WHAT YOU LONG FOR…
Following is my favorite poem, “The Invitation” by Oriah. Hadn’t read it in a while, then picked it back up this afternoon as certain phrases kept ruminating in my busy head…
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.
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 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.
– ORIAH
I’m alone with myself today – have been the past couple days, will be for a couple more. I stole away to write. It’s heavenly, and I can honestly say that even though I love people and connection, being alone with me is a constant heart’s longing. I crave solitude almost more than anything else. Solitude used to feel like loneliness, until I found what I love to do, and now I simply pine for opportunities to be in the company of my Self.
I love The Invitation because it speaks of the ultimate human desire: to feel free. Soul-level, each of us wants to live intensely, with much love and much passion…We’re just waiting for someone to give us permission.
The permission must come from within, and above. Not from this linear plane. People around us even those who love us can’t answer the call of our hearts. Only we can.
And only by the grace of God above can we even hear it.
No more labels and limits and judgments on the desires of our hearts, on what we really long for. They just are what they are, and someday somehow each and every one of them will find expression. It’s the way of the Creator we worship to give them a voice.
What we love and long for is directly tied into what we were born to do how we’re going to help heal the planet what our gifts are. “Neglect not the gift that is in thee” (1 Timothy 4:14) might as well be translated, “Don’t put a lid on what you love and don’t stop nurturing your dreams because in those dreams lie the potential to express your highest gifts.”
See, THAT is why we needed a few women to write scriptures back then… 🙂 Lucky for us, we now get to expound on them
We all just want to feel free. Our creativity and femininity are huge factors in this. Today, as I sit in this hotel room in total solitude (minus the hundreds of people above and below me), I am reminded of the importance of honoring what lies in the deepest recesses of my heart. The baby dreams that haven’t yet found their wings.
I’ll just try to be patient…allowing them be what they are…loving them onto a shelf until it’s the right season to take them down and let them fly. To freedom.
