"…I want to know"
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 longing1.
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.
are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow， 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 or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy， mine or your own， and if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy2 to be careful， be realistic， or to remember the limitations of being a human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself， and if you can bear the 3 of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can see the beauty even when it is not pretty every day， and if you can source your life from its presence.
I want to know if your 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 the night of grief and despair， weary and bruised4 to the bone， and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are， 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.
you from the inside when all else fails away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself， you keep in the empty moments.