The Guest House (Old Peculier Bed & Breakfast Remix)
This being human business
it’s a bit like being a bloomin' Bed & Breakfast
Every morning someone new on your doorstep
A joy, a depression, a betrayal
or perhaps one of those little flashes of sweet clarity
amid all the milk bottles and bills
Open the door and greet them all
Even if they’re a skulky bunch of crap moments
who end up running off with
all your bars of guest soap, towels and prized consumer durables
(including the stereo – which was bolted down)
Whatever, treat each and every new guest with respect
You never know, they might be ransacking you
to make way for some new delight
The exhaustion, the grief, the guilt, the self-judgement, the despair, all those gnarled and gnarly beings
Meet them on your doorstep
with a big smile on your chops
and a couple of open bottles of Theakstons Old Peculier
and welcome each one in
Yes, give thanks for whoever crosses your threshold
because every single guest has been sent
from the Great Tourist Board Beyond
to test the bounce of the springs of the bed of your being
This being human business
it’s a bit like being a bloomin' Bed & Breakfast
Every morning someone new on your doorstep
A joy, a depression, a betrayal
or perhaps one of those little flashes of sweet clarity
amid all the milk bottles and bills
Open the door and greet them all
Even if they’re a skulky bunch of crap moments
who end up running off with
all your bars of guest soap, towels and prized consumer durables
(including the stereo – which was bolted down)
Whatever, treat each and every new guest with respect
You never know, they might be ransacking you
to make way for some new delight
The exhaustion, the grief, the guilt, the self-judgement, the despair, all those gnarled and gnarly beings
Meet them on your doorstep
with a big smile on your chops
and a couple of open bottles of Theakstons Old Peculier
and welcome each one in
Yes, give thanks for whoever crosses your threshold
because every single guest has been sent
from the Great Tourist Board Beyond
to test the bounce of the springs of the bed of your being
This poem is based on The Guest House, by Jeladuddin Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks:
http://www.pigandink.com/the-guest-house.html
http://www.pigandink.com/the-guest-house.html