This Old Age Thing
Old age, I’ve been in it for quite a spell. You can tell by the antiquated phrase “quite a spell.” But I’ve really just arrived. Until now my recognition of place has been intermittent. Easily dispatched, not so much by denial, but by the ability - physical, emotional, spiritual - to feed off life momentum. Refocus and carry on.
Yesterday it was get the words down, spread the word, attend to the moment and the call, accept the light without holding on while accepting the darkness and the responsibility that comes with it, watch and listen and learn and share, and be thankful that cock didn’t need attention from pharmaceutical giants, while resting reassured that a chemical or two couldn’t hurt.
So now it only seems fair that, given baby Harrison’s inability to escape the terrible reality of coming in here only to find that mommy can’t hold him, breathing is not the natural order of things and suffering is the way the world works, I at least look to where I am.
Bent, but not yet completely broken. Actually not even close should I choose to exercise discipline and accept that I have relevance. But I am no longer who or what I saw myself to be.
I’m not at all sure it makes a bit of difference. To me or to anyone or anything external. But I’ve made a life expounding on the belief that there is some kind of recognizable, shareable reality out here. While I’ve harped long and loudly about the fallacy of relying on weights and measures to establish what is real and, more importantly, what is complete, I understand that without the measurements transcendence escapes us. Measuring allows us to find the environment in which we can, finally, experience One. So passing from denial, unconscious or not, is necessary.
I’ve always assumed that what I tried to share was calling forward. Out to the approaching moment/universe. It was. But tonight I finally realize the change. I am calling back to you. Fading. So quickly. I’d like to think I’m sharing this for you, but, as always, I’m not sure. Mememe. There’s a chapter in Remembered Gifts and New Directions, titled Thee in Me (And reading the chapter out of context, without having read the rest of the book, and White Man Dancing - Grief, God, and a Unified Theory - which is hard since I’ve yet to fan the fires to a sufficient degree to have the courage to publish it.) is difficult and confusing. Hopefully the connection will be made.
I love you.
-bill
