Elder's Salon
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
Monday, November 27, 2017
Grief and Praise
Human life is impossible. It
is so complex, daunting, demanding and exasperating. It is amazing that most of
us make it through it. Life is also miraculous. I wonder just as often, about
how it could be as poignant as painful? There is so much beauty, compassion,
joy, and outright celebration. It is mind-boggling, that both are so vivid, and
present at any given moment.
I can’t help but be
impressed, though at times I’m just as chagrined.
I want to write about grief
and praise, about how they seem to come together, about how they are the same
thing. I’m sure I don’t have the words
to capture this deeply mysterious phenomenon, but I feel compelled to try. Life
would not be Life if it did not contain this perplexing quality, and I am
alive, and want to be fully alive while I’m here. So, this mysterious and
beguiling feature of existence captures my attention.
Here’s a secret I’ve never
told. I laugh and I cry when I have a very powerful orgasm. I’ve had the experience
enough now (I’ve been fortunate) so that I can describe it, and how my
relationship with it has morphed over the years. At first, I thought about it
as revealing some unsavory demented part of me. I didn’t want it to happen. It
almost turned me off from lovemaking. Happily, I’m a guy, and that feeling
didn’t last very long. Still, I’ve kept it a secret, because I couldn’t
reconcile the hilarity I felt, with the forlorn feeling that also overcame me.
I was torn, so much so, and so predictably, that I came (so to speak) to relate
to these experiences as like being thrown into an ocean of feelings.
In my later years, I began to
realize that I was indeed falling into an ocean of feelings. It existed
somewhere beneath, or above, my awareness. I don’t know to this day if it is an
ocean of unfelt feelings, or if it’s the feelings that reflect the way things
are. I know I go there now, more knowingly, bereft but joyous, shrunken into a
smallness I can hardly comprehend, and lifted somehow. It is a death I cannot deny, and a birth that
scalds me with a strange elation. I relish it and fear it. It is mine and it is
not mine.
Anyway, what has this got to
do with grief and praise? I don’t know, but something in my experience makes
clear to me, that two seemingly opposite feelings can coexist as one. My
experience of grief constantly threatens to overwhelm me. I rue my own
awareness. The world is a vail of tears! It hurts just to be alive, and it
hurts even more, if one tries to be more alive. Humankind is some kind of
demonic miracle, so violent and insensitive, while so vulnerable and
loveable. One cannot say enough good
about us, and one cannot say enough about our carelessness and cruelty.
I marvel that some beings had
enough awareness to realize that grief and praise both arise out of the same
place. Just as orgasm breaks me open, so
does grief and praise. I can go either way, and I end up in the same
feeling state. There is no protection. Oh, I could neglect this portion of
reality, but if I do so, I lose my passport to truly being here, human, alive,
and really present.
More than my heart is opened.
How is that possible? In essence, it takes my whole being to actively grieve
what I’m experiencing. What collapses in me with the weight of grief, grows my
perception of the exquisite beauty of everything, passing so quickly,
illuminating the world. I am enlivened by what drags me down, and lifts me up.
I feel a pervasive vulnerability that binds me to all things, I am essentially
grown by a dual-awareness of unity.
This kind of illumination
awaits me, all I have to do is really take stock of my existence. I don’t know
about you, but I am a pretty broken guy. I am old, disabled, sometimes
forgetful, afraid of how little control I have, totally dependent and often
overwhelmed. Somehow the Universe has conspired to make my imperfection, like
yours, perfect. I think that calls for grief and praise.
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
The Initiating Wound
I don’t know how to start
this piece. I don’t know if I’m writing what I intend, because I want to inform
my reader, relieve some heartache, or praise the beauty of Creation. This piece,
I suspect will be a hodge-podge of all of those things. I don’t think I’m
gifted enough to tease those things apart. But maybe, I’m reverent enough to
just let them be; connected, beguiling, and some mysterious expression of the
miracle of humanness. Surrendering before the Mystery of our being here is all
I can muster.
