Aging

I really like the elderly, as a general rule.  I like people who have reached a point in their lives where they’ve moved beyond the need for approval and, as a result, their filter has disappeared.  I also think it’s really sad the way that our society sort of shuffles the elderly off into a corner so we don’t have to see them or the reminder they present that “for all the points in the compass, there is only one direction.”

(Never pass up an opportunity to quote Stoppard.)

But for all that I like it that there are other people out there that have reached a certain age and are still so completely themselves, I have trouble with the inevitable as it is applied to me.  So the crows feet haven’t settled in permanently as of yet; the grey hairs are showing up with increasing regularity.  It’s happening, and if I don’t make yoga a thing in a big way real soon, I’m going to be limping into the future with a dowager’s hump.   I’ve had a lot of anxiety about this.  Not that I think I can argue with the inevitable, but I’ve only just recently figured out how to be in my mid-thirties.  Don’t tell me I’ve got to figure out how to be myself at 65 too.  Of course, it doesn’t come on all at once, but when you think about it, you don’t think about the days between now and then.  It’s just holy shit, I’m going to have to be 65 and I don’t know what that’s about and what if I have to do it all by myself because no one loves me?

See?  Terrifying.

This grad school philosophy of being human is making it easier to manage somehow.  One of the consequences of reminding myself that the core of who I am can’t be ravaged by time or circumstance, that this is all a simulation, that there’s a process at work here, and the process isn’t terminal even if the body is.  If the body is just a vehicle for the little sliver of Source that I think of as being me, and that sliver is connected to a web of joy/love that is always available and is always enough…  well, what difference does the body make?  This one will get totaled in time and then, like a hermit crab, me will scuttle off and find a new vehicle.

That’s not so bad, now is it?  A lot better than the hand-wringing that is the alternative.

I still need to yoga more.  Just because the body is going to be recycled doesn’t mean I want it to go down in a heap of rust.

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Aging

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