An emotional outburst

On September 20^th, only three weeks into blogging, I posted “The Guest House”, a poem by Rumi that a friend had sent to me. Her suggestion being, I assume, that I be open to all emotions during this year of discovery. The poem begins:

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.

...

It goes on to suggest that I meet all the dark thoughts, the malice, the shame at my door and invite them in. So I metaphorically dragged over a piece of broken concrete to prop the door open, and jammed a chair under the door handle to ensure that no matter what I was doing, any feeling could wander in.

Much as I present this year of exploration as a chance to push myself beyond my comfort zone, to boost my confidence and perhaps answer some of those existential questions that swirl inside me, it isn’t all snowy treks and silly dates. I realise that as interested and intelligent readers, you would be aware that I have my ups and downs. Most of my downs are due to loneliness, but that’s balanced with discoveries and new experiences as well as a lot of just feeling content.

In the discussion group that I did through McGill university, we spent part of our last meeting looking at the comics rather than articles or stories. Here’s one that I link to the Rumi poem. 

I feel that the guest room inside me would look like this. New emotions ushered in, even the uncomfortable and unexpected, while the old ones hang about in various states of undress and repose, ignoring the new arrivals.

On a regular basis, I feel euphoria and sadness, excitement and existential angst, satisfaction and curiosity. I’m friends with all of these emotions, although as with human friends, some are more fun, a few give me pause for deep thought while others are so intense and worthwhile that I can only handle them in small doses.

A single day can involve feeling bewilderment at a piece of art, apprehension at voicing a contentious idea, satisfaction as I work on a piece of writing, discomfort as I sit motionless at an event wondering if everyone is commenting on my solitary state, pride after an hour of French conversation and finishing with wanting to dance as I walk home from dinner out. I have enjoyed laughter with new friends, felt sadness at seeing Inuit men and women begging far from their northern birthplaces, and been surprised at the kindness of strangers. I am rarely bored, although I can be frustrated, sad, ecstatic, lonely, content, unsure or bewildered.

The mountain of Montreal has seen many of these emotions, including tears. I am never ashamed of my tears. 

My door, surrounded by graffiti and up a steep flight of stairs, has been wide open to emotional discoveries during my three months here in Montreal. Next week, as I push aside the foliage and find a piece of volcanic rock to prop open my door in Costa Rica, I imagine that I’ll be curious about the visitors there.