Poetry & Shayari

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.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,

the world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other

doesn't make any sense.

Come, come, whoever you are.

Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving.

It doesn't matter.

Ours is not a caravan of despair.

Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times.

Come, yet again, come, come.

Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu

Buddhist, sufi, or zen. Not from any religion

or cultural system.

I am not from the East or the West,

not out of the ocean or up from the ground,

not natural or ethereal, not composed

of elements at all.

I belong to the Beloved, have seen the two worlds as one

and that one call to and know,

first, last, outer, inner, only that

breath breathing human being.

Let yourself be silently drawn

by the strange pull of what you really love.

It will not lead you astray.

Love is the water of life.

Drink it down, let it drown you.

The minute I heard my first love story

I started looking for you, not knowing

how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.

They're in each other all along.

Out beyond wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I will meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other does not make any sense.

Where dost thou stand behind them all, my lover,

hidden in the shadows of their successive masks?

Seeking me in dark corners they do not know that

I am with them all.