The Invitation
It does not 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 hearts longing.
It does not 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 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 the wilderness and
let ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us
to be careful,
Be realistic, 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
your self.
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 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 does not 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 to the company you
keep in the empty moments.
Istvan Sky and Pablo Arellano