Some Troublous Birth

 

Some seed in me,

Some troublous birth,

Like an awkward awakening,

Stirs into life.

 

Terrible and instinctive

It touches my guts.

 

I fear and resist it.

 

I don't know its nature.

I have no term for it.

I cannot see its shape.

 

But, there, inscrutable,

Just underground,

Is the long-avoided latency.

 

What I fear and desire

Pokes up its head.

                             Seed by William Everson

 

For many a year I’ve been trying to identify something I’ve had an intuition about. But, I’ve failed, until now. 

 

I had the feeling there was something unique and special about old age. I just couldn’t identify it. Then, this morning, it came to me. I’ve carried the poem that opens this piece since 1985, and didn’t realize, it carried my answer. Later life involves a kind of experience like none other, an inside-out development that is largely unknown, yet wildly persistent. Out of within comes a troublous birth.

 

I first gained a whiff of this experience in the aftermath of my stroke. I was torn physically apart, losing physical functioning, and the life I’d known up until then. With marriage, family, home, career, and health gone, I was reduced to a trembling mass of uncertainty. I survived, in part, because I turned to what remained. Unbeknownst to me, I turned toward the long-avoided latency within me. In a desire to live beyond the stripping, I turned to the only life that remained, the inner dimension of my being. 

 

It is there from which this troublous birth emanates.

 

Being disabled isn’t easy. There are a lot of misconceptions, prejudices, and insensitivities. Living through all of this strange love opens one up. If the bitterness doesn’t get one, then there is a possibility of coming to appreciate the rare ability that disability brings. For me, it was the recognition of the gifts of loss. Aging, I found out later, is a time when these gifts render we humans particularly available for the troublous birth. The poet refers to it, and now I recognize the unique, and special aspect, of later human life. My intuition has taken a surprising turn.

 

There is a birth that accompanies, and sometimes precedes, death. It is a miracle of Nature’s — the evolution of a species — and the fulfillment of a creative spark in the Universe. I think of it as troublesome for several reasons. Birth with death is so unexpected, fraught with societal baggage, superstition, and spiritual apprehension. What is laden with so much potential, frequently causes the old ones to choke. Of course, Nature proceeds anyway.

 

There is some kind of new life coming through our elder years. Getting old looks bad — birth pangs are not pretty — but a new potency is being unleashed. Old people reel under the weight of this confusing unexpected pregnancy. Sometimes they shine with radiant potency. Society is typically cruel, judgmental and aloof, when it comes to the unexpected. It provides no midwife. 

Evolving isn’t easy. Especially when the future is coming from within.  

 

Old age contains a new form of pregnancy. It’s time for a new form of celebration to go with it. A joyful and troublesome shower.

 

 

 

 

 

Ring, Ring

I am sitting all alone on a Sunday. Ruminating with my computer, wondering what I will be writing about. Feeling my humanity, grasping for some kind of awareness — one that is freeing, that liberates my compassion, and confirms the incredible and hugely challenging nature of being human. It is a moment of poignant beauty and wonder. I am so Lucky, and so prone to illuminating uncertainty.

 

I find myself recalling a story a friend told me recently. It was about her elderly parents. It took place in the years before they both died. Her father, I believe he was 94 at the time, had just had a massive stroke, and was recovered enough so he could be at home. The story features her mother who, 90 at the time, had to help take care of him. She was tired, irritated, and old herself. She found it particularly difficult to clean-up the food crumbs he always left on the floor when he ate. One day, while complaining about this with her daughter, her off-spring (the woman telling me the story) suggested to her mother, that she consider each fallen crumb like an angel ringing a bell.

 

To make a long story short, this seemingly preposterous suggestion resulted in a total change in the mother’s attitude. After a while she was grateful for the experience with her husband. This story moved me so much for multiple reasons. My own disability means that I often make a mess on the floor when I eat. I am frequently embarrassed by the crumbs on the floor, and often angry with myself. I have no mercy for the poor disabled man who can’t help being messy. But, as the story suggests, I could. 

