I seem to be touched the deepest by works of art in written form, but as soon as I write that I am reminded of how I can at times be visually moved to the point of being overwhelmed. When what I read is accompanied by an image to match that is when I am penetrated at the deepest levels. I have profound gratitude for my ability to feel the expressions of “self” that artists and writers have given the world. My life is far better because of them. As an example I offer the image above and words you find below here. I recently sent someone “The Invitation” as an explanation of what I hoped should I be blessed with love coming into my life again. While no one can likely fit every single idea presented, the ability to be stirred by the words in a meaningful way is a necessary trait for anyone who wishes to knock on the door of my heart.
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 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.
There was a time in my life I would have thought “The Invitation” to be “pretty” and would have appreciated the art of it, but have gotten no more from it. I am indebted to the heartache that opened me, the trials that molded me and the growth as a sensing and feeling human being that today allow me not just to see the words of Oriah Mountain Dreamer, but to “feel” them as well.
If you’d like to know more about this poem go here: http://www.oriahmountaindreamer.com/
Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving. Kahlil Gibran