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 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 the 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 to be 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 be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty, even if it isin't 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 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 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 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.
Copyright © Sonia Schroeder | Year Posted 2009
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