and is actually very sweet indeed. There is a beauty in being vulnerable. Anna you may notice, also has the same Surname as me and we both spend a lot of time in Notting Hill with intellectual types. All I need to do now is become a movie star and fall in love with an Englishman.

Poetry is something I haven't done in years. It brought me back to that feeling of being in high school, nervous of how people may perceive you, heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement, questioning whether your choice in poem would reflect who you are, questioning again whether that matters and again whether I could possibly be reading too much into things. Surely poetry is about expression! whether the topic is big or small, profound or frivolous, serious or silly; it all makes up elements of our world and who we are. Every word is welcomed like a house guest. Every speaker a catalyst for a new concept, a new energy, a new thought.

We were a mixed bag of gems, ranging from every age on the spectrum, some roughly cut and others polished to perfection. There were also some that may not have made it to gem classification, rather sinking rocks. Though how would you be able to appreciate a gem if it were not for the rocks. Rocks for those of you who aren't fond of following my encoded metaphors, are people who are self important, choose the longest piece of whatever writing they can find and insist of reading every line in a slow monotone voice while the audience pretends to look deeply interested but cant remember what you are talking about.

There were poems about the changing seasons, cherry trees, growing old and falling in love. All somehow bringing me back to thoughts of Notting Hill and dreams of being Anna Scott, while walking through the changing seasons of Portabello market (theme music included!). This brings me back to my poem. I chose a Poem by the Sufi Poet, Rumi. It was the only choice as this poem had chosen me.

When I first left Cape Town two years ago. I had a flame in my heart, a thirst for adventure and all I knew is that I wanted to make something of myself. I wanted to be independent. The one nagging problem was that I had no idea what I wanted to do and so I embarked on my quest to find my purpose in life. I knew there must be something for me out there. Like all young people it was essential that I took time out to "find myself" and what better place to do it other than my mother's Guest House in Fes, Morocco.

Me and my mom, Tessa Graaff

Built 600 years ago and nettled into the oldest part of the medi-evil, cobbled stone town that is Fes, the house is a magical hidden gem cleverly concealed in a mystical labyrinth of winding walled streets. The Guest House is a place of sanctuary. A place where you can hear your own heart beating and connect to your thoughts. It is a place where the pace of life is organic and slow. There are no cars and the daily walks have a grounding effect on one's soul. On one of my daily walks I stopped for lunch at the local eatery (a table in the street shared with whomever may choose you). A young ginger haired Scottish man sat next to me and we started talking about finding ones's purpose and my frustration at not know what mine was. To which he replied "oh I know exactly what my purpose is!". Well, I had to know, "What is it?". He told me that he was simply going to plant a shit load of tress! He was a horticulturist and was helping replant the rain forests. Wow, so he was going to plant masses of seeds and watch them grow all over the world?! What a perfect and fulfilling purpose! So rewardingly simple- the concept of physically watching a tree grow. Beautiful.

I was adamant that I would plant my own seeds and find my purpose! I had done the sensible thing and bought a good hand full of self help books at the airport- no laughing matter this- some where rubbish and others are still hold a loving place on my bedside table. I wrote lists and set goals and drew colourful diagrams. I listened to classical music and day dreamed. Then one day, taking a break from my life-mapping and flow charts I took a wonder around the great rooms of the twelve bedroomed house. Admiring the ancient tile work and eager to find something else to read, I rummaged in the spare room and found a book of poems by Rumi the Sufi poet. As a guest in my own guest house... this poem jumped out at me....

The Guest House

Darling, the body is a guest house;
every morning someone new arrives.
Don't say, "O, another weight around my neck!"
or your guest will fly back to nothingness.
Whatever enters your heart is a guest
from the invisible world: entertain it well.

Every day and every moment a thought comes
like an honoured guest into your heart.
My soul regard each thought as a person,
for every person's value is the thought they hold.

If a sorrowful thought stands in the way,
it is also preparing the way for joy.
It furiously sweeps your house clean,
in order that some new joy may appear from the Source.
It scatters the withered leaves from the bough of the heart,
in order that fresh leaves might grow.
It uproots the old joy so that
a new joy may enter from Beyond.

Sorrow pulls up the rotten root
that was veiled form sight.
Whatever sorrow takes away or causes teh heart to shed,
it puts something better in its place-
especially for one who is certain
that sorrow is the servant of the intuitive.

Without the frown of teh clouds and lightning,
the vines would be burnied by the smiling sun.
both good and bad luck become guests in your heart:
like planets traveling from sign to sign.
When something transits your sign, adapt yourself,
and be as harmonious as its ruling sign,
so that when it rejoins the Moon,
It will speak kindly to the Lord of the heart.

Whenever sorrow comes again,
meet it with smiles and laughter,
saying, "O my creator, save me from its harm,
and do not deprive me of its good.
Lord remind me to be thankful,
let me feel no regret if it's benefit passes away."

And if the pearl is not in sorrow's hand,
let it go and still be pleased.
Increase your sweet practice.
Your Practice will benefit you at another time;
someday your need will be suddenly fulfilled.

- "Mathnawi V"

I love the concept that every thought we have is a guest in our own body; our body is merely the guest house. Our bodies may grow old but our thoughts are new everyday. We are as young as our thoughts, we are as happy as our thoughts, as busy, as sad, as our thoughts. We are the sum of our thoughts. I love the idea that a collection of thoughts are like seasons and as our thoughts change so do the seasons in our mind. Much like the seasons in Notting Hill and the Cherry Blossom poem from the poetry reading. Each season has its place in our heart so even when it is winter and our thoughts are sad, what Rumi's poem reminds us of is that without winter we cannot have spring. We need to go through sorrow so that we may feel true joy- to shed our old leaves so that new fresh buds can grow. Now it is spring and the Cherry trees are in blossom.