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Post Script Bread and Wine and food for the soul – or do I sound too Worthy?

Ha, knitted yoghurt, yes I am (sounding like Yoda, but well, okay, it’s Monday after all)

In the midst of tumult, a certain peace remains. How can I feel peaceful when I’m about to lose my house?  Odd.  But I feel guilty for not worrying.  Sitting in the handkerchief garden, on my old bench (untreated) and those three little birds sing.  Bless them above all things.  There they go,and Mr Marley, we miss you much, but I hear you tell me “don’t worry, ’bout a thing, cos every little thing, gonna be alright”. 

Here’s to Oriah Mountain Elder, my prayer for today and tomorrow and blessings to you all who read it;

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 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 dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what plaanets are squaring your moon.  I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.  I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine of your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine of your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstacy  fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitation 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 hear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless 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 own 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 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 bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t matter to 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 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 fades 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.

Leave a comment


  1. very good to see this

  2. Reblogged this on inspirebreathecreate and commented:

    “Shall I go again?”


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