“Not‑Knowing” Wisdom

It’s Christmas! I’m staying in, actually I’m a shut-in, celebrating in my own way. This time of year — add being sick, and alone, amounts to slowing down. This is a wondrous time to reflect. My mind could go back to the year I’ve just lived through, or travel further back to other Christmas scenes, but instead it is riveted upon this moment, wondering what all the uncertainty I feel portends.

This is ostensibly the beginning of a New Year. I wonder, will there be anything truly new about the New Year? The election continues to resonate. There is a lot of uncertainty in the air. The emotional tides are high. It seems that many of the old horrors are being warmed up. It is a time rich with feelings, fears, anxieties and apprehensions. There is an aura of teetering that colors the yuletide cheer. Going forward or going back, over the cliff or around it, becoming closer or more divided? — the moment quivers.

I’ve heard so many times this is the moment to stand up. Values are on the line, possibly the planet, certainly how we feel about each other, and ourselves. So much seems to be at stake.

I feel peculiarly out of step with the times. I am nervous, like many people, but I feel a sense of expectancy, like I’m participating in some kind of birth phenomena. The unknown, I sense, is delivering to us something unimaginable.  I don’t know what is here. I don’t have a name for it. I don’t know how to greet what is taking shape. Strangely, I can feel it happening in the midst of all the rehashed actions that are being called for. Evolution is taking the mess we (humans) currently are, and working us into a different shape.

It is times like this that I find myself wanting to pause, like this holiday season is helping me do, and turn to that rarest of wisdom’s for guidance.  Here, I’m not referring to the wisdom of the past, the wisdom of tradition and what we know, but the unknown wisdom of the present. It is the degree of bafflement in the air that arouses in me a sense of wonder, expectancy, and a desire to be open and wait. I am poised at a vibrating threshold. How I comport myself now will determine in some way what I will meet. This is a quantum moment, what I find, will be determined by my expectations, thus I want to be as open and as free of assumptions as possible.

It is at times like this when I feel so strongly the pull of not-knowing. There is such a spaciousness in the unknown, a darkness that is rich with possibility, a creativity that is guided by the formless. This is what I want to stand for.  There is a miraculousness afoot, which doesn’t depend at all upon the election results, but becomes palpable when one opens up to the larger Mystery — of what is going on here.  Let’s stop pretending we really know what’s happening. All of the certainty, ideological nightmares, and historical references are apt, but insufficient to this time. They are good for stirring up fear, anxiety, and hatred, but not very good for soberly leaning into the moment.

I am growing old. I’m not as interested, as I once was, in chasing my tail. Now, each moment has grown more precious, and I want to meet it, as it is. In being dragged around the block by Life, as many older folks have been, I’ve learned to open myself to each moment, to spend some time with it, to let it be, and to relish what is unknown about it. Life has introduced me to a whole set of unforeseen possibilities, I would have passed by many of them, because they looked familiar. Now, I come to this moment, with continued reverence for the Mystery that brought me here, ready to be surprised anew. Not-knowing releases me into the moment, it allows me to experience what is, and shields me from the tides of emotional upheaval that I am surrounded by.

There is one other thing I want to be sure to mention before I stop for this Christmas day. Not-knowing isn’t only good for calming the emotional waters, but is essential for re-enchanting the world. Magic dwells in the spirits of those, most generally elders, who are savvy enough to know, that they know enough, to know, they don’t know very much. There is a form of elder innocence that forms late in life. It isn’t like the innocence of childhood, based upon an ignorance of the world; in elder life it is giving up on relying upon adult like certainty, and meeting the world naked in a different way.

The miraculous nature of Life is obscured by too much knowing. Not-knowing wisdom frees the imagination, releases potential, and honors what does not want to be changed by fickle human emotions. To recognize the blindness knowing brings, means liberating all that has suffered the slavery of human hubris. The world is enchanting, and so is this uncertain moment in our nation’s history. Something is happening, and let’s wait and see what it is.

Integral Activism (Part 2) — by Lucky

It is important to me that I am constantly acting on behalf of my values each and every moment, in all my relationships with strangers and within myself. To do that, I have had to redefine inner work and make it more robust and engaged. I find that when there is no boundary between what is within me, and my actions in the world, there is much more likelihood, that I am going to be connected to the moment, others, and the Spirit. All of this comes to pass because I practice what I call an inner form of activism to complement my actions in the world.

