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
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 dreams, 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 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’s 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 on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full
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 a 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
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
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 Dreamer