I live more in the immaterial now and less in the material. This is one of the benefits of aging. All the old stuff with which one preoccupied oneself (the incessant desire for the merging of genitalia, the making of a name and identity for oneself, the looking for one's own crowd and sense of belonging, etc.) now assumes much less importance or even of no import at all. One is more open to subtler realms. The immaterial becomes more real than that of hard-core matter. You want to know why older people may seem less here? Because we are not.
Yes, yes. I know. Be fully present. Live in the now-moment. Strike while the iron is hot. And so on. But those sayings have a different meaning to one who is not trying to establish their rooting and grounding as an embodying human, who has that pretty much done, and is opening to the adventure of being undone.
In the first part of life, we look to pull it all together, to make something of ourselves. In the latter part of life, we learn to stop pulling and pushing. We are now learning to make nothing of ourselves.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
disengagement
Social engagement has been linked to longevity for quite some time in the sociological and gerontological theory and research literature. Supposedly if one stays engaged in social activities as one ages, one lives longer. The implication is that living longer is a good thing.
As one who is aging, I tend to disagree with that. And not for reasons you might expect. Not because of pain and suffering and loss, etc. As I get older, I see that I have learned about all I can in human form and am engaged in transferring my educational account to other realms ("laying up my treasures in heaven" as the Christians say; "dying before I die" as the Sufi's say). This is as real to me as your getting a good deal at Discount Tire is to you. I see and know what I only suspected before.
I have little interest in social activities these days. As the saying goes: been there, done that. According to the aforementioned body of research, I am doomed and should be withering away to "a rag, a bone, a hank of hair." Yet I am immensely alive, healthy and well. Obviously there is more going on here than just social engagement or the lack thereof.
In more recent research, "leisure activities devoid of social or physical benefits" (reading! they are talking about reading here!) were associated with "improved aging and reduced mortality" but only among men. In another body of gerontological research, conclusions were that "solitary activities have a positive influence on the survival of very old individuals, especially men."
I don't know what is going on with the women. They are a different species. But according to the results for males, since I am an avid reader and am a solitary by nature ("the solitary bird flies highest"), I should live a long long time. Guess I've got more learning to do in human form.
As one who is aging, I tend to disagree with that. And not for reasons you might expect. Not because of pain and suffering and loss, etc. As I get older, I see that I have learned about all I can in human form and am engaged in transferring my educational account to other realms ("laying up my treasures in heaven" as the Christians say; "dying before I die" as the Sufi's say). This is as real to me as your getting a good deal at Discount Tire is to you. I see and know what I only suspected before.
I have little interest in social activities these days. As the saying goes: been there, done that. According to the aforementioned body of research, I am doomed and should be withering away to "a rag, a bone, a hank of hair." Yet I am immensely alive, healthy and well. Obviously there is more going on here than just social engagement or the lack thereof.
In more recent research, "leisure activities devoid of social or physical benefits" (reading! they are talking about reading here!) were associated with "improved aging and reduced mortality" but only among men. In another body of gerontological research, conclusions were that "solitary activities have a positive influence on the survival of very old individuals, especially men."
I don't know what is going on with the women. They are a different species. But according to the results for males, since I am an avid reader and am a solitary by nature ("the solitary bird flies highest"), I should live a long long time. Guess I've got more learning to do in human form.
Friday, June 24, 2011
bench treasures
This morning at Heritage Square downtown, a Flagstaff woman was leading little kids, 2 to 5 year olds I would reckon, and their moms and a couple of dads through some delightful shenanigans. Two other geezers and myself were each sitting on our respective benches and watching. After a while I decided to go say hello. Both gents were travel-hardened with packs.
"What's the word for the day?" I asked the first one, sitting reading a well-thumbed Bible. He responded calmly and clearly with perhaps the best elucidation of the Bible and its message I have ever heard. I sat beside him and listened with open heart for some time. I arose to go and thanked him. "What is your name?" I asked. "Moses," he said as we shook hands.
I walked over to the other gent a little distance away. He was a Navajo man, deaf but able to communicate through sign, facial expressions, and brief spoken and written words (we availed ourselves of a pen and paper after a while). He told me of his earlier life, of his visiting Flagstaff as a young boy, of his riding horses and horse-pulled wagons in days gone by, of being in Vietnam in the Army. I told him I had been in the Marines. I asked him his age. He said 59. I told him I am 73 and called him a child. He burst into laughter. We laughed a lot and spoke of many other things. I said goodbye. We shook hands then saluted each other with a smile.