The advent of these internal practices came about as I followed my own natural ageing process. I have slowly been moving inward. I’ve talked to other ageing people and looked at the limited research on this subject. The research shows a resurgence of spirituality in the latter years of many old folks’ lives. This, combined with the reports of my friends, and my own shifting focus, altered my perspective. I like the sense that I am becoming aware, in a different way, at nature’s behest.

When I had my stroke, and especially during this long aftermath of disability, I acquired (without intent) a new more connected way of experiencing things. This involved a greater emphasis upon inner life. Alive, in a new way (for me), I have noticed how I have been naturally embellished through the aegis of getting older. I believe this is a process of integration aided by the actions of life. This formulation of an integral activism is an outgrowth of a burgeoning awareness.

Inner work has become, in my mind, less “subtle,” and much more engaged and robust. Inner activism still relies on the cultivation of awareness (meditation, contemplation and prayer) but is much more active. It uses attention to actively practice increasing awareness in four areas that I have identified. Internal activism endeavors to:

• Uproot Internalized Oppression

• Free and Be Yourself

• Practice Community

• Cultivate Paradoxical Awareness

Uproot Internalized Oppression

There are a variety of forces at work shaping social reality, contesting for cultural adherence, and working at multiple levels, trying to capture us. This runs the range from group and class power dynamics such as racism, ageism and sexism to subtler forms such as advertising, psychologizing, and other forms of pathologizing or dehumanizing assumptions. There is a complex amalgam of assumptions that, when internalized, provide the preconceptions that limit others and lead to prejudicial beliefs. These beliefs rebound into a kind of self-negation and lead to a variety of self-image issues.

An example from my life illustrates, I have had to be around other disabled people to see more clearly how my able-bodied prejudices have poisoned my experience of other disabled people, and especially how these assumptions have impacted me.

This is a practice that involves developing an inner immunity to the internalized messages that are designed to keep us in a predictable place. The goal here is not to eliminate these messages/beliefs, but to identify and suspend them. As any interaction, or thought, arises it is reviewed to see if it expands or limits choice. This is an application of mindfulness that identifies thoughts and feelings that contain belief structures that limit.

Free and Be Yourself

This practice’s goal is freedom. It entails showing up authentically wherever one is. It involves a combined focus of attention, upon authenticity and inner conditions that inhibit freedom of expression. As you can probably tell this practice has several challenges, not the least of which involves self-knowledge. It acknowledges, that internal factors play as great a role in inhibiting freedom, as external factors.

To be as clear as possible, this practice is intended to support being oneself wherever one is. This means clearing the way within so one can give voice to differences, choose to offer a unique perspective, and add to the diversity of the moment. This is a practice that involves exercising one’s own freedom, by focusing upon, and suspending, the self-limiting beliefs that inhibit free choice.

Again, to use my life as an example, I’ve had to work with myself to show up as a disabled man. My wholeness, my humanity, is not obvious if I am unable to put myself out in the social world. To do so, I have to ready myself to face, out in the world, the very prejudices I know that are within me. My freedom to be me depends upon it.

Practice Community

The goal of this practice is to make the migration from separation to connection. This entails learning about, and practicing, the inner (and outer) conditions that allow interdependence. Immersion in intense social relationships necessitates identification with others, and the practice of internal capacities that connect one uniquely with the collective, lending surprise, authenticity, accountability and compassion to action.

Differences are highlighted (like my being disabled) in this practice and provide many of its benefits. The practice of community also provides insight into the way collectives create and maintain social reality. This provides a very dynamic environment in which practices of holding on to one’s uniqueness, can be seen as paradoxically related to the quality of social connection.

Cultivate Paradoxical Awareness

This is a practice that proceeds from, and best integrates, a sense of connection.  This practice provides the deepening of a broader perspective. The practice starts with the acknowledgement that one has grown knowledgeable enough, to know that one doesn’t know much. From this recognition emanates a greater awareness that inner, as well as outer, reality is composed of relationships that are paradoxically related. That means that things that appear solitary are joined.

The practice is essentially one of focusing attention upon the perception and realization of paradoxical connections. By cultivating this awareness, and applying it to all of reality, including one’s sense of self, there comes an experiential recognition of integrality. Combined with the other practices, a burgeoning of a broader awareness occurs.

