The Invitation ~ Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Friday morning.  I look up from my laptop to come face to face with the day outside.   A large, invasive window to the world where my voyeuristic tendencies could be fed, watching the love-making of the world.  The way the top branches of the tall trees undulate gently in the wind, the leaves stroke one another, press against each other and fall down in a spiraling pirouhette, an act only a lover of life could do.  People walk by alone, in rhythmic step, walking their personal gait across the pavement carrying with them their heartbreak, their joy, their aloneness, their questions, their answers, their reasons.  Their thoughts I will never know.  So fleeting, so flirtatious as they clutch and then drop us.

Some walk simply to press a cup against their lips for their first, anticipated steaming coffee.  An act of pure love-making for me some mornings.  Others walk, simply to walk.

And, if they are looking up and seeing a young woman sitting by her window staring down, lost in thought holding her heartbreak, her joy, her triumphs, her questions and her reasons: this is what she is thinking……

THE INVITATION

~ Oriah Mountain Dreamer

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 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 center 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
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 on 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 a 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.

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