|A good friend is someone to do nothing much with
and find "nothing much" so much fun.
A good friend is talking and talking about
everything under the sun.
A good friend is someone who really is glad
when you've worked for and won a success,
Someone you don't have to be on your guard with
or be what you aren't to impress.
A good friend is so many wonderful someones
all mixed in a marvelous blend of memory making,
of giving and taking, a "now and forever" Good Friend.
I know you. I created you. I have loved you from your mother's womb. You have fled, as you know, from my love, but I love you never the less, and not the less, however far you flee. It is I who sustains your very power to flee and I will never, finally, let you go. I accept you as you are. You are forgiven. I know all your sufferings. I have always known them. Far beyond your understanding, when you suffer, I suffer. I also know all the little tricks by which you try to hide the ugliness you have made of your life, from yourself and others. But, you are beautiful. You are beautiful because you yourself in the unique person that only you are, reflect already something of the beauty of my holiness in a way which shall never end. You are beautiful also because I and I alone, see the beauty you shall become. Through the transforming power of my love which is made perfect in weakness, you shall become perfectly beautiful. You shall become perfectly beautiful in a uniquely irreplaceable way, which neither you nor I will work out alone, for we shall work it out together.
From: KNOWN By Rev. Dr. Charles K. Robinson,
The ABC's of Friendship
(A) ccepts you as you are
(B) elieves in "you"
(C) alls you just to say "HI"
(D) oesn't give up on you
(E) nvisions the whole of you
(even the unfinished parts)
(F) orgives your mistakes
(G) ives unconditionally
(H) elps you
(I) nvites you over
(J) ust to "be" with you
(K) eeps you close at heart
(L) oves you for who you are
(M) akes a difference in your life
(N) ever judges
|(O) ffers support
(P) rays for you
(Q) uiets your fears
(R) aises your spirits
(S) ays nice things about you
(T) ells you the truth when
you need to hear it
(U) nderstands you
(V) alues you
(W) alks beside you
(X) -plains things you don't understand
(Y) ells when you won't listen, and
(Z) aps you back to reality.
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 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 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 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 be trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty everyday, and if you can source your life on 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 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 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 if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Oriah Mountain Dreamer
How "The Invitation" came to be written:
In the spring of 1994. I went to a party-an ordinary party-and I made an effort, a real effort, to be sociable. I asked and answered the usual questions: What do you do for a living? How do you know the host? Where did you study? Where do you live? And I came home with the familiar hollow feeling of having gone through the motions. So, I sat down and did what I often do to sort out what is going on--I wrote. Using the format of a writing exercise that had been given to me by poet David Whyte I wrote about the party conversations--what really did not interest me and what I really did want to know about others, about myself. I went to the centre of the ache for something more between myself and the world and the prose-poem, "The Invitation", poured onto the page. A week later I included the piece in a newsletter I was sending to eight hundred students who had, over the previous ten years, come to workshops I had facilitated on spirituality, sexuality and creativity. I sent it exactly as it had been written that night. I didn't think much about it. I'd shared many pieces of writing with folks on my mailing list over the years, often hearing back from those who felt a particular piece spoke to them. But this time, something different happened. People started copying and sharing "The Invitation" and I began hearing from hundreds of people I didn't know. A woman wrote from New Zealand where the piece had been read at a large spiritual gathering. A man in the States wrote of reading the piece at the funeral of a dear friend who had died of AIDS. Individuals as far away as Romania, Iceland, Greenland and South Africa wrote that someone had sent them "The Invitation" on e-mail, handed it out at a wedding or read it aloud at a workshop or conference. The piece seemed to have a life of its own. It was Joe Durepos, a literary agent in Chicago who had contacted me to ask permission for the piece to be used in Jean Houston's book, "A Passion for the Possible", who suggested that I consider writing a book based on "The Invitation." I started writing and Joe sold the first few chapters to Harper San Francisco. The prose-poem had touched others with a voice that cut through to what really matters. I didn't want the book to be a watered-down version of the original piece or a heady analysis of its heart-felt sense of urgency. I wanted the book to be as raw and as real as the prose-poem, to offer the receptive reader a chance to actually go to the places mapped out by "The Invitation." To fulfill this promise I had to go to those places myself. I went to a cabin owned by some friends and started writing, using each segment of the original piece as a doorway into deeper places-the longing, the joy, the sorrow, the fear- reflecting with ruthless honesty on the meaning and struggles of a human life. I wrote what I need to remember, what I need to hear again and again: that life is full of beauty and pain; that the world will break your heart and heal it, over and over, if you let it, and that letting it do both is the only way to live fully; that we are not alone but deeply connected to that which create, and sustains all life. Aided by Harper San Francisco editor Karen Levine I distilled the stories down to their essence and offered meditations at the conclusion of each chapter, meditations that had helped me walk through the doorways "The Invitation" had opened. Life is hard. And life is wonderful. "The Invitation" is about finding what we need-the inspiration, the intimacy, the courage and the commitment to live fully, every day.
© Oriah Mountain Dreamer
--Oriah Mountain Dreamer
A smile costs nothing, but gives much.
None is so rich or mighty
A smile creates happiness in the home,
Yet it cannot be bought, begged,
When people are too tired