By Oriah Mountain Dreamer
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, be
realistic,
Or 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.
I want to know if you can be faithless and
therefore am trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty
Even when it is not pretty every day,
And if you can source your life
From its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure,
Yours and mine,
And still stand on the edge of a 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 for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are, 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 falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
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