The moon over Memphis, looks down at me.
She shines on a river that drifts out to sea.
I can tell by her glow, what she’s trying to say,
“Please have this first dance with me.”
and we go one, two, three, one, two, three…
The moon over Memphis is dancing with me,
We shine on a river that drifts out to see,
She can tell by my glow what I’m trying to say,
“Please have this last dance with me.”
And we go, one, two, three, one, two, three …
(A song I wrote a while back)
He waited for the perfect time of day to reach across and tickle her roots.
Sailboat at dust, all is quiet,
Swimming bare ass is a riot,
He asks of my doing,
I float there while mewing,
“No one’s so flawed they can’t try it!”
The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer -One of my all-time favorite poems!
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.
Yesterday, when speaking with a friend of mine about the 1960’s, he showed me this famous photo. “And to think,” he said, “that when Jim Lovell took this amazing photo of earth, we were there.” That thought was powerful for me. If you were born after December 4, 1968, perhaps your soul was still forming in the universe until ready for this magical sphere.
“You have to really kind of think about our own existence here in the universe. You realize that people often say, ‘I hope to go to heaven when I die,'” he said. “In reality, if you think about it, you go to heaven when you’re born.” – Jim Lovell
Read more here.