The Invitation

IT DOESN’T 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 heart’s longing.

It doesn’t 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 doesn’t 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 life’s 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, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of

being human.

It doesn’t 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’s

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 on the edge of the lake and shout to

the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn’t 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 doesn’t 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 doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom

you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the

inside, when all else fades 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.

The Invitation p. 1