What riches, what treasures are before our very eyes! "For thereby some have entertained angels unawares." (Hebrews 13:2)
"What's the word for the day?" I asked the first one, sitting reading a well-thumbed Bible. He responded calmly and clearly with perhaps the best elucidation of the Bible and its message I have ever heard. I sat beside him and listened with open heart for some time. I arose to go and thanked him. "What is your name?" I asked. "Moses," he said as we shook hands.
I walked over to the other gent a little distance away. He was a Navajo man, deaf but able to communicate through sign, facial expressions, and brief spoken and written words (we availed ourselves of a pen and paper after a while). He told me of his earlier life, of his visiting Flagstaff as a young boy, of his riding horses and horse-pulled wagons in days gone by, of being in Vietnam in the Army. I told him I had been in the Marines. I asked him his age. He said 59. I told him I am 73 and called him a child. He burst into laughter. We laughed a lot and spoke of many other things. I said goodbye. We shook hands then saluted each other with a smile.
What riches, what treasures are before our very eyes! "For thereby some have entertained angels unawares." (Hebrews 13:2)
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
the style of old age
"The artist thus graced and cursed with the "style of old age" is not content with the conventional vocabulary provided him by his epoch. For to render the epoch, the whole epoch, he cannot remain within it; he must find a point beyond it." Hermann Broch, The Style of the Mythical Age
Consider that you are word-woven: that you define yourself and thereby the entire world and cosmos by your words. Over the years, you have adopted various words and phrases of self-definition, words to live up to or down to, as the case may be.
As one ages, it is more difficult to remain within the conventional vocabulary. The "style of old age" is to burst out of the old words, to be borne into unrestricted definition. Either that or one must die by chasing and while chasing the same old tale -- the tale provided by one's epoch.
"Old age" is a unique opportunity. One is facing dissolution and death -- two allies not readily fooled. The bromides and platitudes of a younger age either acquire new meaning or are abandoned as worthless. One is born into this world from Somewhere and is about to be borne from this world to Somewhere. It is not time to shit oneself and walk around wearing cognitive Depends.
Beethoven, Bach, Goya, Tolstoy, Goethe, Hokusai are examples of artists who broke through into the "style of old age." Each of us is an artist in our own right. We create through the artistry of our own lives. We have tried various expressions over time, gone through many periods. Now is the time to step out from what we have learned and open to the artistry and style of old age.
It is not so much a matter of learning a new vocabulary but of arranging one's existing vocabulary to form new meaning -- the meaning that comes with a view from here, as we feel ourselves leaving this world and opening and letting go to what is to come. From this calm daring comes the wisdom and the style of old age.
Consider that you are word-woven: that you define yourself and thereby the entire world and cosmos by your words. Over the years, you have adopted various words and phrases of self-definition, words to live up to or down to, as the case may be.
As one ages, it is more difficult to remain within the conventional vocabulary. The "style of old age" is to burst out of the old words, to be borne into unrestricted definition. Either that or one must die by chasing and while chasing the same old tale -- the tale provided by one's epoch.
"Old age" is a unique opportunity. One is facing dissolution and death -- two allies not readily fooled. The bromides and platitudes of a younger age either acquire new meaning or are abandoned as worthless. One is born into this world from Somewhere and is about to be borne from this world to Somewhere. It is not time to shit oneself and walk around wearing cognitive Depends.
Beethoven, Bach, Goya, Tolstoy, Goethe, Hokusai are examples of artists who broke through into the "style of old age." Each of us is an artist in our own right. We create through the artistry of our own lives. We have tried various expressions over time, gone through many periods. Now is the time to step out from what we have learned and open to the artistry and style of old age.
It is not so much a matter of learning a new vocabulary but of arranging one's existing vocabulary to form new meaning -- the meaning that comes with a view from here, as we feel ourselves leaving this world and opening and letting go to what is to come. From this calm daring comes the wisdom and the style of old age.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
walt
The brother of the mother of my children sent me this story (Thanks, Dick!) which I paraphrase. An older man worked as a Walmart greeter and was well liked among all. He assisted folk who needed it, greeted customers by name as he got to know them, and generally provided an atmosphere enjoyed by both customer and employee. One thing bothered his boss, a younger man quite conscientious in the performance of his supervisory duties. The older man, Walt, was always 15 minutes or more late. No matter what the supervisor said, Walt's lateness never changed. Otherwise his job performance was exemplary. Finally, the boss had enough and called Walt into his office. "Walt, you were in the military, weren't you?" "Yes, I was." "Well, what did they say to you if you were late there?" "They said, Colonel, would you like me to bring you a cup of coffee?"
Older folk walk by us all the time and we perhaps dismiss them with a glance. We never know what richness lives within the shape and form of a geezer ("guiser: one who is not as they appear").
Older folk walk by us all the time and we perhaps dismiss them with a glance. We never know what richness lives within the shape and form of a geezer ("guiser: one who is not as they appear").
