Skip to main content

Something for my friends...





The Invitation

by 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 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 God’s 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.

Comments

  1. SAttwoodJune 1, 2010 at 8:56 AM

    i LOVE this. and i love YOU.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Maggi Van DornJune 2, 2010 at 7:47 PM

    I knew you would! I love you bunches Sarah Lee!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Mary Van DornAugust 17, 2010 at 10:24 AM

    I like this very much. If only more people could be so honest. xoxoxo

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Love Come Barefoot

The two of them sit together, pouring over a shared notepad, thinking intently about whatever question is written there.   He in a fleecy-looking blue sweatshirt, she in an equally roomy grey one.   A dainty pair of glasses slides down the slope of her nose and tuck behind locks of frizzy brown hair.   She is plain and unremarkable, unlike the slew of sorority girls gathering across the street, decked in ultra stylish dresses, synched with flattering waistlines. His elbow leans lightly upon her shoulder, draped in some expression of love and friendship.   In their unassuming comfort with each other, love is flaunted best.   I do not know if what they are gazing upon is a physics equation, or a crossword puzzle, but I do think that the rest of us should notice them, in their quiet ways. I do not doubt that he loves her body or her face or any of her feminine attributes.   They all congeal together to make her the dynamic person she is.   But he does not isolate the parts of her, c...
1 comment
Read more

The First Negotiation

The morning light licks the corners of my face, repeatedly, until I consent to opening my eyes. She makes her gradual way across the bed, nudging her most promising sign of hope unto the tossled ivory. The sun is far more gentle than any alarm clock I’ve ever fought, though no less insistent. In such radiant self-giving, how many times can I roll over? So we strike a compromise: I will flip my pillow and “rest” my head, but promise to keep my eyes a flutter, little windows parted slightly for the streams of her still light. Sometimes I up the bargain, telling her that there is really no better way to receive her glory, no greater praise of her warmth, than to surrender consciousness upon her lap, just a little. She will often reply by shedding new light upon the floor, warming a most suggestive path out into the kitchen. My stomach grumbles. Are you sure you don’t want to try freezing time again? I ask. You, me and the sheets, forever curled in our secret morning splendor...
5 comments
Read more

Another Reflection on Breaking-Up

It’s happening again.   One of my good friends is on the other end of a telephone call, holding back tears as she recounts the details of her recent break-up. She is a strong, fiercely independent woman, who has counseled and coached the rest of us through the emotional train wreck of many collective break-ups.   Two years ago, she told me, “Maggi, when you end a relationship, you find yourself waking up every morning to a dull heart-ache perched upon your chest and you really, really believe your world is over.”   You roll yourself out of bed anyway. You make the route cup of coffee.   You stumble into the shower and let the steam swell around you.   If you’re feeling especially lifeless, you drape your hair over your ears, so that the cascade of hot water makes a deep rushing sound, like being swept beneath the sea to a powerfully calm, fetal state of being, where the roar of running water drowns out all the piercing thoughts in your head.   You...
5 comments
Read more