Loss

“Honesty is not the revealing of some foundational truth

 that gives us power over life, or another, or even the self,

 but a robust incarnation into the unknown unfolding vulnerability of existence, 

where we acknowledge how powerless we feel, how little we actually know, 

how afraid we are of not knowing, and how astonished we are 

by the generous measure of loss 

that is conferred upon even the most average life.”    David Whyte

Life asks so much of we humans. Most of it isn’t obvious. But losing is. The ‘generous measure’ seems to fall on us all. The quality of our response to loss ultimately determines the quality of our lives. Tragedy, pathology, heartbreak, disability, violence, death. There are so many ways to experience loss. Some seem like they are indicators of a careless deity, and others, random acts. Each sears into us our unique and totally idiosyncratic character. Loss generates something mysterious. It conveys to us who and what we are. It is the “ask” of Life that centers us in the evolutionary process.

 

Loss is perhaps the most paradoxical gift of all. It shapes us, turning each of us into someone touched, sensitized, directed, disillusioned, empowered and freed. There is a wild ache in the world. Each of us is exposed to it, shaped by it, and sometimes grief-struck. It is part of the way Life christens and certifies us — we are human to the core.

 

Loss is the way gain comes about. The two are linked in some unknown grief-saturated way. Alchemy holds no mystery compared to these two’s relationship. The light shines brightest upon the ground prepared by the darkness of grief and loss. Shoots of newness, and resounding beauty, bear the scars of what has been and now is let go of. Loss opens the way for the new.

 

We live in a human-defined world where loss is primarily seen as tragedy. There are many who labor under the weight of shallowly perceived loss, who cannot imagine the gift they received wrapped in grief. The greatest tragedy is when loss is perceived inaccurately. It still hurts — but it is a strange, seldom-welcome kind of fertility. The Universe has come calling, bringing with it, ineffable possibility.

 

Each of us has to come to terms with what is given to us. Sometimes what looks like a curse is a gift. There is no way of telling in advance. Providence seems to match loss to us very carefully, but we humans don’t get to know about this justice. All we have is this kind of wondering and awe.

 

 

 

  

The Ripening Room

Aging is still controversial. There are those who think it is a kind of natural disaster, the bitter broken end of the story. There is a growing minority who believe that old age holds the key to personal uniqueness and fulfillment. At the moment, amongst other big changes, the traditional view of the latter part of life is undergoing a metamorphosis. The old is becoming new.   

This changing of the fall of Life, is only welcome in some corners. It’s scary. Life has more to offer. It also asks more of us.  The newness arising, is a mixed blessing.  Longer, more complex lives, with less functional bodies, and greater losses, more death of loved ones— all add-up to a challenge like no other. Some would say it is these hardships, that make old age such an undesirable part of life.

 

Others, including this author, see these hardships, as the gifts of later life. They are a part of an initiatory ordeal, that quickens life, and gives it a miraculous magical quality, dignifying and connecting we humans to the processes of Creation. It is when our bodies breakdown, that our spirits become more available to us. There is an awakening, that becomes available as life ripens us. Falling becomes flying. Wrinkles, cellulite, and scars become the signs of a new phase.

 

This transition is handicapped by looking bad, appearing as a kind of demise, a failure to thrive. But that is only what’s happening on the outside. It is what is most visible. Miraculously, something else is happening on the inside. Unseen, and unrecognized, an immaterial capacity is forming. Sensitized by all the losses, an internal being is growing — an invisible wonder is ripening.   Aging is a gateway— a portal into another form of being human—another adaptation to existence.

 

We all know we are living in precarious times. No one knows what is going to happen. Your fantasy is as likely as mine. Still, there is something happening within we humans. I don’t think it has been adequately accounted for. I may not know exactly what it is, but I have noticed that the overall theme of aging seems to be that the old gray mare “ain’t what she used to be.” I think that is true, and I’m offering a new story about what that may mean.

 

Ripening, in my opinion, is happening. I think it is built into us, like a homing instinct, an integrative drive, a natural tendency towards wholeness. Ordeals, hardships, and dilemmas, ripen us, maturing our nature, and growing each of us into our unique selves. All of that development, is part of the ever-expanding Universe, guaranteeing diversity, and making sure that evolution always has something new to create with.