What I want to write about is
the initiating wound. I don’t know how this recognition of Life’s wily
compassion first came to me, but I remember writing an article for a men’s
journal in 1985 that held the first seeds of this perception. At the time, I
didn’t have the advantage of the perspective granted me by my long
life-experience, my years as a therapist, or my dive over the edge of the
abyss. But somehow I already knew. Life stained me just right. It gave me the
right quantum of agony and uncertainty to deliver me to real richness.
I don’t know how such a thing
is possible. I don’t even know if others have anything like this experience. I
believe so, but I don’t know. What I do know, because I’ve experienced it, is
that I’ve been propelled through many sensitizing moments that hurt like hell,
and been delivered to a place where now I can see that what hurt me opened me.
What limited me, gave me an outlet for incredible creativity. What was filled
with heartache, became a fountain of meaning and poignant freedom.
I now have a strange
bittersweet feeling every time I hear someone lament the particular gash Life
has doled out to them. I know better than to celebrate, but inside I feel a
sense of ironic praise. I know and believe the hurting, the searing cost of
being granted a painful gift. My compassion gets so activated.
I can get angry too. I know
this is a sign that I haven’t totally accepted this awareness yet, but I rankle,
when someone collapses under the weight of what they have been granted. When
they spend too much time complaining about how much it hurts. I know I’m in no
position to judge. Life has its own rhythms. I still have a lot to learn about
sitting in the cleansing fire.
Recently, a guest on our
radio show (Growing an Elder Culture on
KOWS fm.) said of elder awareness that it contained “the burning of one’s
past.” By that I think he meant that the wounds and heartaches of one’s
childhood no longer haunt and limit one. I tend to believe him. I don’t think
that fate or angels, however, swoop into one’s life and remove them. I think
that they morph as one begins to have a different relationship with what once
disabled one. What once was full of limitations, failures and shame, through
Life’s poignant alchemy have grown into extraordinary sensitivities. Poisonous
pain has become the nectar of awakening.
How is such a thing possible?
I don’t know a therapist, doctor, or any kind of human healer that aspires to
do what Life does. It just happens. Not to everyone, I’m fairly sure. Some
destinies, keep us guessing. But some, give us reason to look deeply into the
mysteries of existence, and wonder.
It is as if the wondering is
some active ingredient in Creation.
Crisis
I live in the fire-riddled
north bay. It has been a couple of weeks since we were all shocked by the
vehemence of the firestorm. In those first 7 to 10 days, an aura of crisis
accompanied the smoke. People were missing, homeless, and uncertain. The flames
burned at more than some of our favorite spots, but at our hearts. It was a
time of terrible vulnerability.
I have noticed, over the
years, that times like these tend to bring the best out of people. There was an
opening of hearts and homes, of supplies and of volunteerism. Life slowed its
steady pace, and became a gradual offer of arms, tears, and gratitude for
others. Gratitude and grief flowed over the fire-ravaged landscape. Along with
the heartache, there was a great feeling of togetherness. For the time of the
fires, reflected in the light of the flames, emerged a sense of community.
It is with this that I find
myself dwelling today. I am heartened that so much of the general populace of
this area rose up and cared about each other. This showed me something. We are
social animals, we respond to each other’s pain. We want to address the damage
done. We will help each other (even if we don’t know how). I could feel the way
differences of skin-color, social status, or religious affiliations melted in
the heat of the moment. Strangers cried and held each other. We just knew we all shared the same vulnerability
— something so awesome and unstoppable assailed us.
I knew that crisis is a
powerful community-builder. I’ve known that for a long-time, although I’m
always touched when it does happen. Still, I catch myself wondering about the
human spirit. Why does it take a crisis for us to come together? I want to
always feel strong in the ways I have found strength in our neighborhoods,
schools, and cities. There seems to be something in our shared vulnerability
that catalyzes a caring response in us. Thank God, but what is it about us,
that sheds protective layers for the sake of others?