Friday, June 17, 2011
mere aging mass following orders
As a geezer or geezelle, I find that one is often labelled, categorized, put safely away in the other person's mental filing system before one has even opened one's mouth. I learned from Carlos Castaneda and his Don Juan series that one may as well conform to other people's perceptions in these situations. They are already entranced by their own vision of you. No need to disturb them.
I especially enjoy going through airport security as a geezer. Being hard of hearing (despite hearing aids) also helps. My evident confusion about what I am being told brings motherly feminine assistance.
"Stand in front of the machine, dear! No! No! Turn around! Around this way! That's it! No! Don't hand me that! Keep it! Keep it in your hand! Good! Thank you!"
"No, no, honey! Your shoes! Your shoes! Not your shirt!"
I am a mere aging mass following orders as I hear them and am somehow shepherded through by divine and feminine guidance. Once on the other side, I assume my usual identity as G. Breed, Explorer of the Cosmos.
Little do others know of the wild selves lurking within the aging skin of their elders. But the Geezer knows! (Wild maniacal laughter accompanied by deeply throbbing organ music . . .)
I especially enjoy going through airport security as a geezer. Being hard of hearing (despite hearing aids) also helps. My evident confusion about what I am being told brings motherly feminine assistance.
"Stand in front of the machine, dear! No! No! Turn around! Around this way! That's it! No! Don't hand me that! Keep it! Keep it in your hand! Good! Thank you!"
"No, no, honey! Your shoes! Your shoes! Not your shirt!"
I am a mere aging mass following orders as I hear them and am somehow shepherded through by divine and feminine guidance. Once on the other side, I assume my usual identity as G. Breed, Explorer of the Cosmos.
Little do others know of the wild selves lurking within the aging skin of their elders. But the Geezer knows! (Wild maniacal laughter accompanied by deeply throbbing organ music . . .)
Sunday, June 12, 2011
benchmarks
Over the years, I have learned the value of sitting still. Life reveals itself more deeply to those motionless and immovable within. Surface froth gives way to deep current. Awareness opens and expands.Which brings me to the topic of benches.
Bench: "The place where the players on a team sit when not participating in a game."
Though my feet are usually in motion, I like to park my posterior from time to time. The metabolic rate of the younger crowd, keeping them more tightly wound and in a moving frenzy, bodes well for us more seasoned veterans of life. Room is usually available on the benches.
I have four favorite benches: two for sitting within the Human Theme Park where I observe the humanimals; two outside the Theme Park where humanimals rarely appear. All four provide peace of soul and greater awareness and understanding.
Bench: "A strong worktable, such as one used in carpentry or in a laboratory."
Sometimes a bench is useful for observing emerging thoughts, collecting them, and writing them down -- kind of a thought harvest. At these times, a good bench is a strong worktable, a laboratory. I wrote several essays while sitting on a bench under large shade trees while waiting for a train outside Santa Fe more than once. A bench is not for fidgety "waiting," but is a place of calm repose. The train, always late, arrived more quickly than desired. I simply moved to a "bench" inside the train.
Bench: "A platform on which animals, especially dogs, are exhibited."
This old dog loves to sit on a bench. Other dogs at times will come up woofing hello. Some plop down and become an exhibition themselves. Interesting dog-to-dog conversations emerge. Other dogs stop sometimes and ask for directions, but most simply sniff and walk on by, going about their doggie business.
Bench: "A seat occupied by a person in an official capacity."
When sitting on a bench downtown, I figure I am officially employed by the Theme Park. My job is to provide local color by dressing in Flagstaff attire (it's all the clothes I've got anyway so does not cost me extra) and being a "local character" (which I already am so does not require any acting ability). I charge the town nothing for this.
Just a geezer on a bench.
Bench: "The place where the players on a team sit when not participating in a game."
Though my feet are usually in motion, I like to park my posterior from time to time. The metabolic rate of the younger crowd, keeping them more tightly wound and in a moving frenzy, bodes well for us more seasoned veterans of life. Room is usually available on the benches.
I have four favorite benches: two for sitting within the Human Theme Park where I observe the humanimals; two outside the Theme Park where humanimals rarely appear. All four provide peace of soul and greater awareness and understanding.
Bench: "A strong worktable, such as one used in carpentry or in a laboratory."
Sometimes a bench is useful for observing emerging thoughts, collecting them, and writing them down -- kind of a thought harvest. At these times, a good bench is a strong worktable, a laboratory. I wrote several essays while sitting on a bench under large shade trees while waiting for a train outside Santa Fe more than once. A bench is not for fidgety "waiting," but is a place of calm repose. The train, always late, arrived more quickly than desired. I simply moved to a "bench" inside the train.
