I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or you 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’re telling me is tree. 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 you 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. I want to know if you 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 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 bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are, 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 backs.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you form 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.