I Want to Know
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 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 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.
It doesn't interest me
if the story you're 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.
I want to know
if you can be faithful
and therefore be trustworthy.
It doesn't interest me who you are,
how you came to be 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 the empty moments.