The Invitation

It doesn¹t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting
your heart¹s longing.
It doesn¹t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your
dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn¹t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow if
you have been opened by life¹s betrayals or have become shriveled and
closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without
moving to hide it
or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can
dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn¹t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own
soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty,
every day.
And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and
still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the
full moon, `Yes!'.
It doesn¹t interest me to know where you live or how much money you
have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and
despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn¹t interest me who you know, or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn¹t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls
away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly
like the company you keep in the empty moments.

© Oriah Mountain Dreamer