Bench: "A platform on which animals, especially dogs, are exhibited."
This old dog loves to sit on a bench. Other dogs at times will come up woofing hello. Some plop down and become an exhibition themselves. Interesting dog-to-dog conversations emerge. Other dogs stop sometimes and ask for directions, but most simply sniff and walk on by, going about their doggie business.
Bench: "A seat occupied by a person in an official capacity."
When sitting on a bench downtown, I figure I am officially employed by the Theme Park. My job is to provide local color by dressing in Flagstaff attire (it's all the clothes I've got anyway so does not cost me extra) and being a "local character" (which I already am so does not require any acting ability). I charge the town nothing for this.
Just a geezer on a bench.
Friday, June 10, 2011
library card
Someone said the death of an elder is like a library burning down. The embodying of an immense amount of information is lost. I see these libraries walking around and sitting on benches. I approach and check out their books. I am becoming a library card.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
there is a wisdom in this
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
slow and easy
"Grandma was slow but she was old." I don't know if that saying is still popular, but I used to hear it from time to time in my younger years. I don't think older people are necessarily slower. It is just that many of us have been turned out to pasture and don't have to move quickly.
Another variable in this slow-old juxtaposition is experience. Older folk due to experience know how to do something easily and well so don't get in a dither as might the inexperienced young. "Slow" effortless moving is a result. One does not waste energy taking paths of little or no fruition.
Reminds me of the old story of the young bull talking to the old bull on a hill overlooking a pasture: "Let's run down there and make love to one of those cows." The old bull said: "Let's walk down there and make love with them all."
Another variable in this slow-old juxtaposition is experience. Older folk due to experience know how to do something easily and well so don't get in a dither as might the inexperienced young. "Slow" effortless moving is a result. One does not waste energy taking paths of little or no fruition.
Reminds me of the old story of the young bull talking to the old bull on a hill overlooking a pasture: "Let's run down there and make love to one of those cows." The old bull said: "Let's walk down there and make love with them all."
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
release
As one of advancing years, I realize ever more deeply that no one can die for me. Nor should they. We each have our own death to die.
We look to heal our bodies, and that is as it should be. I wish the body that I am to fare well, but I find the healing of my soul as more important. What is my soul? It is my core essence that ranges far beyond the body's bounds, that identifies with the life force emerging in this particular form, as this particular manifestation and beyond.
I identify with, become identical to, this life force that arises out of the Great Mystery, that lives as an embodying of the Great Mystery, that drops the body and returns to the further adventures of Great Mystery. In this identification, I have in a sense already "died."
And still there is the dropping of the body, the leaving of this old warhorse that does its job. It will happen as it happens. Meanwhile, I laugh and rejoice in this life under earth's sun.
I love being a geezer. It is the happiest time of my life.
We look to heal our bodies, and that is as it should be. I wish the body that I am to fare well, but I find the healing of my soul as more important. What is my soul? It is my core essence that ranges far beyond the body's bounds, that identifies with the life force emerging in this particular form, as this particular manifestation and beyond.
I identify with, become identical to, this life force that arises out of the Great Mystery, that lives as an embodying of the Great Mystery, that drops the body and returns to the further adventures of Great Mystery. In this identification, I have in a sense already "died."
And still there is the dropping of the body, the leaving of this old warhorse that does its job. It will happen as it happens. Meanwhile, I laugh and rejoice in this life under earth's sun.
I love being a geezer. It is the happiest time of my life.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
geezer rule 144
I've always been hard on glasses. You know, the kind you wear for seeing. I figure they have to keep up with me, not me them. I had a pair in my back pocket at one time, then sat on them. That was that.
Some months ago, the glasses I wore were so scratched up I put them aside and searched for an earlier prescription pair. They seemed to do the job okay so I put off going to the eye doctor. Then they snapped in two -- unwearable. I rummaged around and found another pair from three prescriptions ago. I have to keep finding my teeny screwdriver to keep fastening the little screw that keeps the right lens from falling out (it fell out twice already) but what the heck, I still don't have to make an eye appointment.
A geezer is resourceful, can make do.
Some months ago, the glasses I wore were so scratched up I put them aside and searched for an earlier prescription pair. They seemed to do the job okay so I put off going to the eye doctor. Then they snapped in two -- unwearable. I rummaged around and found another pair from three prescriptions ago. I have to keep finding my teeny screwdriver to keep fastening the little screw that keeps the right lens from falling out (it fell out twice already) but what the heck, I still don't have to make an eye appointment.
A geezer is resourceful, can make do.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
dropping like flies
Friends and mentors are dying off. If I keep living, eventually I will represent a world that no one knows. I think this was less the case when people died younger.
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