It's been awhile since my last post. I tend to take steps back from this vast and at times unruly world of "connection", but tonight is different. It's unique because I have some of my energy back and I need to use it before the balloon deflates and flies aimlessly about, then lands somewhere (God only knows where) on the pavement as a small semblance of what was once a pretty robust ball of joy. That sounds extreme. It is. Or at least it can be. It really is incredible how these times of resurfacing feel as if I have some breath back? I look up at the sky and I can feel the blue and the wisps and the breeze.
Getting away from me and leading into the real purpose for my writing on this =the 14th day of November, 2016. As all of us know, we've experienced a tremendous shift the past weeks and as we all take the time and the space we need to sort things out and find our place again... I searched for a file on my laptop. I clicked on my magnifying glass and typed out "grief" only to find a document entitled "it doesn't matter"... I clicked and poof... stardust fell in my lap.
It's a testimony/a piece of story/a peek into the depths... and at the very bottom beside the dash, there was that name I hadn't seen in a couple of years. His name is Charlie and he worked at the Delonis Center in Ann Arbor, MI where I volunteered during the prime time shift Friday nights. He moved out of state, then shortly thereafter he passed away. It was sudden and it is tragic, but his smile/his beautiful soul and his stardust shines on.
This discovery instantly sends me back in time to that space when I would show up for my shift and he was there on the 3rd floor. We shared viewpoints and personal values and principles and debated life's purpose... he had an empathy unlike most and a genuine raw authentic urge to help others.
I'm grateful for finding this; for knowing him... even if it was just for a brief window in time and for the reminder, MOST especially during this time... to sift for the matter amidst the matter-less.
It doesn't matter to me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to meet your hearts longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will look 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, to be realistic, 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; if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty, even when its not pretty, everyday, 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 full moon, 'YES!'
It doesn't interest me 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 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.
-The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
forwarded on by Charlie Anderberg (June 23, 1975 - September 4, 2014)
***Sending you all love and light; stardust and silver moons in honor of Charlie 💫