I don’t know about you, but I don’t like opening the front door when visitors call. Maybe it has to do with the fact that these doorbell buzzers are most often solicitors of one kind or another.
They are not warm and congenial loved ones looking to share pleasant life stories with me and pass the afternoon with coffee or tea. They are solicitors, and solicitors want something. They want to make a sale, proselytize, or garner support. They are trying to get my attention.
My dad treated solicitors like a friend calling to check in on him. He would open the door with a smile and allow them to speak freely. He never interrupted a sales pitch, a cry for his salvation, or a politician’s impassioned monologue. He always gave them time and he always kept an open mind.
We learned that those in the local Jehovah Witness chapter would bring their young recruits to our front porch because they knew my dad would never close the door on them. Pops didn’t plan on subscribing to their faith. He wasn’t going to vote for the pushy politician. And he certainly wasn’t going to spend his hard-earned money on anyone’s fancy but needless product.
Each time they called was unexpected, but he always welcomed them with an open heart.
“It doesn’t cost anything to be nice,” Dad always said to me. The handling of these interactions was light and non-transactional. Someone came to his door, and he met them with kindness. Simple as that. No pushing away, ignoring, or denying.
I could take a cue from my dad when it comes to not only external solicitors at my door (greeting them with an authentic smile, offering them my time and energy) but those internal visitors as well—the unwelcome, unpleasant emotions that I initially want to run and hide from. The visitors that Sufi poet Rumi suggests we should welcome and entertain in his famous poem “The Guest House.”
Perhaps if I willingly open my door to outside solicitors and learn to accept them on my welcome mat, no matter how much I want to resist, then maybe I can become more open to the emotions that come calling that are at first blush painful, aggravating, or disheartening.
After all, they are not here to stay, and I don’t need to ask them to move in! Instead, maybe I can learn a thing or two from these guides from beyond, as Rumi writes. By treating each of these callers as guests and not pests, I can learn more about myself in the process.
Whenever I experience an unpleasant emotion, my first reaction is to shoo it away and post a big DO NOT ENTER sign on my door. It feels like a bee suddenly inserting its stinger into the bottom of my big toe, interrupting a peaceful, barefoot walk in an open field of dandelions.
Zing! Ouch! What the heck was that?! Where did it come from? I don’t know why it’s here, but I want it to go away. This hurts. I just want to feel good!
And then I pause. That sacred, beautiful pause that allows the investigation to begin. Why am I getting wrapped up in this emotion? Why am I allowing it to determine how I feel? What is it here to show me? How can I get comfortable with it and treat it with the same equanimity as other, less bothersome emotions?
Even with my daily meditation practice and countless spiritual readings, I still have a difficult time allowing these painful emotions to surface and ride along with me.
Rumi’s writings are cherished by many, so he must have known what he was talking about. For hundreds of years many have read his beautiful lines and adapted his timeless wisdom to their own lives.
While I believe that what he describes in “The Guest House” is the best way to transmute our painful emotions and return to Love, I must admit I am still at times possessed by a kneejerk reaction to push them away.
I have come to the realization, however, that by pushing the negative emotion away I am only growing it in strength and size. So, as much as my ego fights it, I sit with the emotion and often that means letting the tears flow.
After four decades of this experience of being human, I am still getting used to the fact that my painful tears are not a bad thing. They do not mean that my day is ruined or that I am incapable of handling my emotions. In fact, quite the opposite is true.
Tears represent the kaleidoscope of emotions that you are willing to feel and embrace because, as Rumi reminds us, we need to be present for them all!
Do I meet these emotions at the door laughing, as Rumi suggests? No. I still have an initial reaction of fear and unease. And, because of my conditioning, my body and brain still crave distraction as a quick release from these uncomfortable emotions.
Fortunately, mindfulness training has given me the advantage of noticing first, and my free will allows me to decide which path I want to take.
The wise path, which I now have come to understand, is being with whatever arises. Wisdom has taught me that no distraction—food, a podcast, TV, my phone, a busy to-do list—will be the answer to what has come calling. Instead, I need to roll out the welcome mat and say, “Hello! Welcome. I see you there. Let’s sit down and have a chat.”
Each visitor comes to you as a guide from beyond. They appear to tell you something. Will you invite them in?
