Servant of the Intuitive

The Guest House

Darling, the body is a guest house; Every morning someone new arrives. Don’t say, “O, another weight around my neck!” Or your guest will fly back to nothingness. Whatever enters your heart is a guest From the invisible world: entertain it well.

Evert day and every moment, a thought comes Like an honored guest into your heart. My soul, regard each thought as a person, For every person’s value is in the thought they hold.

If a sorrowful thought stands in the way, It is also preparing the way for joy. It furiously sweeps your house clean, In order that some new joy may appear from the Source. It scatters the withered leaves from the bough of the heart, In order that fresh green leaves might grow. It uproots the old joy so that A new joy may enter from beyond.

Sorrow pulls up the rotten root That was veiled from sight. Whatever sorrow takes away or causes the heart to shed, It puts something better in its place. Especially for one who is certain That sorrow is the servant of the intuitive.

Rumi, the 13th century Sufi mystic, explains how we expand in awareness as we travel through time. That is the nature of all consciousness―it continues to expand. Our emotions hang on fragile branches of the self, and they fuel our expansion. Wisdom beats on the door of our body consciousness, but we turn the volume up on our belief CD, and ignore the essence that guides us through our self-created storms.

Beliefs are changeable thoughts that carve experiences for us to perceive. When we allow wisdom to move through those experiences we sense a consciousness or what some of us call Zen, and it wraps itself around our impulses. Bursts of unexplainable energy propel us to expand, and connect to other aspects of the self. We can call these aspects other guests. These guests arrive from a place where time and space hang on the tip of an impulse. We name these new friends experiences of the body and mind, and we begin to own them physically. We define the self using these friends, and add a touch of truth which lingers from our perpetual connection to the stream of consciousness. We are injected with a sliver of God potion, and it begins to boil in the manifestations of our own choices.

Choices and the probabilities still mark our sensitive ego with emotional images, but the growing awareness of another group of selves begins to swallows us, and we psychically swim into an abyss of knowing where time follows its own pattern. In that non-physical place, we see the self dressed as a servant of the intuitive. That self empowers the physical self, and it begins to regard resistance as a vehicle of expansion.