The Invitation

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 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 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.

By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming,

(p.s. candles totally beat the zippo app)

Right now

My horoscope for this week says "If I had to give a title to the next chapter of your story, it might be "Nothing That's Happening Will Make Much Sense Until It Has Finished Happening, Whereupon It Will Yield a Burst of Insight about the Big Picture of Your Destiny."

So I can stop worrying and sit back right?

I can let myself take things as they come. I don't need to know what tomorrow will bring right now, tomorrow will get here all on it's own.

I don't need to worry about how my relationships with the people I care about are changing. They will change, and things will happen.

All I can be conscious of is how I am feeling in this moment, and how I am showing up for other people right now. Right now, I can be whoever I want to be.

One Day

One muthatruckin' DAY!!!! Ow!

Who loves and praises you?

Oh my dad surely does. When he cooks a steak, it's practically a celebration in itself to have it sitting on your plate. Nevermind my raw food/vegan shenanigans lately, but I've never much cared for steak and I'm sure that special place in his heart is a little broken because of it. So when we got home tonight and I was appointed cooking duties, I gleefully shouted out, "Just so's ya knows....it's salad tonight!" I think my dad started crying on the inside a little, but I added chicken as a compromise. After the salad was made, and devoured, my darling dad says a little gruffly, "It's bland. But it's good." and said I did a good job. Go me! I don't see this as a I-have-to-compliment-you're-not-cooking-skills-because-your-my-daughter kind of thing. My dad liked it, I know he did but he'll never admit it. He knows I know he liked it. As in the picture above with the unplanned yet eerily similar facial expressions, my dad and I have mad skillz in silent communication that frequently befuddles my mother.