I have been coming across blogs by people younger than I complaining about aging, about an indignity a day and as I have said in a previous post or 2, what do we think the alternative is? Death may not be something to be feared, but I am increasingly convinced that whatever is going on here is not meaningless.
From the time of invincible youth [another illusion ] to the master class in letting go there is work to be done.
My daughter and her kids are living with me at the moment and I'm being allowed to experience the contrast of different phases, to dream about trajectory, intention and placing value on things that do not last, or become something you don't expect.
Yes, there is physical crumbling, yes there is memory loss, yes there is less desire as well as ability to whisk up and down the local mountain, or stay up all night singing. The loss there is replaced by being slow enough to hear what songbirds remain singing at dusk. Waking in the night, staying awake and feeling the dark and the quiet as another quality to existence, enjoyable because one doesn't have to get up at 6 and rush kids off to school, or get to a job. There is yearning, but not so much for another person to hold onto as to have time to see what is behind the desire, to ask oneself "What did you expect?".
As my mother slowly disappeared behind a needy, querulous, often confused mask, someone asked what is she living for? What is the point now? I didn't have an answer to that, but it seemed then, as now, that there is no way to make an evaluation of someone else's path wherever they are on it.
In the last week before my mother killed herself, when she had decided to stop taking the medications, and hadn't yet decided to really do it and dissolve a bunch of pain killers in a glass of vodka, we had time with her that was precious, and full of light. She cast off the mantle of suffering, of trying to cover up what was happening to her mind, and gave us back, for a short time, the woman we had been losing for years. It wasn't until that time that I knew how much of her had been driven underground by pain and weakness. She gave us the gift of seeing that what is essential is not lost as well as how fragile life is, how easily it slips away.
Things being what they are is a subjective idea, somehow there must be room for informative movement, and receptivity to it as well. As physical impediments force a slowdown, the space is made for that. This is not something to be mourned, but welcomed, kind of like someone you despise giving you a million dollars.
From the time of invincible youth [another illusion ] to the master class in letting go there is work to be done.
My daughter and her kids are living with me at the moment and I'm being allowed to experience the contrast of different phases, to dream about trajectory, intention and placing value on things that do not last, or become something you don't expect.
Yes, there is physical crumbling, yes there is memory loss, yes there is less desire as well as ability to whisk up and down the local mountain, or stay up all night singing. The loss there is replaced by being slow enough to hear what songbirds remain singing at dusk. Waking in the night, staying awake and feeling the dark and the quiet as another quality to existence, enjoyable because one doesn't have to get up at 6 and rush kids off to school, or get to a job. There is yearning, but not so much for another person to hold onto as to have time to see what is behind the desire, to ask oneself "What did you expect?".
As my mother slowly disappeared behind a needy, querulous, often confused mask, someone asked what is she living for? What is the point now? I didn't have an answer to that, but it seemed then, as now, that there is no way to make an evaluation of someone else's path wherever they are on it.
In the last week before my mother killed herself, when she had decided to stop taking the medications, and hadn't yet decided to really do it and dissolve a bunch of pain killers in a glass of vodka, we had time with her that was precious, and full of light. She cast off the mantle of suffering, of trying to cover up what was happening to her mind, and gave us back, for a short time, the woman we had been losing for years. It wasn't until that time that I knew how much of her had been driven underground by pain and weakness. She gave us the gift of seeing that what is essential is not lost as well as how fragile life is, how easily it slips away.
Things being what they are is a subjective idea, somehow there must be room for informative movement, and receptivity to it as well. As physical impediments force a slowdown, the space is made for that. This is not something to be mourned, but welcomed, kind of like someone you despise giving you a million dollars.
this is brilliant and moving and will probably keep me awake tonight. thank you for posting it.
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