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 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 a fool for
love, for your 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 centre of
your own sorrow,
If you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or
have become shrivelled 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 move with wildness and can 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 human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling
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 when 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!”
I want to know if you can get up after a 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 what you are, or how you
come to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the centre of
the fire with me
and
not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or with whom you’ve
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 empty
moments.