"older" but never about getting "old." It is funny and sad, but true, that we usually don’t (or can't) say, “I am old now.” That would be announcing (to ourselves and the world) that we now have all the associations being old (sterotypical as they may be): no longer interesting, energetic, motivated, or “with it," not as "youthfully" attractive or desirable. Of course, there are visible as well as physical changes that accompnay aging that cannot be hidden, but rather than accept them, we may deny them or at least avoid talking about them.
At some point, if we have worked, we retire and/or let go of some of our responsibilities and connections, which can be liberating or necessary to transiton to what a new reality is, or what we wish our lives to be in our later years. The worst part of aging for some is feeling less relevant, maybe having withdrawn from serving on board, initiating and working on projects, contributing ideas to groups and/or organizations we have belonged to. Our activity now may be more focused on our inner life, our memories, what we want to spend our time doing, thinking our own thoughts--all good things and well-deserved.
One thing we cannot deny, living in a material world is that youth, beauty and relevance are desired and desirable, perhaps just because they are so fleeting. But, nothing can stop aging—not chemical peels, surgery, crossword puzzles, exercise, not even thinking positively. “You are as old as you feel.” I love that one! Most likely others perceiving a person who doesn't feel as old as she is will not respond or interact with her as they would a younger person, no matter how young she herself "feels." We are conditioned to worship youth, and, while there is the versimilitude that old folks should be respected for their wisdom and experience, often they are not.
Ultimately, though it occurs throughout our lives, aging involves more change and more loss; most of us eventually relinquish our careers (imposed or intentional). We lose touch with friends and loved ones, or lose them to death. Our physical strength, energy and stamina does shifts in some way. We may (if we are fortunate) have cast aside our illusions (especially the one that we are "in contro"l) and our unrealistic expectations (of ourselves and others). Loss is an underlying theme of life, an unbroken thread of existence until we submit to the final earthly good bye.
If you believe in a hereafter where you will “live on” in some better place and be reunited with loved ones, you can rest in that thought. If you believe there is no afterlife, that death is truly the end, you can rest in the thought of oblivion (although it sounds horrific and “not fair”), you will not feel anything, know or experience anything, and there will be no Judgement Day. Humans tend to live in an "either/or"mentality. The question of what happens after death, we usually believe it is all (a happy place) or nothing (oblivion). But since not one of us knows, we can only believe, or wonder.
I wonder and imagine if we will be dimly aware, neither annihilated nor in a painless and trouble-free heaven. Will we feel ourselves moving away from earth, from our earthly life and memories? Will we in fact be accountable, not assined to hell or punishment, but in some other way? Will we be presented with our feelings, thoughts, words and actions and how they impacted ourselves and others, conscious in some way of what we brought into being, maybe even experience what others felt because of our foolishness, unkindness, selfishness, anger, pride, greed, envy, untruths, prejudices, brutality, violence, and conversely the care, kindness, happiness, compassion, support and comfort we gave to, or on behalf of, others?
Ultimately, though it occurs throughout our lives, aging involves more change and more loss; most of us eventually relinquish our careers (imposed or intentional). We lose touch with friends and loved ones, or lose them to death. Our physical strength, energy and stamina does shifts in some way. We may (if we are fortunate) have cast aside our illusions (especially the one that we are "in contro"l) and our unrealistic expectations (of ourselves and others). Loss is an underlying theme of life, an unbroken thread of existence until we submit to the final earthly good bye.
If you believe in a hereafter where you will “live on” in some better place and be reunited with loved ones, you can rest in that thought. If you believe there is no afterlife, that death is truly the end, you can rest in the thought of oblivion (although it sounds horrific and “not fair”), you will not feel anything, know or experience anything, and there will be no Judgement Day. Humans tend to live in an "either/or"mentality. The question of what happens after death, we usually believe it is all (a happy place) or nothing (oblivion). But since not one of us knows, we can only believe, or wonder.
I wonder and imagine if we will be dimly aware, neither annihilated nor in a painless and trouble-free heaven. Will we feel ourselves moving away from earth, from our earthly life and memories? Will we in fact be accountable, not assined to hell or punishment, but in some other way? Will we be presented with our feelings, thoughts, words and actions and how they impacted ourselves and others, conscious in some way of what we brought into being, maybe even experience what others felt because of our foolishness, unkindness, selfishness, anger, pride, greed, envy, untruths, prejudices, brutality, violence, and conversely the care, kindness, happiness, compassion, support and comfort we gave to, or on behalf of, others?
Might it be that we get more than one chance to get it right? Will we be born again to balance the scales as part of the cycle of reincarnation/karma? In this way of thinking, it seems possible that the more we practice and develop consciousness and conscience here and now, the less we may have to be painfully aware or pleasantly surprised in an afterlife or in successive lives. While I have given much thought to repeated earth lives, read about it, discussed it with others who do believe in the necessity of and function karma serves, I have not fully explored, studied it enough to come to any conclusions about it or certain belief in it. One thing I do believe firmly is that it behooves us to strive for consciousness and conscience anyway, and to aim to live by the Golden Rule: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." It's as simple and impossible as that.
