It has begun. The time between Thanksgiving and New Years where we prepare for Winter with celebration before we officially turn inward to the time of resting, re renewal and gentle change. Today is "Black Friday" and the world is out shopping. I find myself doing something different. I am reading old letters. Letters of love, sex, and anticipation. Letters of heart break and misunderstanding. Do you ever do that? Go back and read your life? Recount the memories? Touch the soft spots? Long for more of them? A beautiful man sent me this poem a long time ago. He loved me and wanted to know what made up the marrow of my bones. The poem below still speaks of the truth that I seek in myself, in my friends, in my beloveds. I share it with you on this day of consuming....it's a different kind of invitation.
Read this. And then think about sharing something tender with another or yourself. Write about something deep in your heart that connects you to what is real. Blog it. Mail it. Text it. Reach out today and share something authentic.Start a conversation. Be generous with love. Move a heart in your life. Today doesn't have to be about leftovers and shopping. It can be something different.....
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 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.
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.