 

Do I need an angel, to be kind? Maybe, maybe not. But, certainly I needed the story to remind me, I have a choice about how I see, and respond to, the essence of my own humanity. I’ve been in this condition long enough, that I have had to learn, to love my own broken imperfect self. What I am discovering now, thanks in part to this story, is that another challenging aspect of self-loving is that it is a continuous process that is never accomplished once and forever. I need to keep re-discovering, and re-asserting love for myself as I go on living.

 

Just as the old woman found, with her daughter’s help, that she could re-discover the motivation to keep on loving — not as a chore, but as an opportunity. I, and all of us, could find within our own experiences, the motive to love our own, or another’s ever-changing humanity. To me, in my condition (entirely human), knowing this, is essential to my well-being. In my mind, it is essential to us all.

 

Remembering, or in this case, being reminded, that changes of proficiency and functioning require us to update our loving — making being human so much more complex and poignant.  It makes failing so much more plausible too. I can see how I can treat myself so much better, but will I? Will I overcome the many years of bad cultural advice, and more readily turn toward myself, or anyone, with a more compassionate gaze? I don’t really know now. Perhaps, I will see it coming from me in some future. If so, I hope I recognize it.

 

There is one other feature of this story that is heartening for me. Age. The old are seen as the most set in their ways, the least likely to change. But, as the story reveals, she (the mother) was able, at 90, to readily change how she behaved based upon a new take on things. That shows a rare kind of maturity, that isn’t considered available in old people. This story highlights another kind of aging, whereby, a greater flexibility is exposed. This too, is worth remembering. Getting older might mean a greater capacity to be flexible.

 

All in all, I most want to live in a world where I remember, and have the good friends that remind me, that love must grow with the complexity of the situation I’m part of. Maybe, I’ll get to age into it, ripening, like a seasoned wine, or a great cheese. 

 

In any case, that is the way my imagination runs today. I hope yours gets to run free for a little while, too.

 

 

 

Rapture and Suffering

There are wonders to be discovered about the potentials of aging. They are hard to talk about. This is because aging is so weighed down by years of fearful prejudice, and the truth is, that later life has so much more to offer than anyone expects. I’m going to try to give voice to one of the unexpected gifts of aging, that almost no one believes is likely. Surprising potential resides in our later years; paradoxical awareness is one of those unknown things.

 

Aging does entail a rather brutal breakdown of bodily well-being.  That has been, for too long, the main thing that has defined perceptions of getting old. Thankfully, we have a more complete picture now. In addition to the known ravages of time, there is emerging a new sense that something, is going on inside. Loss is accompanied by gain. While we are growing a brittle and vulnerable husk, a being of another sort is taking shape within. This one is privy to unexpected sensitivities; it sees the world differently.

 

One of the attributes of this new being, which is not evenly distributed amongst old people yet, is a new, more complex and simpler way of perceiving the world. Some old folks are discovering capabilities they have never sought, and that now are altering their consciousness. They live in a world where hitherto the capabilities coming from within, were found only in mystics, shamans, and the spiritual masters. Paradoxically, the old are being reduced, and coming into an utterly new phase of life. One, that is numinous with the unexpected.

 

To give you, the reader, a hint of your own possible future, let me illustrate how this development changes everything. Common knowledge contains the grievous notion of impermanence. Buddhists have tried to shape it into a kind of daily awareness, to aid the growth of compassion. Whereas, paradoxical awareness links loss and gain, coupling impermanence with emergence, rapture with suffering, death with birth, and the new with the old. Not just putting the experiences side by side, but asserting they are different aspects of the same thing. What ails us also heals us. What befalls us, crippling the life we have known, also introduces us, to a new freshly enabled way of being. Twists are the way of life; renewal emerges from accumulating dust.

 

This is something of the form of wisdom that courses through the mixed-up thoughts of the elderly. It is mostly inside, manifesting as love of life. It is confusing, compelling, anxiety-producing, and deeply liberating. Life gets better, in unexpected ways.

