Sweep this Room

I have a windowless room in my head, this guest house of being human, that I am trying desperately to swepp clean, if not get rid of. On my bad days (and when I'm PMS'ing) my thoughts enter this room and start bouncing around like a bouncy ball in a small space, pinging from side to side and gaining momentum as it bounces off the same thought walls over and over and over again - walls made of trauma memories from the last two years. The bouncing ball may start out innocently enough, set off by some object or impending date, and then turn into a sharp, spiny ball of destruction, causing increasingly piercing pain.

The ball started to bounce yesterday morning when I woke up from a dream crying. Because my dreams in the past have related to reality and have even revealed things I was not seeing, I can take my dreams too seriously. Throughout the morning, the ball gained its momentum so that I was impatient with my kids, crying off and on and desperately in need of a lobotomy to sweep the damn room. How I wish I could remove some memories and associations. How I crumble with the weight of them . . . some days.

By nap time, I was desperately in need of something to change my thoughts so I made tea (heal with water), I flipped through my dusty Bible to Psalm 143 and felt relief in reading,
"Therefore my spirit is overwhelmed within me;
My heart is appalled within me. . . .
Let me hear Your lovingkindness in the morning;
For I trust in You;
Teach me the way in which I should walk;
For to You I lift up my soul.
Deliver me, O LORD, from my enemies;
I take refuge in You.
Teach me to do Your will,
For You are my God;
Let Your good Spirit lead me on level ground.
For the sake of Your name, O LORD, revive me
In Your righteousness bring my soul out of trouble."

I prayed for God to take the room, to deal with those things I have no power over, and to give me trust in what He is doing in my life, and I took a nap. It doesn't always happen that scripture nor praying relieve my mind, but yesterday, so thankfully, they did.

I am noticing that I have definite, strong times of PMS, but rather than reject them as merely hormonal episodes, in the last two months, I have, as much as possible through the agony of it all (because really I want to do something like tear all my hair out and run through the next few days with a nice lie in), tried to give these feelings space to be felt and to have purpose and, perhaps, to be honored.

The following poem is aanother place to meditate, as things were indeed cleared for new delights later in the day (like Asher's birthday celebration with all four of us together as a family):

The Guest House by Rumi

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're 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.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

(P.S. I'm going to start praying for just a light dusting of my rooms - who needs the violent sweeping!).