Rumi’s Guesthouse

I was trying to put as much distance between myself and my mind as I could. Why? Because my mind is bad. Bad, bad, bad. Very very bad. It’s a bad mind. ‘Oh,’ you say, ‘that’s your problem then. That’s nothing to do with me. You just have to deal with it. My mind is good. My mind is a super mind. It’s as good as gold. It’s very helpful. Smart too, don’t you know…’ So off you go – you’re certainly not going to go hanging around with talking to me, me with my bad mind. Me with my rotten, stinking mind. And I wouldn’t like you to be in any doubt about that – it’s a real stinker of a mind! A real old stinker.


‘Say hello to my mind’, I say. Say hello, why don’t you? Introduce yourself. Throw in a few pleasantries, if you’re up to it. If you can manage it. Engage in a bit of small talk. That’s the done thing, after all. The halibut are biting well this year, aren’t they? The birds are flying well – flying better than they ever did. Did you ever see them fly so well? Did you ever, did you ever. Making the small talk, making the small talk. Talking about the things, talking about the things. The fish are swimming very well this year – I’ve never seen them swimming so well! Expressing yourself is very important too – saying what you mean. If you know what you mean, that is. Not everyone does, of course. Not everyone does…


Say hello to my mind, say hello to my mind. Won’t you stop for a chat? Where are you going in such a hurry anyway? Not that there’s much to say, I suppose. Not a lot to say. Little enough to say. The jam’s awful sweet this year, isn’t it? Awful sweet, awful sweet. I wonder if they’ve been putting something into it. I hear the government is involved – there’s a cover-up going on but no one will admit to it. No one will say a word. They’re keeping schtum. They’ll never tell you a thing – they’ll see you die first. They’ll walk straight by you and you dying in the ditch! As if they care. Which they never would. There’s a government conspiracy going on, you see. They say someone put something in the jam. The birds are singing well this season aren’t they? I’ve never heard them in such good voice. That’s a cover-up too of course. It’s all a cover-up…


No one tells the truth anymore – that’s one thing I’ve noticed. I spotted that straightaway. People say I never notice what’s going on but that’s where they’re wrong. They’re wrong, they’re wrong, they’re very very wrong. They couldn’t be more wrong. No one tells the truth any more these days, but they won’t admit it. No one admits anything these days. They wouldn’t admit it if their life depended on it! Stubborn isn’t the word. Stubborn, and pure mean with it – they wouldn’t give you the steam off their piss. They wouldn’t sell it to you ether – or if they did then they’d overcharge you. That’s always the way, isn’t it? There’s a conspiracy going on but no one will talk about it. They are awful tight-lipped about it. Folk just aren’t very friendly around here – they look at you but they won’t say anything. They’ll put you wrong as soon as look at you.


How do you run away from your mind anyway? That’s what I’d like to know. It’s not as easy as it sounds. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve though. You have to be a bit wily in this game you see – you have to learn to throw a few tricks in, a few dodges. You act as if you’re going to say one thing and then you say another. You act as if you’re going to think something but then you don’t. You keep them guessing. You say you’re going to do one thing and then you go and do the other. You say hello but then you leave the room. It’s awfully tiring though – your very soul feels as if it’s tired. That’s what I’ve got I reckon – I’ve got soul fatigue. How to describe it? How to convey the essence of this terrible condition? I try to tell the truth but then people say that I’m lying.


Today is a day just like every other day, and I don’t want to forget that. It’s a day just like any other day and so there’s no point in getting too excited. I’ve seen many such days in my time. Sometimes you think something strange is going to happen but it never does. It never does. It’s a bit of a letdown really, isn’t it? You can’t help feeling that you’ve been cheated. You’ve been swindled yet again. They say there’s a government cover-up going on, of course. They say, they say. I’m in the guesthouse and all the guests have been thrown out. They’ve been shown the door! The place has been swept clean. I’m in Rumi’s Guesthouse and the guests have all being thrown out into the street. They’re complaining of course but no one pays any heed. They’re squabbling and complaining just like the rabble they are, but folks just walk on right by. No one takes any notice…








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