This poem was brought to my attention by the cancer caregivers bereavement group I belong to. It resonates so deeply with where I find myself now almost 9 months since Ken's death. I have had to put myself back together in that time and build up my strength again. It is a process ongoing as well as carrying the grief that will forever be integrated into all my cells. And yet the lessons of life's delicacy, brevity and ever-changing nature help the useless trappings fall away. Much like this poem.
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 center of your own sorrow, if you 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 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,
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 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.