Whatever it is, crisis
arouses it. I’ve come to believe that it is shared vulnerability, although, of
course, I don’t know. I am so impressed by the sense of kinship that arises
when people go through hardship together. I am sometimes envious, but mostly
awed. Identity has suddenly been transformed, and teammates become buddies, neighbors
become family, and housemates become life-long friends; all because they
survived something life-threatening together.
I marvel at this. Others have
noticed. In the nineties, many groups tried to replicate this sense of
emergency to bring their people together. The pseudo-crisis worked, it brought
people together short-term, but after the emergency, real or imagined passed,
so did the cohesion of the group. Something more is needed to make the feeling
last.
In my mind a lasting crisis
is what it takes to provide an on-going sense of community. Something so
threatening, at an existential level, that vulnerability is an everyday,
everyway experience for all. But, I’m not even convinced of that. You see, in
my mind, the crisis of living should be enough. After all, no one gets through
this experience alive, and it happens to all of us, there are no exceptions.
Isn’t the assurance of death enough? Isn’t aging challenging enough to soften
the heart? It is for me. Isn’t the amount of unknown we all live with great
enough?
Somehow we manage to block
out of our awareness just how vulnerable we are. Maybe this is what it takes to
go ahead with life, but I tend to think that if we humans actually felt our
day-to-day vulnerability, we would be both more alive and more connected with
each other. The vulnerability, we share with all of Life, passing so quickly,
could, if we let it show, be just the thing that evokes in us, the tender
regard for all, that is the true source of our strength.
Elder Absent-Mindedness
This is what
paradoxical awareness does.
It’s already nearly
November, the year has just flown by. My life, this gift from Mystery, has gone
by so fast. Now I’m getting old, and I’m just beginning to get why I might be
here. At the same time, I’ve waited a painfully long slow slog coming to some
kind of recognition of what I am, what we all are. There have been eras of
heartache, loss, and wondering, that passed so slowly that I thought they would
never end. “This too shall pass,” was a speedy way of saying this might last
awhile. I live in a world that is going faster than I want, and slower than I
can bear. Both are happening, bewilderingly, at once.
I’m old enough now,
that I’m starting to penetrate the fog of rushing business I kept myself (and
my world) under control with, and I feel like a toddler walking on the freeway.
It seems like everything is zooming by me. It took me this long to show up, and
I am about to die. Old age is a human accelerator guaranteed to get me up to a
speed up to where I can pop out of this body. Old age is an eternity of slowing
down that makes me forget the little stuff in favor of what matters. I’m dizzy
from going too fast/slow, I can hardly tell the difference anymore. The moment is looking pretty good right now.
I am much more
facile with my feelings now. What used to take me forever to notice, and
express, now comes in little intense bursts. Wake-up calls that arouse me,
leave me shaken, and more vulnerable than I ever knew. I like feeling this
alive, and this near death. I want to walk through it all like I’m in some
unanticipated cathedral, and I find myself running for my life. It is uncanny —
feeling how grief and praise intermingle in my body — I feel lighter when I’m
swept before a wave of grief, and heavier if I keep my head above the storm
surge.
My relationships
have a patina of wonder to them now. I am more connected and more alone than I
have ever been. I know that the more I know someone, the more wonder and
uncertainty about who they are haunts and freshens what transpires between us.
I also know that my relationship within, determines the depth of my
relationship with others. And, as the mystery of myself grows, so my sense of
unknowing wonder increases. In some strange way, getting better acquainted with
others, is acquainting me more with myself. The boundary between self and other
is becoming both more solid and more permeable.
I am drowning in a
sea of conflicting sensations. Bereft, at the turn of political events, and
elated, about the unifying response to that encroaching darkness. I’m so close
to others, and yet so far away. Laughter and sobs intermingle, defining my
grief and my orgasms. Living seems to be a form of dying. I get away with
nothing, and yet I feel supported. The days go by, in accelerating patterns,
but kaliedescopically broken and slow. I want this life to add up to something,
and it is filled with nothingness. I am tossed by the waves, and enjoy a head
wind, all carrying me beyond myself into some other alien being. Life has
tricked me into thinking it matters, but I have no idea how. Openness,
flexibility, and unknowing, seem to be my fate, yet I like to know what’s going
on.
