More Cherokee and a Poem

If the Universe (or whatever you call it) repeatedly sends things your way, I suppose it means, "Pay attention!" Right? This past weekend, I heard about and attended a short--and FREE!--teaching circle given by a Cherokee man in a nearby town. Even though I live not far from ancestral Cherokee land, we don't get that many here in the big city. You may remember that, back in September, I actually went to Cherokee, NC, and attended a workshop there. (Didn't blog much about it, but maybe it's better that way.)

So, again, Cherokee stuff. I was curious to compare what this man said with the teachings I received in September. Well, their teachings both had in common the same tone--and I'm still digesting everything I heard. Having now listened to 2 different Cherokee teachers, they were both very indirect, just offering what they had and letting it help whomever it was designed to help. (What--no Powerpoints?) So I don't have much to say except that I'm keeping it mainly to myself. I'm feeling more and more that some spiritual teachings aren't meant to be shared right away. I did enjoy the ritual as well as the drumming and the short "dreaming" that the teacher led (what I would call my shamanic journey or meditation).

The second repetition was this: The teacher read a poem by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, a Canadian woman (not of Native descent) who is a writer and storyteller. The poem is titled "The Invitation," and I first discovered just a few months ago while researching readings for one of the weddings. When I first read it, I cried because it expressed so well many of the emotions I felt for my partner. With all the changes that we've been through, things will never be the same for us--even if we do reunite. This poem said so many of the things I longed to say but didn't know how. So I sent him a copy. And then this Cherokee man reads it this past Friday to start our teaching circle--and my partner was with me! I asked him about the poem, what he thought of it. He's a man of few words now; he said he liked it but that he would have to ask me more about it later. And that's his way, which is fine. Spirit moved me to send it, so I did.

Thought I'd reprint it here. "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 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 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 knowif you can be alone with yourself,
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.