From the woman with breasts

The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.I want to know what you ache forand 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 foolfor lovefor your dreamfor 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 sorrowif you have been opened by life’s betrayalsor have become shrivelled and closedfrom fear of further pain.I want to know if you can sit with painmine or your ownwithout moving to hide itor fade itor fix it.I want to know if you can be with joymine or your ownif you can dance with wildnessand let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toeswithout cautioning usto be carefulto be realisticto 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 betrayaland not betray your own soul.If you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.I want to know if you can see Beautyeven when it is not prettyevery day.And if you can source your own life from its presence.I want to know if you can live with failureyours and mineand still stand at the edge of the lakeand shout to the silver of the full moon,“Yes.”It doesn’t interest meto know where you live or how much money you have.I want to know if you can get upafter the night of grief and despairweary and bruised to the boneand do what needs to be doneto feed the children.It doesn’t interest me who you knowor how you came to be here.I want to know if you will standin the centre of the fire with meand 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 yourselfand if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.