Too many tears . . . too few moments of calm, of equilibrium. My world’s been upside down for so many months. Reality and memories remind me of a time when what I accepted as predictable truth and comfort, weren’t. And grief entered. Then, I climbed up from dark places, taught myself to accept ugly reality, decided to live and bring grace into my world. But this year the climb is harder. Why? What’s different? It’s past time to step outside myself for a talk . . . Look at

A copy of Rumi’s, “The Guest House”, surfaced on my desk . . . a welcome arrival. I began re-reading it, quickly noting that the poem’s first lines are a perfect metaphor for how my life continues to unfold in this beautiful, too-often chaotic, uncertain world: “This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival.” The home that helped form my own guest house is pictured above. It’s where I grew up, was nurtured and taught how to be a hum