Reflections on The Invitation – Mindfulness-Based Therapy and Coaching Insights
Reflections on The Invitation
Exploring what we really want to know — and be known for — in our closest relationships.
THE INVITATION
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 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, 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.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is 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 at the edge of the 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 bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed 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 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.
What Do We Really Know About Each Other?
When getting to know someone, we often rely on their words and actions. Conversations and experiences are shaped by what we value in life and relationships. Not every moment calls for the kind of depth this poem explores — but it does make you wonder: What do we really know about the people closest to us?
In The Invitation, Oriah asks questions that speak to the heart of who we are. She moves beyond status, identity, or performance — and into the deeper truths of what makes us human. She wants to know not what we do, but what we ache for. She wrote this poem after leaving an unfulfilling social gathering, feeling a deep desire to “love well.”
That question lingers: How do you love well?
What do you choose to share about yourself so that others truly get you?
What qualities do you seek in the people you let into your inner world — friends, mentors, therapists, lovers, or leaders?
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 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, 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.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is 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 at the edge of the 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 bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed 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 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.
When getting to know someone, we often rely on their words and actions. Conversations and experiences are shaped by what we value in life and relationships. Not every moment calls for the kind of depth this poem explores — but it does make you wonder: What do we really know about the people closest to us?
In The Invitation, Oriah asks questions that speak to the heart of who we are. She moves beyond status, identity, or performance, and into the deeper truths of what makes us human. She wants to know not what we do, but what we ache for. She wrote this poem after leaving an unfulfilling social gathering, feeling a deep desire to “love well.”
That question lingers: How do you love well?
What do you choose to share about yourself so that others truly get you?
What qualities do you seek in the people you let into your inner world — friends, mentors, therapists, lovers, or leaders?
I invite you to sit with Oriah’s questions — or even answer them for yourself. You might write them down, journal your reflections, or use them as prompts for conversation.
Or, maybe you write your own version of The Invitation — a poem that captures what you long for, what matters most, and what it means to be loved well.
There’s no right or wrong here — just a path to be uncovered by knowing what you’re looking for.
“The Invitation” by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. Shared with gratitude. Learn more about Oriah’s work at oriahmountaindreamer.com.
- Crystal Harband
