Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Ageism and Growing Wings After Living the Impossible.

I’m not certain when the creative plug is pulled. I look around and see hair thinned to a wisp and wrinkles cut so deep in skin only a craftsman could repair and smile a broad smile. Maybe, this is the best hours of life and we’ve been mislead by soothsayers intent on dumping us quickly in a burial ground.

I for one have never felt more pure energy free of expectation and grounded in experience than now. I look at those my age and read them as long form documents with many pages of complicated living. I wish I had time to speak with all.

The beauty of aging is just that. Beauty is physical and attraction comes with to much responsibility and unyielding demands. Once past sixty you can play the solvent games and spruce up the face a bit and toy with the neck but the fact remains skin don’t play the game.

I find it absolutely liberating separating who I am from the mirror that rules above the bathroom sink. Time spent crying about physical maturation becomes a losing battle one fought with loathing arrogance and belief you were once the belle of the planet. No such crown.

We walk and respond in quick glances and mind evaluates and moves on. Beauty is short and sweet and heartbreaking. We torture ourselves chasing the most beautiful objects on the planet without considering how fleeting and momentary the gift lasts. From there we must deal with who we are.

There is big joy blowing all this stuff into the past and getting on with our lives
When I was young I used to thrill myself reading about all those people with greying hair - faces withered in history and time. To me they were like channels from past lives with so much to share.

When we are six years old there is an overriding necessity to align ourselves with folks who march about with character. They sooth, teach and have plenty time to listen. They love us more than our parents – not from ancestry but from a place of genuine interest. This is powerful stuff.

To listen to my brother speak of the young boy who has entered his life and the anticipation of each visit reminds me how we are rejuvenated by the very young.

When we are young we are invincible – when old, invisible.

That’s a startling truth but one that arrives with liberating opportunity bearing a broad range of truths. You are now free to do what you set aside most of your life. You may not be the next Margret Atwood or Georgia O’Keefe but you are special.

Each day is a blank canvas begging you color with every shade of tempera. You will discover more about yourself and abandon all fear of limitation and frustration. You will understand deeply investing time in the things you love recklessly without reservation pay dividends vacant an expiration date.

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