 

There is little to do about this development. No one deserves it, and yet, it happens. No one can intend it into being, thus rapture and suffering take place, and yet, it happens. It is an unexpected gift of aging, a flowering of potential, a wild profusion, and yet, a simple expression of the miracle of life.

 

Go ahead and ripen, don’t delude yourself, you have no choice, you are going to flower anyway. And maybe, the richly fragrant and unique quality of Creation you embody, will be something paradoxical too.

 

Finally, this element of some old persons lives, allows another most unexpected thing. The onset of paradoxical awareness arouses wakefulness of the enchantment in the world. When all is connected, then natural miracles become normal. The world is saturated with meaning from on high; connecting each of our lives with a living cosmos. 

 

 

 

 

Slowing

I promised myself when I started writing the Slow Lane (in 2005) that I would write at least one piece about slowing down each year. This is that piece for this year. 

 

After my stroke, and its long aftermath, I learned about how much of life I missed, because I was speeding through everything. Being slowed by my ailments, and disabilities, showed me things that I had not experienced before. I didn’t know it, but this perception marked the beginning of my re-perceiving, and becoming more aware of the miracle of life. Slowing down, a natural result of my stroke, enabled me, by catalyzing a new consciousness. It could do the same for you.

 

I never knew impermanence as thoroughly as I did, until it became evident, that I could easily, and quickly, pass from the scene. Suddenly, the many beauties I took for granted, became precious. Other wonders caught my attention. And, then I grasped, how quickly everything (including me) was passing, and that I was missing most of it, because I was speeding through life. My concerns about making money, fulfilling my dreams, and meeting other’s expectations, all distracted me, and kept me from grasping the fundamental beautiful vulnerability of life.

 

I slowed down because I was forced too. The gift of slowness came to me unbidden. It took a while for me to receive it. I was so identified with the value of being able to keep up, doing things efficiently, and continuously showing my stuff, that I felt handicapped by this newly imposed slowness. Disability chafed on me. 

 

Then, I realized that slowing was allowing a completely new awareness. I was mesmerized by what I could sense.  The empty aching that seemed to define my (speedy) life, became apparent to me, and a new happier, slower existence showed through. Since then, I have come to see how the pace of life, determines so much of what one perceives, and what one is capable of. 

 

I’m a lot older now. Aging brings its own slowness. Some people perceive it as a curse, and are embarrassed by it. Others feel defective. Not being able to keep up in the rat race, is a sure sign, for some, of obsolescence. But, the truth is, that Life has finally prevailed, and that its miracles, and enchantment, are now more available than ever.  Slowing alters awareness. It makes

 the subtle more perceptible, and the world more complex and beautiful.

The aging are in for a treat, an advantage that wasn’t much available during[DG1]  the machine-speed world of acquisition. Now, simpler beauties manifest. And, altered perceptions of self, and of what is important, show up. The curse of slowness becomes one of the gifts of aging.

 

The funny thing is, that it (slowing) is available to everyone right now. The pace of life is up to each one of us — no matter what age we are. Slowing is one of the hallmarks of a very rare form of maturity. It is the result of an acute perception about how violent speed is. You’ve probably heard the saying, “speed kills,” but probably you haven’t realized that speed kills perception, depth, and connection.  Humanity suffers— our’s, and everyone’s — when any of us go too fast!

 

Speeding through life is part of the violence of our times. It is a sure sign that one has been captured by the de-humanizing elements of modern life. The most effective protest of injustice is slowing down. There are more than roses waiting to be smelled.

 

 

 

---

 [DG1] 

Both/And

“Take your well-disciplined strengths 

 and stretch them between opposite poles.

