I first heard this poem during a therapy training weekend, and it completely captivated me. It felt as though it spoke directly to my soul, awakening my mind and touching parts of my heart that longed for connection. It was as if someone had reached inside me and articulated my lifelong yearning—the desire for true meeting in relationships, whether through kinship, friendship, or love.

*The Invitation* doesn’t concern itself with the surface-level questions we often ask each other. It doesn’t care about where you work, what you’ve achieved, or how you spend your free time. Instead, it asks something much deeper: Are you willing to show up fully as yourself? Can you be vulnerable, courageous, and authentic in your connections with others? Can you embrace both joy and sorrow without turning away?

This poem resonates with the essence of what it means to engage in genuine intimacy—the kind that requires stepping into the abyss without fear or agenda. It invites us to be content and comfortable in our own skin while meeting others in their truth.

For me, *The Invitation* has become a compass for navigating relationships. In a world that often encourages superficial interactions and curated versions of ourselves, this poem is a call to return to authenticity. It reminds me to seek relationships where I can open my heart and truly be seen - messy, imperfect, and real.

It also speaks to courage: the courage to remain present even when things get uncomfortable, the courage to share not just our victories but our wounds, and the courage to witness another’s pain without trying to fix it. This kind of connection requires vulnerability, but it also offers profound healing and growth.

When I read or listen to *The Invitation*, I am reminded that relationships, at their best, are about showing up without pretence. They are about holding space for one another in all of life’s complexities. And perhaps most importantly, they are about being willing to truly meet - heart to heart, soul to soul.

If you have never encountered Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s work, I encourage you to read *The Invitation*. Let it challenge you, inspire you, and perhaps even change the way you approach your relationships. After all, the greatest gift we can offer another person is our true self, fully present and unafraid.

The Invitation

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

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 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 centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals - or, have become shrivelled 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 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 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 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 be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God’s presence.

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 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 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 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.