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 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 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.