Each day, as I move closer to 90 and further from 80, I wonder what I am still supposed to be doing here. Who, and what, still needs me? What unique gifts have I still to offer? What adventures are still mine to experience?
The answer is, I don’t really know.
I do know that the world is on the brink of change; I know that we humans are teetering at the faultlines of a cracking earth and still terrified of giving in to loving; that we are hovering out in space on one tiny dot amongst an infinitude of other dots; that we are afraid of our own footing as our world quakes and tears apart at seams we had forgotten were even there. That we are astonished to discover layer after layer of past worlds we have been walking on top of all our lives without even guessing they were there. That everything we have dreamed up in what we call our ‘histories and our philosophies’ are last years’ tryouts for next years’ productions, and that the scene sets and costumes of the old players will eventually ‘melt into a dew’ somewhere backstage, making way for new plays in the theaters of the world.
Even in my own little life, I have watched the scene changes happen; seen my talents and longings dissolve into new versions of themselves as my body melts into one dew after another, running off to another continent and then another for new foods and new vistas, for music I have not yet heard, and people I have not yet met; for curries I have not yet tasted and fruits ripening on the flanks of active volcanoes; for music discovered in back alleys of India and brilliant underwear glimpsed on clotheslines in China.
When I was young and could do it all, I did it. Not all, by any means, but almost…
And now I am old. And the world is erupting with change, as people fear the changes—and one another even though it is all just “us” out here—us and the rooted green stuff trying to breathe through the dust and let the light of the sun and stars through so we can eat and see the day-and-nighttime sky—and smell the perfumes of roses, of lily-of-the-valley—of poop…
Us all, longing to take our next breaths and attract others to love and be loved by. Us, trying to maintain our balance when the earth beneath our feet rumbles and splits apart; when molten fires spring from mountains and run like rivers, when fear of darkness makes our muscles clench and our teeth lose their grip in our mouths.
I am old, a watcher scared as all get-out and greedy as a kid in a candystore. I want to see it all, eat it all, grab as much as I can fit into my backpack of experience of this time in the world that has been mine to live in. To put it all together in my watching heart and allow it to cook and simmer so that if I come back—when I come back—I will be able to pick up where I left off and be courageous enough to start out again.
With a sense of humor, and big Love in my heart.
But here is one more wish, and I hope I am not alone in this wish: that we come to realize that it is either all of us together, or none of us who can make it through. That the childish contest of ‘only one winner to take the Gold’ or to ‘win the Presidency’ is really beneath our human intelligence. And not in anybody’s interest, really, even the so-called ‘Champion’s.’
Or President. Or King. Or Queen! I mean, if I can grow up finally, after all my challenges and mistakes, misadventures and mis-steps in my time here on earth, then I have no doubt that so can we all. Of course.
And whyever not?
