Wind and Waves

The Invitation by Oriah

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 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 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, to 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 faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s 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 the 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.

by
Oriah Mountain Dreamer

The Boy And His Drum

There is a boy, who wants a drum, but his mother can’t afford a drum, and so, sadly, she gives him a stick.  Though he doesn’t know what to do with it, he shuffles home and begins to play with the stick.  Just then, he encounters an old woman trying to light her chulha, her wood stove.  The boy freely gives her the stick.  She lights her fire, makes some bread, and in return she gives him half a loaf.  Walking on, the boy comes upon a potter’s wife whose child is crying from hunger.  The boy freely gives her bread.  In gratitude, she gives him a pot.  Though he doesn’t know what to do with it, he carries it along the river, where he sees a washerman and his wife quarrelling because the wife broke their one pot.  The boy gives them the pot.  In return, they give him a coat.  Since the boy isn’t cold, he carries the coat until he comes to a bridge, where a man is shivering.  Riding to town on a horse, the man was attacked and robbed of everything but his horse.  The boy freely gives him the coat.  Humbled, the man gives him his horse.  Not knowing how to ride, the boy walks the horse into town, where he meets a wedding party with musicians.  The bridegroom and his family are all sitting under a tree with long faces.  According to custom, the bridegroom is to enter the procession on a horse, which hasn’t shown up.  The boy freely gives him the horse.  Relieved, the bridegroom asks what he can do for the boy.  Seeing the drummer surrounded by all his drums, the boy asks for the smallest drum, which the musician gladly gives him.

The larger version of the story shows us how staying in relationship and staying open to a continual practice of giving and receiving opens the mystery of abundance that informs all circumstance, even when we feel blinded by our need.

-from the book FINDING INNER COURAGE by Mark Nepo