a little bit sheepish. I didn’t have anything to show the doctor any more. I got up and slipped out of the waiting room and went home.
Now I cry often. It feels good, like doing a huge poo. Sometimes it is from sorrow welling up, sometimes from sudden beauty or intimacy. I let myself weep in public places and alone driving in the car. My body wants to love itself this way. I’m glad I don’t suppress it any more.
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 attend them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still treat each guest honourably. 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.
Rumi
THE ART OF RECEIVING
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