As an example, I offer a highly relevant quote from Parker Palmer (from A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward An Undivided Life —Welcoming The Soul and Weaving Community in a Wounded World). This quote illustrates paradoxical awareness and demonstrates how this mindset transforms situations. “If we are to hold solitude and community together as a true paradox, we need to deepen our understanding of both poles. Solitude does not necessarily mean living apart from others; rather, it means never living apart from oneself. It is not about the absence of other people — it is about being fully present to ourselves, whether or not we are with others. Community does not necessarily mean living face-to-face with others; rather, it means never losing the awareness that we are connected to each other. It is not about the presence of other people — it is about being fully open to the reality of relationship, whether or not we are alone.”

This particular practice has helped me see how my disability has led me to new abilities. I now say I am Lucky because I have experienced the enabling loss.

Integral activism is a product of age, experience, and awareness. It represents the refinement of love. The world is a holy vision. Gaining access to this vision does not diminish the passion for justice. It refines it, and renders a new way of acting. 

Emancipated Innocence and The Old Fool — by Lucky

 I have, like most people, been fascinated with children. There is something about watching a child discover the world, which is absolutely mesmerizing. I learned that I could not conduct a group, a therapy session, or even a decent discussion, if there was a young child, particularly, a baby around. I would soon end up paying so much attention to the infant that I, and the other adults present, could not really carry on. I was captivated with the child. I didn’t want to miss their encounter with anything for the first time. I came to eventually understand that fascination, to grasp it, as a desire to see the world again — through the child’s eyes— allowing me to see the world, innocently, in all its raw magical potential.

Now I’m older, much older, and I’m delighted to be discovering there is another kind of innocence that makes the world come alive in a similar enchanting way. What is so unusual about this kind of innocence, is that it is so unknown, and yet, so similarly wondrous. Even more remarkable to me, is the fact that it seems to come on late in life. Strangely, this seems to be a form of innocence, which survives the slings and arrows of adulthood. Imagine that, an innocence that endures the horrors we all know.

It turns out, one of the benefits of old age, is that it comes with a fresh way of perceiving reality. I won’t go into the disturbing fact that everyone doesn’t uniformly have this experience. Instead, here, I’m going to dwell on the realization that some do. Life, for a few, turns over, and reveals itself in ways similarly magical as childhood, but different, in a particularly grown-up way. This through-the-looking-glass way of experiencing Life isn’t available to every grey person, but is much more common than realized, and could, if it were more thoroughly understood, lead to a greater awareness of just how miraculous this life really is.

I’m talking about something a colleague calls “emancipated innocence.” Notice the word emancipated. That word implies something really important about the process of returning to an innocent apprehension of the world. The world we know, is one we must free ourselves from, in order to have a fresh take on reality. Getting away, in this case, is far different than the transcendental assumptions that seem to prevail. Getting away from what has passed (and sometimes served) involves getting through all the heartbreaks, betrayals, achievements and accidents.

Emancipated innocence arises as a result of living out the rigors of life — it is an apprehension of what’s left — the miraculous. This kind of innocence arises inside —then transforms what it experiences. The old acquire this gift naturally. It comes as a result of living fully, engaging what life presents one with, becoming true to what is within, and keeping faith with the mystery of existence. It seems to derive from going beyond the advice of culture. Emancipation is a weighty weightlessness that takes courage, or is a result of adequate desperation — a pulling inward, away from the known world in favor of the unknown world.

Some old folks end up loose and free. How this happens, is for those of us motivated by whimsy, to discover. In any case, somebody truly original emerges — the old fool. The old fool is the apotheosis of what it means to escape the gravity of societal beholding. This is the person who belongs, not to family, friends, community, or history, but to Life. They belong entirely to themselves, and simultaneously, to the Universe. They have succeeded in integrating what seems impossible. The old fools are the ones who are elegantly non-conventional while being adroitly relational. They live not for a purpose — they exist because Life exists. They are like play, without a purpose or reason, not for the sake of anything, but out of the sheer exuberance of existence.

It is good to know that such humans exist. They aren’t an accident, any more than the rest of us are. Rather, they show us how much is possible. They restore, along with emancipated innocence, the level of enchantment in the world. It is good to know that in this world, with its threats, horrors and sadness, human beings can exist who know these terrible things, and yet are capable of experiencing and expressing the miraculousness of Life.