 

The Ripening Room, a new development — is a prayer — designed to emulate and support life. It is a social experiment, a very human attempt to aid what is already alive within us. While the focus will be self-confrontation (watch for your invitation), the truth of the matter is, The Ripening Room will be a place to celebrate what we all have in common, a vital connection with the evolving edge of Creation.

 

Being human is, with all our fragility and limitation, living at the edge, in the ripening zone.

 

 

 

 

The Self Needs

I ran across a book, The Adjusted American (1957), long ago, before I became a therapist, that has had a life-long influence upon me. It simplified my sense of what was important as I grew, and provided me with simple guidelines with which to direct my efforts.  I still find myself thinking of the guidance offered, and the subsequent gifts that came my way. The book provided a lot, from describing a “normal neurosis,” to a simple description of our “self-needs,” which I intend to pass on to you. I find that the later has served me, even as I age beyond so many other forms of guidance.

 

The “self-needs” that Putnam and Putnam put forward were so simple that I remember them today. I feel motivated to pass them along because of a conversation I had with an elder friend of mine. He was nearing another birthday, and he was in the midst of a hard time. The perspective their model offered, was so useful to him, it clarified what could have been a pathological assumption into a normalizing growth pattern. He walked away marveling about his own evolution. We were both happier, and could celebrate his getting older, because we noticed, the ripening still going on within our breaking-down bodies.

 

They posited only three simple self-needs. 1) A self-image that is acceptable. 2) A self-image that is accurate. And lastly, 3) a means of verifying the first two. If one has a self-image that is unacceptable for any reason, or one that is inaccurate, then one gets in all kinds of difficulty. The more accurate and acceptable the better. The more readily one cultivated good relationships with loved ones, family, or community, the more means for verifying the accuracy and acceptability of one’s self-image. All-in-all, a very simple and relational way of looking at one’s self-experience and grasping what’s at stake in any given situation.

 

I have had to go through some significant upgrades to my self-image. The uncertainty of these times in my life have been great. Old age has been in some ways been no different, only slower and more thorough. I’ve always, during such times, adhered to the twin needs. I steered towards acceptability (mine) and accuracy. Community has been my preferred source of verification. The diversity of community has always provided a multi-faceted way of seeing myself. I could bare the times of transition, because I had friends who helped verify my changing image along the way. 

These later years have been the most delicate for me. I keep having recollections, or friends, who help point out that I’m not who I always thought I was. My self-image is going through wild fluctuations. My approaching death has gifted me with greater clarity. I can see the path I’ve been on, and how I’ve sometimes wandered away from it. As a result, my self-image has also grown clearer. The result is, that if I can stand the strain, I get to re-discover who I am, and as importantly, I get to improve my self-image, and thru my community become more who I want to be. What a late life gift!

 

The self-needs have helped me navigate thru some difficult waters. They keep me honest. They help me hold to what is so difficult and so essential. I offer them to you. I hope they can help you like they keep helping me. At the very least, they offer an alternative way of looking at yourself, that isn’t so pathologically oriented. Ripening sometimes means seeing one’s self more clearly. That can be painful. But, invariably, that pain results in increased character. Ripening is a gift of aging. 

 

 

 

  

Miles to Go

 

“Where do we find truth? Not in society and its institutions, not in organized religions and their dogmas, not in any self-help guru or outside spiritual authority. The hope for truth and ultimate freedom can’t come from anyone telling you what to do or believe, it can only come through your own creative self-understanding.”  —The First And Last Truthby Krishnamurti

 

Humans are unusual, in that they are the only species that have a longer life expectancy, after their reproductive years, than before them. No one really knows why. The best explanation of this phenomenon, preserves the mystery that seems to abide in this strange aspect of human life — life is up to something — and although the ‘what’ is unknown now, it is something important — a trait that serves human existence, and similarly, the larger life that surrounds humanity.

 

What could be the reason? How could something as mysterious as this fact have escaped our attention for so long? What follows is my speculation, a guess, having to do with some of the unheralded potential that makes human life so gratifying and difficult. You see, I think we are not a very mature species yet, and it takes time to develop some of our most refined capabilities. Later life offers us entry into our most human sensitivities. They just don’t come on-line earlier.

 

It’s hard to say if this latter form of development is solely a result of Nature, or if our cultural inheritance is a factor, but the result is that human beings are endowed with traits that only manifest after a long time. The changes that time tends to implement are substantial enough that humans seem to be another species entirely. For instance, you have been exposed to the idea that humanity is simply an extension of the blood-thirsty ape — a violent species.  But later in life, we humans are non-violent, much more prone towards relating with each other. Aging makes us mellower. In fact, it would be just as accurate to view us from the last quarter of life, and say, we are a collaborative species.

