Welcome to the Guesthouse: Trail Built Wild Awareness and Being Human

Rumi once said,

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“Being human is a guest house.”

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Honestly, some days my inner world feels more like a lively trail lodge at peak season. Thoughts wander up the path wearing muddy trail shoes, emotions drift in like they accidentally followed a deer trail too far, and sensations pop by simply because they caught the scent of fresh coffee.

On the trail, amid sun-shadowed oaks, pine needle-soft earth, and sighing winds, it’s easy to imagine the guests lined up outside the door. An entire troupe of inner visitors ready to file in, drop their bags, and linger just long enough to show us something real.

And because this is the untamed, beautiful, occasionally messy adventure of being human, we do what makes sense in the wild: we open the door and invite them in.

“Come on in, you little wanderers.”

When Guests Show Up Unannounced

Some guests slip quietly through the door, like a sunrise on a ridgeline. Some are like sideways mountain storms blowing in on winds we didn’t see coming. Joy hops in whistling. Peace saunters in wearing a knit cap and carrying a thermos.

Exhaustion marches in dragging a long cloak behind, shouting. And that one emotion that never seems to go away. Cousin Anxiety. Cousin Anxiety always comes in at inconvenient hours, as if surprised we’re paying attention.

Still, we welcome them. A breath and a shrug. Occasionally a sigh. A chuckle sometimes too, because, honestly, it’s always the perfect moment for them to arrive. Even the melodramatic ones have a trail of wisdom to share.

You know, the ones who make us want to kick rocks—even they may have something in their pockets they’ll share if we listen. Every arrival is a little trail angel in the guise of a mood swing.

Pull out a chair, pour a steaming cup, listen to them, and then let them go on their way.

Coming and Going as Guests Please

Trail magic comes in the form of impermanence. Emotions are like weather. Seasons are like emotions. Neither lasts forever. Emotions shift and drift like clouds on a mountain. Thoughts drift in and out like hikers who can’t stop to chat. Sensations rush by like puffs of pine air.

They check in, check out. No appointments necessary. No door charge. Some leave water bottles behind. We miss them when they leave, but that’s ok. We’ll run into them on the trails or around the corner. Another guest is already rounding the switchbacks and heading for our door.

We don’t need to cling to the good ones. Fight the bad ones. Kick the stubborn ones out with frenzied energy. We just open the door. We greet each visitor with the knowledge of their transience, the knowing that another is on the way.

Wild awareness. Forest-bathing calm. Trail-runner honesty. Emotional hospitality with muddy boots and a big heart.

Visitors Teach Us New Trails

Each arrival holds a lesson if we’re willing to hear. Joy shows us where we feel buoyant. Sadness reminds us of the valleys of our soul, deep as river canyons. Curiosity ambles in wearing a headlamp and mumbling, “Let’s check out this little corner over here.” Even anger stomps around reminding us that we care about something.

We take our visitors’ offerings and draw new maps of our inner landscape with their traits as trail markers. New contours. New vantage points. New heights of awareness.

Some visitors linger for a while. A long dinner by the fire, stories, reflection, wisdom. Others come in on a breeze, drop a little trail wisdom on our doorstep like a trail marker, and are gone. Either way, the guesthouse is lived in, vibrant, awake. Every visitor expands our awareness, makes us laugh, makes us breathe, learn, recalibrate. Makes us human.

Opening the Door: Being Human

At some point—maybe on a trail, maybe on a sunrise walk, maybe while grinding the coffee—you notice that the whole house feels brighter. Sunlight pours through the windows. Fresh air sweeps through the rooms. Space opens. Inside, a door or two you didn’t even realize you closed opens up.

It lands in you: the comings and goings of these visitors are not a problem to solve. They’re life. They’re aliveness. They’re the living, breathing forest of your inner landscape. So we stop guarding the door. Stop pretending like the “No Vacancy” sign is real. Trust the rhythms. Trust our resilience. Trust the beautiful madness of being human.

Maybe you make a new sign for your trail-built guesthouse of being human:

“Welcome, stranger. Come in. Curiosity always welcome.”

Entertain and welcome always, as they may just bring the most exquisite delight when we open our eyes, ears, and heart and finally take down the “No Vacancy” sign.

Cheers!

Kether

Spunky Mind

"Rise up nimbly and

go on your strange journey!"

-Rumi

Spunky Mind Field Notes—

Guesthouse of Being Human

Nature Insight—Emotions wander in like trail hikers—some calm as sunrise, some loud as sideways storms, some tracking in pine needles and chaos. None of them stay forever. They just swing by our inner lodge with muddy boots and a story to tell.

Trail Wisdom—We don’t have to chase the good ones or banish the messy ones. Just open the door, let each visitor drop their piece of trail wisdom, and watch them wander off when their time’s up. Impermanence is the trail’s favorite teaching.

Pockets of Nature Practice

• Step outside and imagine the wind, clouds, or shifting light as “visitors” passing through.

• Notice how none of them linger—they come and go freely.

• Take one breath and mentally open the door to whatever you’re feeling.

• Let it be a guest, not a problem.

• Watch it drift off like a hiker disappearing down the trail.

  
  

Field Note Prompt—Which inner visitor is knocking today—and can I greet it with curiosity instead of resistance?

Spunky MInd Field Notes-

step inside your guesthouse.

Get the Field Notes →