Maybe it is wiser to take the philosophical perspective of Skepticism. Since nothing can be known for certain, I can only imagine and wonder as I do, but in the end, I must endure life's mystery with its incertainty, its darkness and light. I have considered many religous traditions and beliefs. I have tried to live by what I found most worthy to practice in this life I am given, not just for myself but for the good of others. I have not been true to or consistent in any one religious tradition or spiritual practice, except attempting to remember the Golden Rule. I also have respected the Eightfold Path of Buddhism with an awareness of the value of right speech, right thought, right action as the main ones. I am also sure that, like the lines in a perspective drawing, my spiritual intentions have sometimes disolved into a vanishing point instead.
It is difficult to be consistent in the earthly realm of opposites! I could be a defensive, “vulgar neurotic” and quote Emerson’s: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” I just have! And, I can say that I started out with “good intentions” to understand that there are many ways to think about and live life, and we all must find our own way. It seems though that no matter how conscious we become, there will always be aspects of ourselves of which we have little or no awareness or understanding: those gaps, tendencies, quirks and deficits in our beings (much more evident in others than in ourselves), and which, therefore, can not easily be changed or redirected. Then, there is the “built in” mechanism in our psyche working overtime to prevent such awareness, especially since it would mean acknowledging our flaws in order to change. Although at times I “get tired of it all,” and feel I can not think about any of it any longer—maybe that is when I can say, "I have arrived, relax and just live my life—old or not."
But I don't, I can't, I may never! I do manage most days to devote some thought to the following: what I have done or not done; what I could have done differently, how my thoughts/words/actions have affected others, what my underlying motivations may have been. I have to guard against getting too dark or too light in my perceptions, mythologizing my goodness or despairing at my failures (those ever-present polarities). Does my approach serve my good intentions? I believe so when I follow through with them which means having reflected on how far off I usually have been. I haven’t given up yet.
I sense there is a guardian in my being, a monitor, a mediator, an inquisitor who asks these questions to redirect me, and allows me to see myself at my worst and at my best, as Rumi suggests, like the moon--"sometimes full, sometimes crescent." This companion also allows me to experience the joy of being, sense experiences of the curve and color of forms, the warmth of human society, the flight of a bird, the mystery of the heavens, the light shining from the faces of my grandchildren.
As I age, I feel the urgency to live life to the fullest—to eat, drink and be merry with those I care about, to learn more, to see more clearly, to understand more by thinking in the gap between how things are and how they "should/could" be! So aware of those gaps, it hurts to know that at any given moment there is so much suffering, pain, trauma, violence, injustice and exploitation, and tht I am unable to do anything to ease it. Hopefully, we all touch lives in ways we never can imagine. I hope so, as we know those people, events and places that have touched us, moved us, saved us.
Always present is my longing to be with my family—to see them often, to be near to them, to hug them, to cook for and with them, to sit and talk around a dinner table, to understand who they are and will be. At the same time, I am pleased to have and require the solitude of independence with a rich thought and creative life apart from family. Teaching, reading, study, reflection and writing have been therapeutic, inspirational and have helped to brings a balance, a center, a focus to my life.
As I think and write about these thoughts and feelings now--constant companions as I wend my through aging on a path with light-filled and dark places. I am grateful for it all. I have enjoyed my work, my home, my world, cherished my family and friends, and have attempted to face challenges in a conscious, rational, practical, yet caring way (for the most part). I have met my obligations in a responsible way (for the most part). I have tried to strike that balance between opposites and to accept change in a calm way (after initial anxiety and fear). And, there have been the gifts of grace and mercy when least expected.
The most memorable and rewarding part of life was when our children were growing and at home, when everything was still ahead with peak life forces available. Still, I enjoy precious human warmth and LOVE: the great joy-bringer and deep ache-maker. Love is the one thing I do believe in without any doubt, worth living and dying for—the blossom, the wing, the star of life—opening us, lifting us and raying out and shining upon us.
Fortunately, I am experiencing a second coming of those more more youthful days through our grandchildren. Near or far, we are part of each others' lives. I am grateful to receive and give LOVE, which may well be the only thing that transcends death, and it may just be that it is LOVE that brings us back to the green earth.
The essence of my dilemma about life and death is that right here and now: I am this unique person--this one time--in this particular place, with these seven parts to play on this world stage, with these friends and this family. Even if am reincarnated, I won’t be this version of me, with this life and these children and grandchildren—whose faces I have loved to look upon. It is hard to grow old, as we have to also imagine and face the final loss and letting go, but let go we must.
These are the things I think about as I am getting old(er)—silly as they may be in the face of a universe of wisdom (beyond comprehension), a universe of mystery and meaning (beyond reason). Is this how it is "supposed" to be? This is how it is, and we must say, “YES” to a life filled with all its labor and loss, and its abundant blessings.
