"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 are 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 whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond."

-- Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks

we do this work alone.
no one's going to reliably tell us that we're beautiful,
that we're strong,
that we're worthy of love
except for ourselves.
we face it alone.
we teach ourselves that we're good enough,
even though a thousand voices tell us we're not,
we don't need to prove it to anyone.
we spend our whole lives waiting for someone to show us our beauty,
to love us in a way we can't love ourselves.

then we grow frail and tired.
our hair greys;
that is when we are the most beautiful.
when we are so close to death
when we have let go of our insecurities
when nothing matters
except the feeling of sunlight on our faces in the winter;
the comforting feeling that
everything is going to be okay how it is now

what else could we want?

but we are always so close to death.

we are strong
and we are worthy of love
and we are good enough

we're going to die in this body.
and we're going to die in this mind.

there's not a lot of time to learn to love yourself

so start now.

I'm alive,
and I want to be excited,
but I'm tired.
where do I start
to make use of my space in this world?
to become something bigger?
to stop weighing the world down?
I think it starts with rising early in the morning,
moving my body,
breathing,
drinking water,
being with myself,
and then from the love that grows there
creating an extension to everyone and everything else.

I face my darkness

I face my darkness
light, dark, light, dark
my darkness holds me and pulls me down
it seems I am on a long path to healing
and the only way out is through the darkness

beauty. and love. and friendship. and rain. and hugs.

There's something to say about being alone. I find comfort in myself. Not in an idea of myself, but my being; my breathing, my touch, the way my body moves, and how good it feels to smile and drink water; how good it feels to sprawl out on the bed at night, turn up the music and dance, how healing it feels to paint or write, or practice yoga.

From this comfort comes my power to love to myself.

I have been working in the garden alone, cradling the little lettuces, and gently placing them into their new home in this bed I made for them. I have found comfort in the unforgiving, rocky soil, the unrelenting rain, followed by the endless, humid, sunny days.

From this comfort comes my power to care for myself.

I have given you my power.

I am taking it back. I have leaned on you, expected of you, and looked to you for my comfort and my happiness. I know what makes me happy; putting my hands into the soft soil, stretching my body, eating vegetables from the garden, being grateful...

But this change may throw this quiet love off balance. You will hold someone else in your arms, and then I will push you away, because I am afraid of losing my power. I can only love you when I have taken the time to love myself. I can only let you be close to me, when I have told myself that I am worthy.
I am worthy.
I am worthy.