When I do appreciate something special, I like sharing it. Almost a year ago I posted a text which included this, but now I feel the need to share it again. If I had to choose my favorite out of all the phrases, quotes, poems and beautiful sentences I’ve read and heard, in books, songs, movies and through oral tradition, the one I will now share with you would be among the first. It is known as “The Invitation”, and corresponds to a book of the same title that I recommend strongly. It was written by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, a Canadian woman who was aware of the customs and beliefs of the American Indians.

“The Invitation” is that, an invitation to connect with the essentials, what really matters, defines us and gives meaning to life. It goes like this [free and unofficial translation]:


“I do not care how you make a living. Let me know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of what your heart desires.

I do not care about your age. Let me know if you will risk looking a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It does not interest me what planets are squaring your Moon. Let me know if you reached the center of your own sorrow, if life’s betrayals have opened you up or if you have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. Let me know if you can live with pain, mine or yours, not trying to hide it, to mitigate it or remedy it.

Let me know if you experience the joy fully, mine or yours, if you can dance in a frenzy and let the ecstasy penetrate deep inside,  to the tip of your toes and hands without your prudence calling us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of our human condition.

I do not care if what you are telling me is true. Let me know if you can disappoint another just to be true to yourself, if you could bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul […]

Let me know if you can see beauty even when it is not nice, every day, and if you can make your own life arising from its presence.

Let me know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and standing on the shore yelling at the silvery form of the full moon, ‘Yes!’

I do not care where you live or how much money you have. Let me know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what it takes to feed your children.

I do not care who you know or how you got here. Let me know if you’ll stay in the center of the fire with me and you won’t run away from me.

It does not interest me where or what or with whom you studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside, when all else falls apart.

Let me know if you can be alone with you and if you really value your own company in moments of emptiness.”


Probably, little else can be said in so few words.

I wish you a happy here, now.

Kisses and hugs,



Alex Rovira