This feeling of
being connected, and in the flow, is a strangely solitary experience. I feel the other humans around me like a star
feels the other stars that surround it. The distances in an expanding Universe,
are growing. The more I subjectively link with someone the more I notice how
far away they actually are. The void has its binding power. I am relaxing,
knowing that quicksand is my fate. All
of these tricky sensations tell me I’m on course, but my trajectory is carrying
me beyond any gravitational pull I know.
Freedom dominates my
attention now, but it seems to mean moving into a larger unknown space. It is
wonderfully unbounded and terrifyingly unrecognizable. I am being drawn into a
vast unknowing, just as I have learned how to be here. Life is pushing me to be
more, as it is making me less. I am at the mercy of the unknown, at just the
moment when wisdom is supposed to be dawning in me.
Maybe, all of these
cross currents make of wisdom, not something you have, rather something that
has you.
Tuesday, August 29, 2017
Elder Relationship
“two solitudes salute, border, and
protect each other.”
Ranier Marie Rilke
Recently
I was at a meeting where a friend of mine (someone I admire) brought us to discuss
one of the most important attributes of elders that is emerging today. He had recently compiled a list of conscious
elder developmental characteristics (see below), which he shared with us.
• Essentializing • Letting Go
• Embracing
Paradox • Embracing Uniqueness
• Facing
the Unknown as a Way of Life • Increased Tenderness
• Increased Awe • Presencing Evolution
• Re-becoming Playful •
Welcoming Death (as Ally)
This
list prompted a discussion. It was a good thing Xan was there, because between
the two of us, it was clear something was being left out. For us, relationship
had changed significantly, and we now considered that attribute to be one of
the most important attributes of elder life.
Here
is my best recollection of what we added. It had become clear to us that aging
brought with it, to some people, a decrease in the tendency to be emotionally
reactive. This increased relationship
capacity mightily. In our case, it meant less conflict, greater emotional
intelligence, and a much greater capacity to talk about what mattered. We found
we could rely on the sharing of honest perspectives. We could also explore
feelings and thoughts together, thus we knew a lot more about where each of us
stood.
There
was also a genuine intrigue into our differences; instead of being put off, we
found these differences increased our sense of reality, and actually became
something that would bring us delight and insight. We were constantly finding
the world was much bigger, and more complex and nuanced than either of us
thought. Relationship, for us, involved more engagement with each other’s
“otherness” than we had ever experienced before.
Added
to that was the fact that both of us could “hold onto ourselves” like never
before. Life experience with our selves translated into a deepening capacity to
relate to another. There is something heartening about the freedom to be
oneself, and to be with someone else who has that same freedom to be them selves.
We have never had a lot of power struggles, or anxiety about someone feeling
forced to be some way.
All
of these elements led us to have more intimacy than before, and they have
created a relationship field like neither of us had experienced before. Some of
these skills came because of who each of us is, but some have appeared
unbidden, they are the consequences of getting older.
On
a more general level, I think it fair to say, that older people, at least those
that have kept themselves alive, have acquired a capacity for interdependence, that is, a
greater skill at relating with the complexity of Life. This is a development
many old people don’t know about, despite the rising capacity they may feel in
themselves. In my opinion, the Universe is a relational place, and now
with ripening, we humans are also capable of relating, like never
before.
The
upshot is, that with aging I have become much more capable of understanding
someone else’s need for solitude. I am also much more likely to admire and
protect our mutual solitude. I now know that our uniqueness, our feeling of
freedom, of belonging to ourselves, our place in the spectrum of things,
depends on it. Without trying, I have
become a much more relational being than I have ever known myself to be, and
that development seems to rebound to the benefit of everything around me.
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