I want to know myself...

It doesn't interest me what I do for a living.
I want to know what I ache for,
And if I dare to dream of meeting 
My heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old I am.
I want to know if I will risk looking like a fool
For love, for my dream, 
For the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring my moon.
I want to know if I have touched the center of my own sorrow,
If I have been opened by life's betrayals,
Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if I can sit with pain, 
Mine or your own,
Without moving 
To hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if I can be with joy, 
Mine or your own,
If I can dance with wildness 
and let the ecstasy fill me 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 I am telling myself is true.
I want to know if I can disappoint another to be true to myself,
If I can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray my own soul. 

I want to know if I can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if I can see beauty 
Even when it is not pretty every day,
And if I can source my life 
From its presence.

I want to know if I can live with failure, 
Yours and mine,
And still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where I live or how much money I have.
I want to know if I can get up after the 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 I am, how I came to be here.
I want to know if I will stand 
In the center of the fire 
And not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom I have studied.
I want to know what sustains me 
From the inside 
When all else falls away.

I want to know if I can be alone 
With myself,
And if I truly like the company I keep 
In the empty moments.