recently an acquaintance shared with me a poem that her late husband wrote shortly before his death. he knew he was dying and found space in his heart.
I would know my shadow and my light.So shall I at last be whole.Then, courage brother, dare the grave passage.Here is no final grieving,But an abiding hope.
(sadly, i don’t know his name, so i can’t attribute this writing to his memory. i can only thank him every time i read it.)light and shadow.
that which we acknowledge and love about ourselves and that which we prefer not to see…yet in the knowing, the deep honouring, of all of ourselves lies the space in the heart for courage and abiding hope.as he faced his death, probably with many feelings and sensations, this man found openness and willingness. he doesn’t ask us to reject grieving. he knows his dear ones will grieve. but he asks that the grieving not be final, not be immutable. he asks that there be space, space for love.he knew, maybe for many years or maybe only for a short time, that both the light and the shadow are essential to our wholeness. on our precious planet it is the sun that causes shadow. and how grateful we are for shade on a hot day.
yet we reject and ostracise our internal shadow.these are the gritty bits of ourselves that create the spark for the light. they are the places we rub up against in others and in ourselves. often the confrontation with shadow is painful. and yet, it is the heart of our growth and evolution.elders often have the opportunity to look deeply into the shadow, and to heal the places that grate, that irritate, that hurt. we have time and space to contemplate the ways in which the shadow might have wrought havoc in our lives. we still have time and space to make amends and to re-frame those experiences.we have time and space to dare to find abiding hope.we have time and space to dare to love.
p.s .i'm off to my beloved rocky mountains for a few weeks. inspiration will continue to arrive in your inbox.
at first it was an injection invented by dr. jonas salk. some years later it was administered orally on a sugar cube thanks to dr albert sabin. that tasted good and it didn’t hurt.
though neither jonas salk (october 28, 1914 – june 23, 1995) nor albert sabin (august 26, 1906 – march 3, 1993) received a nobel prize for their efforts, most baby boomers remember the fear of a polio epidemic and the solutions these men created.rarely, though, do we think of either of them as elders. i recently came across a quote from salk that struck a chord.
in addition to a material legacy we can also leave an ethical one, a spiritual one, a legacy based on our values. this can take the form of a written document. it might be a letter you write to the people who are important to you. it might be attached to your will.or it might be what you say in a meeting, around the dining table or at a party. it might be a book you’ve written or a painting or a poem. it might be a voice recording.or it might simply be your presence, your authenticity, your willingness to grow into your elderhood. this may be the most important legacy you can leave. there will be a trace of that energy that imbues each person you meet. you will have touched something deep in them that then ripples out to all of their connections.
while i imagine salk had an idea of how his legacy would effect the world, he can’t possibly have known that polio is all but eradicated across the globe. we too have no idea how our legacy might influence the future. in spite of the not-knowing, it’s worth our best effort.(if you would like some support in creating a legacy letter, have a look at
how can we not grieve when street corners are inhabited by unhoused people begging for a handout?
how can we not grieve when abuse of all kinds is perpetrated in the name of government, domestic relationships, communication or religious leadership?the talmud, the oral and written source from which the code of Jewish law is derived, tells us,
we are not to be put off, or complacent, or in denial, or ignorant. nor are we to believe ourselves to be above the suffering, somehow not effected by it. as elders, we cannot pretend. we have already lived through too much. we have already know our own suffering and that of those we love.so we cannot act as if the grief of the trees, the people, the creatures of the amazon has nothing to do with us. we cannot act as if the pain of rough sleepers is not our pain. we cannot separate ourselves from democracy or those who experience domestic violence, or those who are followed by trolls in social media or those who put their trust in untrustworthy leaders.most of us have choice beyond imagining. we have access to food, water, educaton. we can live as many can only imagine. and so we can act. those actions may take us to the streets or to the meditation cushion,
the the ballot box or to neighbourhood groups,
to vocal town hall meetings or to prayer.
all actions are needed.rabbi hIllel, (born according to tradition in babylon c. 110 BCE, died 10 CE in jerusalem) was a Jewish religious leader, who is most associated with the development of the Talmud, famously said, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? And if not now, when?”while we grieve and act, we must also care for ourselves. we can create joy in the midst of the flames. we can love dearly and authentically in the midst of violence. we can speak to power with the voice of freedom in the midst of dictatorial actions.the world is grieving.let us elders act now.