It doesn’t matter 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 foolfor love,for 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 centre of your own sorrow, if 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 pain,mine or your own, without moving to hide itor fade itor fix it.I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildnessand let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toeswithout cautioning us tobe careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being a human.It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling meis true.I want to know if you candisappoint anotherto 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’s not pretty every day. And if you can source your lifefrom its presence.I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,and still stand on 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 despair,weary and bruised to the bone,and do what needs to be doneto 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 standin the centre of the firewith meand not shrink back.It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whomyou have studied.I want to know what sustains youfrom the inside,when all else falls away.I want to know if you can be alonewith yourself; and if you truly like the company you keepin the empty moments.