it doesnâ€TMt 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 heartâ€TMs longing.
It doesnâ€TMt 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 doesnâ€TMt 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 lifeâ€TMs betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of future 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, or to remember the
limitations of being human.
It doesnâ€TMt 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.
i want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even
when it is not pretty everyday; and if you can source your
own life on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver
in the full moon.
It doesnâ€TMt 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 for the children.
It doesnâ€TMt interest me who you know or how you come to
be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of
the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesnâ€TMt 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.