 

There is a turn that takes place during the latter part of life that is important, overlooked and confusing. Too many of us suffer from a lack of recognition of this turn and a failure to re-orient. From doing to being, from external orientation to internal, from producing in the world to producing in the self, the turn is like being dropped in a totally different world with a totally different way of living. I’ve called it a “through the looking glass” experience.

 

It is under these conditions that the total uniqueness of each member of our kind materializes. A friend calls this turn a “disorienting dilemma,” which I think it is. At the same time, it is a re-orienting opportunity that enables us to apply our creativity, and become ourselves. The latter part of life, the long last miles, the extended part, is the time for us to give birth to our own unique selves.

 

This has spiritual implications too. As Krishnamurti asserts, it is the time during which we can discover and fully occupy our own true nature.  No one knows what each of us is going to realize and bring forth. Therefore, even the best, bow down to these manifestations of Mystery.

 

Sometimes it feels like we live too long. Bodies break down, colors fade, and our mind loses its sharpness, then what is within us begins to blossom. A lot of miles have to be travelled before the best part of us becomes most evident. And, it is only encountered within the rubble of earlier life.  Confusing. 

 

It is impossible to know why Life operates this way, but something quite amazing and miraculous gets spawned. A non-material being emerges that is a product of material life. Wow! The manifestation of a long, strange, and largely unexpected life appears. The miles suddenly take on a different hue.

 

 

 

  

A Blaze of Glory

I’ve been exposed to so many apocalyptic portrayals of the future that I have suffered from a lack of desire for what is coming. Instead, I find myself with my head down anticipating the worst. I feel ashamed of being human because I live a kind of downer existence that eats away any joy I might experience. I feel so sorry for the children. The lack of any positive portrayal of the future bugs me so much that I feel something collapse inside me, and worst of all, I then tend to go along with the most pedestrian pessimism. This kind of thing promotes a dust to dust fatalism that breaks my heart.

The onslaught of this terrible lack of imagination is like ageism, a fatalism that is infectious, inaccurate, and toxic. Life is reduced. I don’t like it. I don’t support it, and don’t want to live in the neighborhood where it is the predominant attitude. So, in addition to unknowing — the truth of our ever-uncertain existence —I want to remind us that there is as much possibility of an outbreak of kindness as violence.

There is no real way of predicting the path of the human heart. It is true, the challenges of our practices of neglect will come. Neither is there a way out of our dilemma that involves not going through it. But I know, from the hardships of my losses, that an unexpected consciousness can be stirred up. Emotional intelligence could as easily arise, as some sort of regression. I know experientially — the knowledge is engraved on my bones — that Life is capable of turning the most egregious situation into evolution.

It’s way past time to be foolish (or is it wise), and start believing that the future really is unpredictable. Who would have guessed that social distancing would bring us together as much as it has?  Perhaps going down is leading to a greater emergence than we have ever known. Who knows, leftovers may be better. Expectancy, the willingness to have surprise be delivered, is more life-giving than cynical protection.

A blaze of glory is as likely as any other kind of fire. It took some kind of genius for us to even be in this incredible situation. Our imaginations were never up to that task. What makes us think that we can imagine what will become of that miracle? The mystery of our unlikely existence ought to give us pause. 

 I have found a certain refuge in not knowing. The unknown is so much bigger than what we know (or think we know). It is spacious, and fragrant with possibility. I wouldn’t put surprise past it. I will likely wear the face of the stupefied, freshly humbled, sheepishly awed, and the newly satisfied. Progression might look like regression coming.

The Universe is already more glorious than anything I could imagine. So, I suspect, will be the process of discovery of what it cooks up for me, and my kind.

Dying

I started dying when I was born. Each moment of growth was accompanied by a little death.  With respect to the French saying that orgasm is a “little death,” my experience, has been that death has been with me no matter what I have done. I didn’t know it at the time, my death-realization only came to mind a few years ago. It turns out that when I looked hard at my life, I saw that each turn toward greater being was also a letting go, a death-like release. I have grown because I died.