Because inside human beings,

Is where God learns.”     Rilke

There is no bible that describes any of the gifts of old age. In a weird twist of human fate, the latter part of human life has been ignored. Thus, it languishes unseen and severely unrecognized. One could consider that to be a tragedy, another victim of myopia, prejudice, and selfish limitation. But, I don’t. Sure, old people bear a lot of weight, by virtue of being misperceived, yet there remains a lot of unexplored opportunity too. This Slow Lane addresses one of the most dramatic areas of old age, that reveals untapped human potential, and suggests that human awareness has important spiritual significance.

 

Some humans, not all, are capable of paradoxical awareness. In old age typically, the factors are present for this noteworthy and substantial development to take place. It is something that happens organically. Since paradoxical awareness is an unanticipated occurrence, it isn’t a product of any kind of willful intention. There is a latency, an instinctive artifact of long life, that alters experience, and adds depth and perspective to human perception. As a species, innate in our being, is the means to grasp experientially how connected we all are. Paradoxical awareness offers our species the chance to perceive more fully our place in the Universe.

 

Why does this matter? We may not be around much longer. Geological time, or deep time if you prefer, is going to swallow us up. We will be just another extinct species. There is likely to be no one, no ancestor, or similarly endowed whatever, to mourn for our disappearance. So, what significance can this form of perception have?

 

The Universe isn’t going to be altered by human awareness. But we, could be.

 

There is a possibility that we humans, at least some of us, may actually find a kind of fulfillment and existential justice, through re-perceiving ourselves as integral parts of the whole of Creation.  Paradoxical awareness may be Life’s way of informing its offspring of its larger being, and of their role in the life of the whole. How dignifying and re-assuring.

 

Humans have, at least in our own minds, been around for a long time. This has led to the saying that there “is nothing new under the sun.” And, who knows, this kind of awareness may not be new. Look at the writings of Lao-tzu, or Socrates, two oldsters, who in their later years, gave new meaning to the experience of paradox. Still, my guess is that evolution continues, and that paradoxical awareness is part of the Universe becoming more fully aware of itself.

 

If you are one of those people who doesn’t believe that their lives could serve any larger purpose, that is convinced that life is just a random process, an accident of eternity, then think about what a sense of paradox can do for you. This strange mystery that we have come into, is more enchanting, filled with more connected possibility, than previously imagined.

 

Paradoxical awareness is a part of being old that presents one with the chance to experience everything again for the first time. It is old and new. I believe that as we, as a species, experience demise — the end of our self-deluded and hubristic ride — we can take solace from the paradoxical awareness that the end is just the beginning, the birth pain that accompanies finality.

  

The Uplifting Exit

“It furthers one to have someplace to go.”   I Ching

When I was in my late 20’s and early 30’s I used to consult the I Ching. I would sometimes get this message during a reading, but I could never really figure out what it meant, in the context of my questions at that time. Now, the memory of it seems to haunt me. I am a lot older. I no longer consult the I Ching. But, somehow, I remember this line. I don’t know why. Perhaps this writing meditation will make it clear, perhaps it will veer another direction, revealing some other aspect of my being that needs attention. Anyway, here goes.

Why now? I wonder what is it about this stage of my existence, which warrants this kind of reminder? I am waiting for the train of death to pull up to the station. My life isn’t over, by any means. But, I can feel the proximity of the end of this story.  The one place I have to go is inexorable — it is my final resting place. I am not exactly waiting, yet, I am. Somehow, the knowledge of my impending death, the conclusion, that is in store for me, changes my remaining time, charging it with expectancy and preciousness. I am more vividly lost than ever, more wisely confused, more uncertainly alive. The clouds inside, now have a tint of mystery to them.

I know I am going away. That there will not be much that will remain for long. My friends face their own lives, their attention will go where it belongs. I will disappear into the frenetic rhythms of life. My own absence, makes my heart grow fonder. I want to touch what I cannot, to grasp what eluded me, to resonate for a moment with someone’s heart, to quietly hold to awareness my own essence. Being is too much, and not enough. Going away, surprisingly, means arriving like never before.

