recently i had the uncomfortable experience of taking long weeks to recover from what seemed to be an ordinary cold virus. 
over the course of those weeks i moved from one state of mind to another frequently...from too ill to care much about anything except asking myself if i had enough tissues, to damning every cold virus that ever existed, to wallowing in self-pity, to continual grumpiness, to glee when i could actually breathe and have a rest from coughing.i found myself asking if this would be the new normal...would i from, now on, feel weak, debilitated and dispirited?
would my days be filled with the grinding effort to find authentic joy, lightheartedness and peace? would i no longer be able to sit in half-lotus pose or practice downward-facing dog?
as i slowly regained some semblance of the old”normal” i realised that normal is constantly changing, regardless of a cold virus. each moment provides a new ‘normal’. the concept of a norm creates a fixed value, a fixed position against which all is measured. one either fits into the range of normal or not. it is an absolute.in the midst of all of introspection i realised i simply did not want to live in the world of “normal”, of fixed ideas and concepts. what if, instead of seeking a new normal, i asked the question, “what is present right now, in this moment?” the moment itself contains the new. i can act, think, feel from the now, rather than “projecting into the future”, as a dear friend commented.yes, there were moments/hours/days/weeks of misery (four boxes of tissues of misery!).
there were long hours of low energy and listlessness and too many weeks of being unable to summon the energy to create. amid all those weeks were hundreds of thousands of ‘now’ moments. they were each ephemeral, transitory. and yet, each one was an opportunity to be in the new, each one was a new normal...until the next new normal moment.of course, in our hard-wiring to survive, i took very good care of myself, searching out remedies of all sorts to alleviate my misery. some were effective; others not. some created a pleasant now-moment; others didn’t.i am aware, in this moment of looking back, of the truth of the Buddha’s words about being attracted to the pleasant and repelled by the miserable. it is part of the work of my eldering to find equanimity in both...no easy task!all aspects of life, including cold viruses, provide a new now, a new opportunity to find a new present.
not knowing
january this year marked the death of one of america’s most noted writers, ursula k. le guin.
she brought fantasy and science fiction into the world of literature with her vision, her insight and her fearlessness. she had a twinkle in her eye and was courageous in the face of early rejection, both as a woman and in her chosen genre.she wrote:
the only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty…not knowing what comes next.
how do we live with this uncertainty? this is the emptiness of zen, the non-attachment of hinduism, the surrender of the abrahamic faiths, the existential reality.this is the reality that olders face as we become elders. no matter what spiritual path (or none) we might follow, this intolerable not knowing is the door to growth and to change.we plan.we hope.we write in our diaries.
we wake each morning with ideas about the day.we set out to act.we step forward.and then the unexpected, the not known, happens.it begins with a scratchy throat, or a headache, or a stumble, or a phone call.it begins with a minor grump.it begins with a cancelled appointment.it begins with a rose in bloom.it begins with a lover’s touch.it begins with a smile.it begins with a heartache, a loss.it begins with any one of the trillion possibilities a day can hold.and then the uncertainty we live with manifests.it is what makes life possible, the ever-changing, rich humus of life. this is the never-ending unfolding of each breath, each day, each season, each cycle.we live in the not knowing of life and of death.
veins
i sat on the rattling tube, being transported from one place in london to another.
often, when reading a book isn’t attractive, i observe.sometimes i look at ears.
sometimes i'm fascinated with eyes.
sometimes all things red hold my attention.
on this day i looked at the back of hands.
there were dark, chocolate brown hands, pinky white hands, ebony black hands, tawny golden hands.and on many of these hands were the maps of a lifetime etched by veins. the veins danced across the bones and joints. they curled and burrowed. they marched and flowed. all of them bearing the look of years.
many hands were gnarled and swollen.others were yet smooth, though showing the blue marks of veins.others were wrinkled.others were strong, well-used.some were frosted with tufts of hair.all were the hands of elders.all told the story of a lifetime.
