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.

The In­vi­ta­tion, by Ori­ah Moun­tain Dream­er