Where does your passion live?

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 hearts 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 lifes betrayals,
or have become closed for fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain,
mine or your own, with out 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 ecstacy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes with out cautioning to be
careful, to 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 trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty every day,
and if you can source your life on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon.
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 dispair,
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 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 truely like the company you keep in the empty moments.