Friday, September 30, 2011
on my not lifting weights
At this age I'd rather be doing something other than developing a nice looking corpse.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
the ice man cometh
As a boy I never heard the word "refrigerator" even from the Yankee voices speaking strange accent over the radio. We had an icebox. Robert the iceman came by with his horse-pulled ice wagon, canvas flap pulled down in back, and looked to see from our front porch sign how many pounds we wanted today. A muscular man, he would chip off the amount, heist it on his padded shoulder with his ice tongs, carry it into the house, and put it in our ice box.
Our "air conditioner" (again a word unheard) was a chunk of chipped off ice (every house had an ice pick) from the block brought by Robert set in a pan. An oscillating electric fan (yes, we had electricity) blew its coolness across the room. It was a blessing when the fan finally turned back one's way.
We boys would follow Robert's ice wagon when we saw it on the street and get little slivers from his ice pick work. He did not seem to mind at all, nor did the horse who walked slowly enough to allow such shenanigans.
Why do these remembrances from long ago pop in my mind when I scarcely remember what happened two days ago? I know the gerontologists have theories based upon social psychological, neurological, and brain function understandings and at one point I would have made much of them. Not now. I simply find these memories to be moments of pleasure -- memories of a time when life seemed much simpler, when a chunk of ice was a marvel that brought people together in many ways.
Our "air conditioner" (again a word unheard) was a chunk of chipped off ice (every house had an ice pick) from the block brought by Robert set in a pan. An oscillating electric fan (yes, we had electricity) blew its coolness across the room. It was a blessing when the fan finally turned back one's way.
We boys would follow Robert's ice wagon when we saw it on the street and get little slivers from his ice pick work. He did not seem to mind at all, nor did the horse who walked slowly enough to allow such shenanigans.
Why do these remembrances from long ago pop in my mind when I scarcely remember what happened two days ago? I know the gerontologists have theories based upon social psychological, neurological, and brain function understandings and at one point I would have made much of them. Not now. I simply find these memories to be moments of pleasure -- memories of a time when life seemed much simpler, when a chunk of ice was a marvel that brought people together in many ways.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
elder
As one grows older, one can find oneself morphing into the role of elder. Because one has lived longer, one is expected to know something. After all, one has been through "the full catastrophe" as Zorba called it.
This is not a role that one necessarily wants. Those who desire an elder role seem a little suspicious. One begins to be viewed by others in this way, allowing one to make a choice: deny the role or accept it in good grace while not taking it too seriously.
What is an elder? A member of the tribe who has let go of manipulations and schemes for personal advantage, who is open to the Larger Realm of things and entities, who has "been there, done that" and has the scars to prove it, who has learned and continues learning from the open wounding of soul and heart, who has fallen down many times but always gets up, who is not afraid to keep falling in love, who has a strong sense of humor and is liable to erupt in laughter at any moment especially at the human condition, who can listen and keep secrets, . . . The list can go on.
A tidal wave of geezers is headed this way. They say there are 10,000 American folk reaching the age of 65 every day now. Out of all these old farts, a certain percentage are likely to be seen as elders. May they wear the robe well. May we all do so.
We need elder wisdom on this earth this day.
This is not a role that one necessarily wants. Those who desire an elder role seem a little suspicious. One begins to be viewed by others in this way, allowing one to make a choice: deny the role or accept it in good grace while not taking it too seriously.
What is an elder? A member of the tribe who has let go of manipulations and schemes for personal advantage, who is open to the Larger Realm of things and entities, who has "been there, done that" and has the scars to prove it, who has learned and continues learning from the open wounding of soul and heart, who has fallen down many times but always gets up, who is not afraid to keep falling in love, who has a strong sense of humor and is liable to erupt in laughter at any moment especially at the human condition, who can listen and keep secrets, . . . The list can go on.
A tidal wave of geezers is headed this way. They say there are 10,000 American folk reaching the age of 65 every day now. Out of all these old farts, a certain percentage are likely to be seen as elders. May they wear the robe well. May we all do so.
We need elder wisdom on this earth this day.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
geezer scientist
I've got this scientific experiment going on.
Treatment condition: my left forearm healing from a fairly invasive wound from a bike crash. Control condition: my right forearm percolating along as usual.
Methodology: Allow healing energy to rise up from inside the left forearm and surround and bathe the wound with its influence.
Hypothesis: Left forearm will assume its previous percolating along as usual and will become more like the control condition.
Results: So far, so good. What I did not expect were some metaphysical understandings and confirmations that when, upon physical death, I can no longer, nor presumably will want to, send healing energy to this body. It will follow a process of suppuration and decomposition. In other words, it will rot.
Discussion: While the experiment was designed to produce healing in the left forearm and have some measure of its progress, a heightened understanding occurred unexpectedly. A good experiment will produce such surprises. This is the process by which knowledge advances.
The heightened understanding is this: I am an energetic being assuming bodily form. I already knew this. That's why I used the word "heightened." I could as well use the word "deeper." The healing energies I send are me. That may not mean much to the readers of this report but to the experimenter it is of profound significance.
Conclusions: The experimenter will continue sending healing energy to the left forearm while even more completely identifying with (becoming identical to) the healing energy itself.
Treatment condition: my left forearm healing from a fairly invasive wound from a bike crash. Control condition: my right forearm percolating along as usual.
Methodology: Allow healing energy to rise up from inside the left forearm and surround and bathe the wound with its influence.
Hypothesis: Left forearm will assume its previous percolating along as usual and will become more like the control condition.
Results: So far, so good. What I did not expect were some metaphysical understandings and confirmations that when, upon physical death, I can no longer, nor presumably will want to, send healing energy to this body. It will follow a process of suppuration and decomposition. In other words, it will rot.
Discussion: While the experiment was designed to produce healing in the left forearm and have some measure of its progress, a heightened understanding occurred unexpectedly. A good experiment will produce such surprises. This is the process by which knowledge advances.
The heightened understanding is this: I am an energetic being assuming bodily form. I already knew this. That's why I used the word "heightened." I could as well use the word "deeper." The healing energies I send are me. That may not mean much to the readers of this report but to the experimenter it is of profound significance.
Conclusions: The experimenter will continue sending healing energy to the left forearm while even more completely identifying with (becoming identical to) the healing energy itself.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
quest speaker
Everyone is on a quest -- no quest-ion about it. One of the gifts along the way to geezerdom is realizing that one cannot answer people's questions for them. Nor choose the questions others think important to answer. One also discerns the difference between the two groups who have no questions at all. These realizations and discernings relieve much stress and frustration and allow one to be a more detached yet compassionate companion.
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