reverse bucket list
it’s okay for me to die…without knowing how to swimwithout visiting africawithout mastering the latest technologywithout children/grandchildenwithout learning another languagewithout planting another gardenwithout liking opera
without having a ‘perfect’ bodywithout liking alcoholwithout knowing how to skiwithout being fearlesswithout writing a novelwithout pretending i’m 21without running a marathonwithout reading dostoyevsky
without the ability to sit in lotus posewithout reading the news regularly (it’s always the same…only the names and places change)without understanding neurosciencewithout perfecting a spiritual practicewithout managing my money perfectlywithout climbing the highest mountainwithout voicing my opinion on everythingwithout being the greatest cook (or cooking much at all)without buying a two- or three-bedroom flat/apartment/housewithout playing a musical instrumentwithout polishing my own toe nailswithout residing in the countryside againwithout adoring ironing and hoovering/vacuuming (depending on which english you speak)without acquiring advanced academic degrees
without earning a great deal of money at any time in my lifewithout being an extrovertwithout massive amounts of possessions (though i still have more than i actually want)without canning fruits and vegetableswithout driving ever againwithout sailing a boatwithout winning the lottery
without remembering everything i’ve ever done and when i did itwithout joining the armed forces or the women’s institutewithout liking aubergine/eggplant (depending on which english you speak)without a whole lot of other things/interests/activities/accomplishments
with an empty bucket
newness
somewhere, inside of each of us, there is a magpie.
we are attracted to the new, the shiny, the sparkly, the brilliant. we move toward that which emanates light. in the light we can see the familiar, the comfortable, the non-threatening.decline and decay may be new as we age. pain, illness, discomfort may be new as the years pass. a surprise diagnosis, or one we might have suspected but denied, can be new. the death, and grief, of someone we love can be new.is it possible to respond to these life events like a magpie? are we willing to move toward them with the same attention we give to joyful events? how do we hold our own ageing process, whatever it might bring?these questions arise, magpie or not, regardless of how well we have eaten, how little we have smoked or drunk or drugged or how much we have exercised or meditated. we are all faced with this inevitable movement of life. in fact, we have been dealing with it since our first breath.there seems to be a qualitative difference, however, in the changes from infant to child to adolescent to adult and the changes to elder. on one side of the line the changes seem to be about growth, expansion, exploration and achievement.
on the other side the changes seem to be about deterioration, impairment, atrophy and failure.
in the earlier stages of life most of us had minds which were curious and open, to a greater or lesser degree. in the later stages of life many minds shut down, declare defeat and simply wait for the inevitable.while we cannot deny the changes in older bodies and minds, we can hold close a sense of curiosity and acceptance in the heart. it is here in the heart that the qualitative difference can become less clear, less sharp.holding that curiosity and openness as we move through the later decades allows us the same excitement, growth and transformation that were possible earlier. what is it actually like to be curious about pain? about illness? about death? how can each of us explore the fears and hopes we carry in our hearts as we age?
it is the willingness to stay open, to turn toward, to adventure through this part of our lives that allows us to become even more alive to the present moment. it is the willingness to stay open, to turn toward that which is painful, that which is frightening that allows us to love ourselves and those around us with authentic passion. and it is the willingness to stay open that will finally see us through this new stage of our lives…and to welcome the magpie within.
a morning offering
on most wednesday mornings, i have the profound pleasure of walking the path of the labyrinth. one among the morning’s meditators reads something inspiring to set us off on our way. recently, it was “a morning offering” from john o’donohues’s book, to bless the space between us.
the last two paragraphs moved me almost to tears.
may my mind come alive todayto the invisible geographythat invites me to new frontiers,to break the dead shell of yesterdays,to risk being disturbed and changed.
may i have the courage todayto live the life that i would love,to postpone my dream no longer,but do at last what i came here forand waste my heart on fear no more.
these words are the quintessential message for spiritual elders…”to break the dead shell of yesterdays”
…there have been so many yesterdays…and “waste my heart on fear no more”
…there can be so many of fears that occupy our hearts to the exclusion of our “dream”.what are our dreams, those that have been postponed in the busy-ness of life?are we willing to risk being transformed in the process of your ageing and eldering?what is the life we love?where do we find the courage to come alive, to breathe each breath, to live each experience fully?through introspection, quiet contemplation, gentle review of our lives we can find the answers to these, and other, questions. spiritual practices are the maps and the containers for this inner exploration. we can choose from so many routes through our “invisible geography”.
we need not adopt exotic dress, burn incense or chant unfamiliar words. we need only sit with mindful attention and clear intention to the unfolding of the “life that i would love”. each of us has such a life. each of us is unfolding into that life with each morning's sunrise and evening's sunset made conscious.