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 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 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 is 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 at 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 centre 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.
---------
That's a poem by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. I just came across it on a random blog and it made me cry. Of course, most things make me cry. I'm such a hippy.
Incidentally, the quote in the title of this post is from the opening poem of her book The Dance.
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5 comments:
That is a lovely, lovely poem. Thank you for sharing! I would like to read more of her work now.
(If you need a hippy fix, please be sure to come and see me in SF and we'll walk the few blocks over to Haight Street. California dreamin', baby. Hippies are still alive and well here.)
;-)
Oh, I'd love to come to SF! Actually, I've had a great craving to come to the States lately, to travel around and see all the places that stories and shows have made part of the mental mythic landscape. Maybe I can fly up from BA for a bit.
The myth of San Francisco is probably much more interesting than the actual city, and the Summer of Love mythology, especially.
I live very close to Haight-Ashbury and I am half-amused/half-piteous of the poor bewildered tourists dressed in shorts (freezing their asses off) wandering around the very grubby street looking bewildered. Instead of flower children holding hands and dancing, they see a lot of junkies and homeless kids looking for food and drug money.
My understanding is that the Summer of Love was not really much of a summer at all (maybe a couple of weeks), and was an incident mostly created by the media. From many accounts, once the hippies moved in to working-class Haight Street, it was as grubby then as it is now. But I can take you to all of the shops where you meet all of your tie-dye and bong apparatus needs.
I shouldn't be so tough...SF is a colorful and interesting city and you should definitely come here and visit for a spell.
;-)
i first read that poem in college and it still has the same effect. heart capturing & encouraging.
that was a very good reminder... thank you, ms.wings.
tb: for shame ~ the reality of sf is definitely more interesting than the myths. don't make me prove it to you. ;o)
Ms. Wellspring,
My daydreaming mind is filled with reveries of Gold Rush miners, opium dens, brothels, sailors, robber barons, hippies, North Beach beatniks...and now we have Gavin and his perfect hair.
Snap me out of it. Take me on a tour, too!
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