I am thrown by what I think I know. I can’t get over my own weak-kneed insistency. It seems, I can be found, wandering near the abyss. Yet, I go on, hearing the whistle of the train approaching, and feeling some strange combination of amnesia and hallucinogenic awakening. This era of my life holds some recombination of things I thought I knew, with things that have always had a life of their own. I am uplifted by my own mystification. Not-knowing, has become a way back into the garden.

Maybe I have put too much emphasis on the going, disappearing, and not enough on the fading. Some shimmering presence is tucked into this moment. It seems that I have more chance of perceiving it, when I am nearing skinlessness.  As the emptying of my hull takes place, the moment blazes as never before, and the mystery that has befuddled me so, becomes incandescent. I am somehow implicated, the light shines right through me, and the landscape of living, no matter how brief, is fraught with miracles.

 It furthers one to have someplace to go. I am being transported, some magic conveyor belt is taking me, toward an edge, that is stirring up some kind of storm of delight. Aging, wrinkling into nothingness, becoming broken, no longer existing as I have been, is seizing me, and delivering me into another world, one that exists with this one. I am unable to remember so much, but you know what, compared to what is emerging, it doesn’t matter. Graying has introduced me to colors beyond my imagination.

 

 

 

 

Compassion and Unknowing

There are many lessons for me in this life. Sometimes I’m up to it, sometimes I’m not. Ultimately, I’ve noticed, mostly I’m the one who suffers. In this case, I’m learning something new about compassion. 

First, it has taken me a long time to get that compassion is multi-valenced. It works in multiple directions. When I am able to feel it for myself, I’m more able to feel it for another. I’ve been starved of compassion, because I have not been compassionate enough. Some strange paradox, inner and outer, rules this process. Anyway, life is growing me by sensitizing me to a new awareness. I have some compassion for myself as I am learning more about compassion.

 

It was a big surprise for me, when I began to realize that not-knowing was a key to becoming more compassionate. I have spent most of my life trying to accumulate knowledge. It was, in some ways, a passport to a kind of prestige, a certain way of being somebody. Giving that presumed benefit up, has not been high on my priority list; it was tantamount to a form of self-immolation. I haven’t been game for letting that much mystery into my life.

 

On the other hand, I have worn a lot of other people’s projections.  Over the years, I have experienced the acidic wear and tear of the ways I have been thought about, and reacted to. Too much of the pain in the world has come into my life through the misdirected ways others have held me. I have felt incensed, aggrieved, and dismayed by the injustice of this part of being human.  I developed the capacity to not take it personally, and to see that projections often told me, a lot about the projectors. Still accepting that component of life hasn’t been much fun.

 

What I have come to see is that I project too. Not just because I am unconscious, but because I am alive. I am always imagining the world I’m in, what I’m about to do, and alas, the people I am involved with. These projections, they can be for better or worse, run my relationships, and often determine my false sense of the world. I am constantly painting reality, and particularly my relationships, with the brush of my limited knowing. What I rarely notice is how much damage I do. Because, while I am busy projecting all over others, I’m focused upon, how much others are misperceiving me.

I’ve known about this hole in my ability to perceive accurately for some time. But, it has only been recently that I made the connection between my own emotional reactions and my failure to be compassionately available. When I allow myself to get too stirred up by the unfairness I perceive, then I focus even more intently on the other with my own brand of thoughts. That is, projections mostly.

 

Now, I’ve come to think I know too much. Or, perhaps more accurately, I think I know, too much. It is obvious I project all the time. So, I misperceive people, reality, and myself regularly, naturally. There is no compassion to that. My desire now is to experience reality and others, as they are. To let my emotional reactions inform me, about myself, and to let that form of thinking I know, go.

 

I am a more compassionate being, that is one of the benefits of getting older. Another, is that I can see more clearly. My desire for sex has waned, and over the years, my desire for connection has grown. Learning how unknowing frees me, to practice a more compassionate form of connection, is a major by-product of learning. I know enough, to know I don’t know much of anything. And not-knowing allows me to have more of an experience of the moment, and to be more compassionate while I’m at it.