By now, the astute reader, will recognize that I am not referring to death in the usual way. In my reality, death is not the end of the story, or the light at the end of the tunnel. It isn’t juxtaposed with Life. Instead, it is a part of Life, a regular, albeit a poorly regarded part, of each green unfolding. It is the dark light that shines dimly on the green fuse. Death is the great impermanator, the antimatter wholeness, that makes room for further evolution. 

My perception, that death has been with me from my beginnings, that it is part of my life, has changed the way I hold the decline I am experiencing. Life has taken on another hue, as loss (true little death) has reshaped my life, and prepared me for another stage. Having integrated death into living, I find myself less afraid, and a lot more peaceful and intrigued.  Now, I am just awed by how death and birth are related.

About 6 years ago, I got exposed to a Hafiz poem, that has stimulated and beguiled me. The poem, called “Deepening the Wonder” starts with the line “Death is a favor to us.” I’ve found myself thinking about how it could be a favor ever since. Over time, I arrived at the idea that death helps me clarify what really matters. It is like some kind of smelling salt, it brings me back to consciousness, where I am more prone to notice the life I am living. My life gets a little more vivid.  It seems like the more I experience death, the more I experience Life. What a strange, and interesting, paradox!

Death is an aid to Life, some kind of essential ingredient, that vivifies the dance of Creation. I would have never guessed. My culture is so busy, producing — death only represents one form of productive interruption, an inconvenience to be tolerated. Another machine stopped working. Instead, with my realization, Life and Death, take on a charge of meaning, that dignifies the process of being here. 

That is an amazing attribute for such a poorly-reputed quality of Nature!

Now, I live with a strange regard for the role death plays in making impermanence so electric. Everything is passing so quickly. I barely notice, even though I know I am one of those things. But, thankfully, death sometimes gets poignant enough, so that I get a dose of the Mystery operating within all of this. Death is a favor. I exist for only a moment on this Earth, and then something momentous takes place, altering again the trajectory I’m on. It is both: an old, and a new story.

Life Gets Better

Life Gets Better is the title of a book by geriatric social worker Wendy Lustbader. In her forward, she explains that she got the idea for her title while on vacation, taking a bus tour. The tour guide invited everyone to introduce themselves to the whole busload of people. Each person was invited to the front of the bus to use the tour bus microphone to say something about themselves. Through the process she learned that she was the oldest person on the bus. Later, after the bus arrived, she was approached by several of the younger passengers, each of whom expressed to her, how important it was for them to hear her say that Life got better.

She was led to the title of her book — whereas I was introduced to one of the answers to a question that vexed me, and many of the old people I know. What do we pass along to coming generations, and how? It seems to me that old and young alike need to know that Life can, and does, get better. Aging is far more than a death sentence, it is a period in life to bask in the Sun. There are many ways it can get better, but most of us don’t know that that is possible — only an old person can credibly make that claim. Not by talking about it, but by being it. When wrinkles come with joy, they have a delightful impact. On all of us.

Knowing that Life gets better sets a tone of expectancy that paints everything with a special vibrancy. I know I end up anticipating good things. And, just like with my gratitude practice, good things begin showing up. Somehow, expecting Life to go that way, increases the likelihood, and pleasure, I experience, when things happen.

There is a special kind of joy that accompanies this form of knowing. It’s totally experiential. There is no need to convince, persuade or otherwise proselytize anyone. The knowing is evident. The only way to make it available is by living it.

It’s a secret that hides in plain sight, and that reveals itself in plain pleasure.

I spent most of my early life depressed, caught-up in a world of pathological orientation. If life wasn’t perfect, there was something wrong. It almost always turned out to be me. So, imagine my relief, when I got old enough to really get Wendy’s wisdom. Life has its own course, and it tends toward the better — despite any limitations I might bring. A smile came over my soul, and I knew my happiness isn’t a fluke. Now, instead of a tendency toward depression, I have a tendency toward awe.

People need to know how Life becomes something else. Decline can happen, people get lost in pessimism and loss, but right there is the gain, and right there is Life’s wily influence. Knowing that Life uses defeat sometimes to create victory— the incredible outcome— reaffirms possibility, and is deeply reassuring. Life gets better, rarely in the way we expect, but inexorably.

It is too easy to fall prey to cynicism, to be convinced by the deluded chant of scientism, to succumb to our culture’s over-reliance on the material. Much harder to handle, is the simple experience of a life well-lived. That is really what some people have to offer. Life gets better.