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 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 ecstacy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes without cautioning us to
be careful, 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 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 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 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 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 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.