Opening the Tent: A Midrash on Abraham And The Guests

   just beyond yourself

                 David Whyte

 

I

Sometimes we get

stuck, leave the wrong way,

the cord wrapped round

our neck, the path too narrow.

A pushing known only

as mystery arrives -

sometimes our exit

causes a bleeding rift,

or the surprise of an easy

passage.  One day

we too might become

the widened body,

an opened door,

leaving what remains

just beyond

our selves.

 

II

How difficult to

truly open the tent,

pull back delusion, projection,

listen past the loudness

of our own stories, welcome

who or what awaits us.

We become stuck inside, unable

to see through our faces, to

greet the lonely guest

beckoning from the road

where we too

will one day

disappear.

 

III

(As if in the voice of Abraham)

 

Before I remembered

to open my tent, my hands

in welcome, I stood

at the threshold in the shadow

of my ancestors, those oaks of Mamre.

There was a great storming,

a wind kicked up dust.  I

had sand in my eyes.  I forgot

there was a door, I was telling

myself a long story I began at birth.

I forgot there was a beyond where

the guests were waiting, that

I was in costume, that my life

had already ended

and begun.