It is good to know the old fool is amongst us. It is even better to know that the old fool is within us. Each of us is someone Life might turn into somebody original, enough so, that despite the stupidity and insensitivity that haunts us, our humanness shines miraculously forth. The old fool is an embodiment of our essence. It is amazing what ripening can do for us.

Integral Activism (Part 1)

As I have grown older I have noticed that I have changed. My consciousness has been altered by the accumulation of years, experiences, hardships and the proximity of death. The losses and gains have piled up and rebalanced the scale of my awareness. This has caused me to rethink many things, and to make choices that are surprising me. My self-image isn’t what it used to be. I’m finding that all-in-all, these changes are leading me towards a deeper, richer life, a life that is more connected with the mystery of the greater immensity I am embedded in.

As I’ve realized this is the case, I find myself reviewing my life and realigning it.  This is a description of an important part of that process of redefinition.  The words and ideas that follow represent a work-in-progress. They reflect a transformational flow that has swept me up and is delivering a more sensitized, and older, being back into this world. What I see now is not what I saw before. What I feel called to, is only partly what I felt called to before. I am in flux, and my world is changing.

I have found a very interesting and unexpected phenomenon occurring in my life. It is one I am unprepared for. As I am aging, I am moving from having an external focus to a more internal one. This shift has befuddled and intrigued me. My inner life is growing — adding perspective — and complicating my self-image, and the world I live in. Unbidden, I am feeling and noticing things I once overlooked.

This movement is causing me to pay attention like never before. I am changing — becoming someone new in my experience — and struggling to find an adequate way to describe myself. As a result, I live unbalanced in a new way, in a world that is familiar and strange at the same time.

The most unexpected change has been to my outlook. In the past, I have seen many environmental and social injustices that were the catalyst for a lot of my actions. Now, I find myself acting in new ways, guided by my burgeoning internal awareness. This shift has caused me to reevaluate. I have some doubt about the activism I now participate in. It is closer to home, more in the moment, and a lot more circumspect. I don’t really know how to talk about it. Am I just getting old and tired, or seeing things with wiser eyes?

Recently, a new awareness has come to me. I call what has come of it, “integral activism.” This is a form of action that integrates and combines "inner" with "outer" awareness. It preserves my deepening sense of integrity. And opens me more to Spirit’s power. There is an inherent balance in it, because it calls for transformation without recrimination.

 

This form of activism emerges naturally from the realizations that are coming through my “inner” life. Engagement is organic, by that I mean unplanned, spontaneous, and authentic. Basically, I exemplify a value rather than promoting it. My form of integral activism creates pressure for change by my being the change desired. The choice to be active is not stimulated by any desire to influence or persuade another. There is no intent to change. That is left up to Mystery.

It is important to me that I am constantly acting on behalf of my values each and every moment, in all my relationships with strangers and within myself. To do that, I have had to redefine inner work and make it more robust and engaged. I find that when there is no boundary between what is within me, and my actions in the world, there is much more likelihood, that I am going to be connected to the moment, others, and the Spirit. All of this comes to pass because I practice what I call an inner form of activism to complement my actions in the world. 

Unrest

I’ve been feeling a lot of grief in recent weeks. I think I’ve had good reason to be in grief most of my life, but now is the time when I’m experiencing it most acutely.

Maybe it’s the election season, climate change, income inequality, or the fact I’m growing old in an ageist culture. I’m sure all of those things contribute to a sense of on-going melancholy, but I think that the grief I feel is the world groaning under the weight of so much confusion and hurt. I can’t sigh enough. The weight of global and personal unrest presses upon me, threatening to flatten out my existence even more than it already is. So, today, in this writing, like a broken prayer beseeching Mystery, I want to give my thoughts completely over to the restless heartache I feel within.

I can’t quite pin down what haunts me. There is a lot it could be. It could be the 40% of our nation that is suffering change so harshly that they are afraid and angry. Too many are willing to trade an illusionary wall, for the statue of Liberty. Idealized greatness is falling. It seems that the nation’s most central infrastructure, its citizenry, has been neglected for too long. And — I’m aware — the ice caps are melting, extinction goes on daily, and children are starving. As Leonard Cohen has said, “it hurts in the places where I used to play.”

This isn’t a litany of planetary suffering, nor a description of existential angst. It is simply a human cry. I don’t have the capacity necessary to hold the miraculousness of this existence, side-by-side with the sorrow I experience. The price of this ride is beyond my means. My eyes and heart are open, I am awed into reverence by all of this beautiful, and inexplicable foment. I am shaking. Shattered even, yet, there seems to be more. I don’t know what it is. But, I can feel its presence.

