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 hearts longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if
you will risk looking a fool for love,
for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are square in 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 down from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your
own, without moving, to hide it, 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 ecstasy fill you to
the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to
be careful, be realistic, or 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
yourself;
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray
your own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful 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 life on the
edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the moon in
God’s presence.
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 for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know, or how you came
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 empty moments.
***
Love by Roy Croft
I love you
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.
I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.
I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can't help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find
I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple.
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.
I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good.
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.
You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
***
To Love is Not to Possess
James Kavanaugh
To love is not to possess,
To own or imprison,
Nor to lose one's self in another.
Love is to join and separate,
To walk alone and together,
To find a laughing freedom
That lonely isolation does not permit.
It is finally to be able
To be who we really are
No longer clinging in childish dependency
Nor docilely living separate lives in silence,
It is to be perfectly one's self
And perfectly joined in permanent commitment
To another–and to one's inner self.
Love only endures when it moves like waves,
Receding and returning gently or passionately,
Or moving lovingly like the tide
In the moon's own predictable harmony,
Because finally, despite a child's scars
Or an adult's deepest wounds,
They are openly free to be
Who they really are–and always secretly were,
In the very core of their being
Where true and lasting love can alone abide.
***
Pssst... I'll be adding more readings soon!
