Blessings,
Beth

It Doesn’t Interest me

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
center of your own sorrow, 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 dance with wildness and let it fill you to
the tips of your fingers and toes, without
cautioning us to be careful, to 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 see beauty even when it is not
pretty everyday, and if you can source your
life from its 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 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 for the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you are or how you came to
be here. I want to know if you can stand in
the center of the fire with me and not
shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
what or where 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.

—Oriahe Mountain Dreamer, An Indian Elder