The landscape of the grief I feel leads me toward compassion. But, even there I am confused and overwhelmed. Compassion for who? Those who are under someone else’s boot, those who stick their necks out, those who don’t even notice, those who are aware of more than they can handle? My heart breaks for all of them, and because I’m human, sometimes, my heart breaks for none of them.  I am privileged enough to know the massive privilege of awareness. The foment doesn’t seem to notice — and cares in no way I understand.

And so it is, I exist in this seething miasma, lamenting a day that doesn’t go well, or sometimes, brought to my knees by an unexpected kindness. The moment holds more than I can take in. Still, I theorize I’m here to be a witness.  A kind of poster child for PTSD, I exist in a cauldron of dark goo, stuck to an unfolding, I cannot grasp. Being human, bearing the portion of awareness allotted to our species, is a gift I handle every day. Only today, right now, I think it is handling me.

My compassion extends to me. I’m getting old, and I’m seasick, from seeing too much. I find myself looking forward to death. In a cowardly, perhaps wise, stupor, I long for release. Like good bread dough though, perhaps I would best serve, if kneaded a little more. Existence seems to be buffeting me around, doing a good job of working me into a kind of malleable, unknowing haze. Fatigue was yesterday, today is just a hopeless openness.

I’m doomed to wonder. Questioning is so limited. What is coming is already here. I just have audacity enough to write these words, and to think they mean something. I’m not sure I could tell you what. But, I will marvel with you awhile, as the moon comes over the horizon. These tears, I find coursing down my cheeks, burn me with awareness, and remind me anew, this isn’t happening for my sake alone. I feel this unrest, this terrible blessing, because I’m made to bear it. The lamentable is so beautiful.

l/d

I’ve been feeling a lot of grief in recent weeks. I think I’ve had good reason to be in grief most of my life, but now is the time when I’m experiencing it most acutely.

Maybe it’s the election season, climate change, income inequality, or the fact I’m growing old in an ageist culture. I’m sure all of those things contribute to a sense of on-going melancholy, but I think that the grief I feel is the world groaning under the weight of so much confusion and hurt. I can’t sigh enough. The weight of global and personal unrest presses upon me, threatening to flatten out my existence even more than it already is. So, today, in this writing, like a broken prayer beseeching Mystery, I want to give my thoughts completely over to the restless heartache I feel within.

I can’t quite pin down what haunts me. There is a lot it could be. It could be the 40% of our nation that is suffering change so harshly that they are afraid and angry. Too many are willing to trade an illusionary wall, for the statue of Liberty. Idealized greatness is falling. It seems that the nation’s most central infrastructure, its citizenry, has been neglected for too long. And — I’m aware — the ice caps are melting, extinction goes on daily, and children are starving. As Leonard Cohen has said, “it hurts in the places where I used to play.”

This isn’t a litany of planetary suffering, nor a description of existential angst. It is simply a human cry. I don’t have the capacity necessary to hold the miraculousness of this existence, side-by-side with the sorrow I experience. The price of this ride is beyond my means. My eyes and heart are open, I am awed into reverence by all of this beautiful, and inexplicable foment. I am shaking. Shattered even, yet, there seems to be more. I don’t know what it is. But, I can feel its presence.

The landscape of the grief I feel leads me toward compassion. But, even there I am confused and overwhelmed. Compassion for who? Those who are under someone else’s boot, those who stick their necks out, those who don’t even notice, those who are aware of more than they can handle? My heart breaks for all of them, and because I’m human, sometimes, my heart breaks for none of them.  I am privileged enough to know the massive privilege of awareness. The foment doesn’t seem to notice — and cares in no way I understand.

And so it is, I exist in this seething miasma, lamenting a day that doesn’t go well, or sometimes, brought to my knees by an unexpected kindness. The moment holds more than I can take in. Still, I theorize I’m here to be a witness.  A kind of poster child for PTSD, I exist in a cauldron of dark goo, stuck to an unfolding, I cannot grasp. Being human, bearing the portion of awareness allotted to our species, is a gift I handle every day. Only today, right now, I think it is handling me.

