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 dreams, 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 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 a human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re 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
faithful and therefore trustworthy. I
want to know if you can see beauty even
if it’s not pretty every day,
and if you can source your life from
God’s 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 moon,
‘Yes!’
It doesn’t interest me 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, 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 with yourself and if you
truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Inspired by Oriah
Mountain Dreamer,
Native American Elder, May 1994