Today my dear you must rest.
Halt your endless march on
making everything just so.
Let your ship run aground.
Let the jungle brush it green.
See what mystery boards.
You have been keeping planes in the air,
lending your heart to every disadvantage,
planning the ends of every start,
lest everything fall apart.
Giving more than you’ll ever let in.
Weighing each encounter.
It’s exhausting staying ahead and
keeping the benches clean.
You need to know, it’s not what you do
that makes you necessary.
You’re holding up walls
that were made to fall,
to end their days in the soil,
so you can grow beyond the picturesque rubble
of your childhood ruins.
there is nothing
Old age can lead to people fading into the background, behind closed doors, behind children and grand children; erased by the scribbled lines of wrinkles, shrinking with osteoporosis, desexualized and homogenized by white hair; silenced by softening voices, failing hearing and a cultural devaluing of oldness itself. Or it can be a time of boldness, wisdom and vigor; a time less driven by ego, hormones and career pressures; a time to shift energy towards service and/or self-understanding; a time to exchange what we should do for what we want to do. Old age comes with permission slips for eccentricity, self-determination and unusual clothing. Continue reading