My compassion extends to me. I’m getting old, and I’m seasick, from seeing too much. I find myself looking forward to death. In a cowardly, perhaps wise, stupor, I long for release. Like good bread dough though, perhaps I would best serve, if kneaded a little more. Existence seems to be buffeting me around, doing a good job of working me into a kind of malleable, unknowing haze. Fatigue was yesterday, today is just a hopeless openness.

I’m doomed to wonder. Questioning is so limited. What is coming is already here. I just have audacity enough to write these words, and to think they mean something. I’m not sure I could tell you what. But, I will marvel with you awhile, as the moon comes over the horizon. These tears, I find coursing down my cheeks, burn me with awareness, and remind me anew, this isn’t happening for my sake alone. I feel this unrest, this terrible blessing, because I’m made to bear it. The lamentable is so beautiful.

Nutrition

Nutrition

A report from the Slow Lane

It is good to know what food is for, and where to find it. My body thanks me, and this knowledge, everyday.     The discovery of a new kind of food, was never on my drawing board, not anticipated, and actually more than a little difficult to take in. I don’t mean that is has been difficult to swallow, I mean that it has defied all my expectations. At my present age (68), I thought I knew enough about food that I didn’t t have to think about it much. But, a new kind of nutritional food has graced my life, and I’m trying to digest it. That is what this SL is all about.

There is a kind of social food that I didn’t know I’ve been starving for. It is an invisible, non-palpable, food that makes the heavenly scenario of us humans feeding each other, something even more miraculous. Many people know of the scenario of people feeding each other, with the assertion this is what we humans are capable of. But what isn’t so apparent is the kind of mutual feeding, which goes on when we share ourselves with each other. That is a feast of another sort.

What I’m trying to get at is the kind of nutrition that is provided when human beings get together, and really share themselves with each other.  This can be soul — food, invisible, not taken in with the mouth,  and deeply satisfying. This kind of co-constructed food is laced with meaning, intimacy, feelings, and human awe. It occurs in deep silence, and when two or more are gathered. It is utterly unique, moment bound, and profoundly mysterious. Somehow, this food, makes real just how hugely connected we are to each other, and to this incredible immensity we find ourselves within.

No wonder I hunger for it! Any gathering holds this kind of possibility. And I go away from too many meetings not only empty and dissatisfied, but in truth, malnourished. I didn’t know it, but I’m there, as much to find this invisible food, as I am for any group’s purpose. I often go away from gatherings dismayed and debilitated, smaller and less alive, shrunken by this unknown, unfulfilled hunger.

As I’ve grown older, I have at last identified the food I hunger for. I know something about how I’ve grown distorted, shrunken, empty and senseless because I’ve abided with this hunger without recognizing it. A few days ago, as I read Francis Weller’s book on grief (The Wild Edge of Sorrow), I realized I was riddled with sorrow about living as a shrunken, malnourished, flattened shade of myself. I am a zombie, more dead than alive, desiccated by hunger — a sad hungry zombie.

This realization, as painful as it is, is also liberating. One advantage of growing older is that I no longer fool myself about having forever to rebalance things. Death is too near. So, instead of just being alarmed, I’m going to make sure I get enough of this nutrient. That means I have to offer myself, as part of the ingredients of the nourishment I seek. I want to enter the social fray and be one of the cooks. I want to eat heartily.

I can feel in me a new awareness growing.  I’m leaving the ranks of the vampires, forever hungry for someone else’s blood, and returning to being human again. What I’m hungering for is now my criteria for any real social gathering. I want to be capable of a more public intimacy because I know that is how to stimulate the greater nourishment I seek. I am hungry for human interaction, not the cultural nicety of politeness, but the gritty desperation of other hearts befuddled and broken by the mystery of existence.

I’ve been starved long enough. Malnourishment is no longer the way I’m going to go about this life. I’m hungry for the real stuff. Human interaction. By that, I mean real contact. I’m so tired of being nice, polite, and silent. I want to cower before the real burdens we humans share, just as I want to exult over the miracle we get to share.

There is a social food, which feeds we social animals. I learned about it late in life. I knew I was hungering. I just didn’t know what for. It turns out to be something that only occurs when we get together. It is social food.  And, its nutritional value is up to us.

l/d

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For more pieces like this, go to  http://www.elderssalon2.blogspot.com  (2014 on)

To hear archived versions of our radio program Growing An Elder Culture go to www.elderculture.com

To read excerpts, or otherwise learn, about Embracing Life: Toward A Psychology of Interdependence go to http://www.davidgoff.net