Shout ‘Yes’ to the silver of the Full Moon

2 Posted by - April 2, 2013 - Inner Work, Relationships

I’m not one to mince words when I am being real. And I’m really bad at small talk because I want to delve. Not just scratch the surface, but hire a digger!

So standing around at parties is not my scene. Unless of course I decide to bring out the digger, in which case most people move away.

Some years ago, my husband and I rented a holiday house on an island. The first night, the kids had gone to bed, and we were familiarising ourselves with the décor. Red wine in hand, just slowing down. And on the far wall, behind the old TV, we found a small frame with some words.

And we went silent. When we looked at each other, we were both crying.

The words went like this…

Some years ago, my husband and I rented a holiday house on an island. The first night, the kids had gone to bed, and we were familiarising ourselves with the décor. Red wine in hand, just slowing down. And on the far wall, behind the old TV, we found a small frame with some words.

And we went silent. When we looked at each other, we were both crying.

The words went like this…

The Invitation

“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 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 centre of your own sorrow, if you have opened your heart to life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or yours, 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, or 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. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you source your 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 to know how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the big night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for 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 centre of the fire 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 out 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.”

These words were written by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, after she had returned from a party where she didn’t fit in.

Her book, The Invitation, is a beauty. Follow the links on her website www.oriahmountaindreamer.com to get your hands on a copy and read it with a glass of red wine in hand.

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