Maybe it is wiser to take the philosophical perspective of Skepticism. Since nothing can be known for certain, I can only imagine and wonder as I do, but in the end, I must endure life's mystery with its incertainty, its darkness and light. I have considered many religous traditions and beliefs. I have tried to live by what I found most worthy to practice in this life I am given, not just for myself but for the good of others. I have not been true to or consistent in any one religious tradition or spiritual practice, except attempting to remember the Golden Rule. I also have respected the Eightfold Path of Buddhism with an awareness of the value of right speech, right thought, right action as the main ones. I am also sure that, like the lines in a perspective drawing, my spiritual intentions have sometimes disolved into a vanishing point instead.
It is difficult to be consistent in the earthly realm of opposites! I could be a defensive, “vulgar neurotic” and quote Emerson’s: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” I just have! And, I can say that I started out with “good intentions” to understand that there are many ways to think about and live life, and we all must find our own way. It seems though that no matter how conscious we become, there will always be aspects of ourselves of which we have little or no awareness or understanding: those gaps, tendencies, quirks and deficits in our beings (much more evident in others than in ourselves), and which, therefore, can not easily be changed or redirected. Then, there is the “built in” mechanism in our psyche working overtime to prevent such awareness, especially since it would mean acknowledging our flaws in order to change. Although at times I “get tired of it all,” and feel I can not think about any of it any longer—maybe that is when I can say, "I have arrived, relax and just live my life—old or not."
But I don't, I can't, I may never! I do manage most days to devote some thought to the following: what I have done or not done; what I could have done differently, how my thoughts/words/actions have affected others, what my underlying motivations may have been. I have to guard against getting too dark or too light in my perceptions, mythologizing my goodness or despairing at my failures (those ever-present polarities). Does my approach serve my good intentions? I believe so when I follow through with them which means having reflected on how far off I usually have been. I haven’t given up yet.
I sense there is a guardian in my being, a monitor, a mediator, an inquisitor who asks these questions to redirect me, and allows me to see myself at my worst and at my best, as Rumi suggests, like the moon--"sometimes full, sometimes crescent." This companion also allows me to experience the joy of being, sense experiences of the curve and color of forms, the warmth of human society, the flight of a bird, the mystery of the heavens, the light shining from the faces of my grandchildren.
As I age, I feel the urgency to live life to the fullest—to eat, drink and be merry with those I care about, to learn more, to see more clearly, to understand more by thinking in the gap between how things are and how they "should/could" be! So aware of those gaps, it hurts to know that at any given moment there is so much suffering, pain, trauma, violence, injustice and exploitation, and tht I am unable to do anything to ease it. Hopefully, we all touch lives in ways we never can imagine. I hope so, as we know those people, events and places that have touched us, moved us, saved us.
Always present is my longing to be with my family—to see them often, to be near to them, to hug them, to cook for and with them, to sit and talk around a dinner table, to understand who they are and will be. At the same time, I am pleased to have and require the solitude of independence with a rich thought and creative life apart from family. Teaching, reading, study, reflection and writing have been therapeutic, inspirational and have helped to brings a balance, a center, a focus to my life.
As I think and write about these thoughts and feelings now--constant companions as I wend my through aging on a path with light-filled and dark places. I am grateful for it all. I have enjoyed my work, my home, my world, cherished my family and friends, and have attempted to face challenges in a conscious, rational, practical, yet caring way (for the most part). I have met my obligations in a responsible way (for the most part). I have tried to strike that balance between opposites and to accept change in a calm way (after initial anxiety and fear). And, there have been the gifts of grace and mercy when least expected.
The most memorable and rewarding part of life was when our children were growing and at home, when everything was still ahead with peak life forces available. Still, I enjoy precious human warmth and LOVE: the great joy-bringer and deep ache-maker. Love is the one thing I do believe in without any doubt, worth living and dying for—the blossom, the wing, the star of life—opening us, lifting us and raying out and shining upon us.
Fortunately, I am experiencing a second coming of those more more youthful days through our grandchildren. Near or far, we are part of each others' lives. I am grateful to receive and give LOVE, which may well be the only thing that transcends death, and it may just be that it is LOVE that brings us back to the green earth.
The essence of my dilemma about life and death is that right here and now: I am this unique person--this one time--in this particular place, with these seven parts to play on this world stage, with these friends and this family. Even if am reincarnated, I won’t be this version of me, with this life and these children and grandchildren—whose faces I have loved to look upon. It is hard to grow old, as we have to also imagine and face the final loss and letting go, but let go we must.
These are the things I think about as I am getting old(er)—silly as they may be in the face of a universe of wisdom (beyond comprehension), a universe of mystery and meaning (beyond reason). Is this how it is "supposed" to be? This is how it is, and we must say, “YES” to a life filled with all its labor and loss, and its abundant blessings.
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