March 27, 1997
the only life
So here I am in this part of my life. Resenting it. Angry. But at who? Myself? Yes. But more than that. At life? Creation? Just angry at the way life is.
How, when you are young, you want life to speed up. You want to enter into it, be a part of it. You don't realize that you are in it. In a crucial part of it. You just look foreward to the future to when you will be an adult and be able to make your own decisions, get out from under the tyranny that children are subjected to by their caretakers, not intended, but so, nevertheless. Then, during the middle part of your life you are so busy with your jobs, raising children and working in the community that you are hardly aware of life at all. You just run from one activity to another and long for the day you can retire.
When that coveted time arrives, you are surprised that it is not as you thought it would be. You have time. Time, yes to do things you had to put off while you raised the family, but time also to think. Think about what you did with your life. The mistakes you made. Puzzle about the meaning of life. And, beyond belief,the laid-back, peaceful, long-lasting days you dreamed about do not materialize. Commitments and obligations to loved ones and other interests still take up your time. And the days, the weeks, years go by fast as a bullet train. One day you find yourself in a place that surprises you. Where did all that life go? What do you do with what life is left?
The problem is, by now, though your spirit, your mind is filled with enthusiasm, your body doesn't want to cooperate. By this time, the body not only doesn't want to cooperate, but it becomes more and more disabled by the complaints of old age. By now you may think twice before taking that long trip, walking the stairs, some days even cooking a meal. You have to watch your diet in earnest, your cholesterol, you must exercise, take care of yourself. Much more crucial with age.
And somthing else happens. You become invisibel to a great percentage of the world. People run past you, become impatient at your slowness, are not interested in what you have to say. And this is understandable. In our society, being young is what it is all about. It has always been that way in this country. And you feel like a person without a country. Or maybe not a person at all. And you can almost hear the silent voices. You are not important. Why are you here? Don't bother me with your trivial concerns. I have important things to do. Yes. I remember. I always treated the aged with respect. Especially in my work. But I never really appreciated them as individuals. Not the way they wanted to be appreciated. I know now. I know how it is.
And your values change. Money, status, having things are no longer as important. You become more interested in finding out why you are here and what you are supposed to be doing. You want to get it right before you die. You continue to love the ones you have always loved, but somehow the heart finds it more difficult to open up to the new. You find yourself withdrawing from the world. Curling up in your own little cocoon. You become bored. Impatient with anything you think is wasting your time. Like the computerized telephone calls or being put on hold when you call a place of business and never getting to talk to a real person. You just don't have time! So much you want to accomplish...for yourself. For your own satisfaction. your WORK! important work to do in the time you have left. And you don't know how much time that is. You are in a "waiting" mode.
But, on the flip side, being old has helped me appreciate the little things as I have never appreciated them before. Never, in all my life, have I felt so thankful to be awakened in the morning by whatever means, a bird singing a morning song, a car racing by, my puppy whining to go out. It is life! And if not fully in it, I am witnessing it. I am conscious. It is good to be alive! And I thank God for another day. And I get up and take care of the dog, then myself as best I can.
March 23, 1997
It Ain't Easy
I feel myself spiraling down into that deep familiar pit of depression. Even the sun can't bring me back. I know what it is. My age. I'm getting old. Mornings I wake in terror. I lie in bed and try to figure why it is that life exists and if existing, why should it end? Consciousness wants to remain. The blood wants to continue rushing through the body. The identity cannot wrap itself around the idea of not being.
How much time left? How will it end? What will it be like? The mind has to prepare itself. The last surprise in life. The hardest questions. Can't be answered. The mystery of creation.
I am grieving my own mortality. Not through with life. I know many lessons I have yet to learn but can't seem to learn them. Have things to do. Write my memoirs for my sons. Publish at least one book of poetry. Find my voice. Speak what is in my heart. My own truth. Is there time?
The clock is ticking. Time breathes down my neck. The days, the weeks, the months race by. And I find that I have wasted most of them. Why do I feel that my life has ended already? It's like I am through with my job and am sitting on the corner waiting for the bus. And after all these years, I don't even know WHO is waiting for the bus! And really, I guess it doesn't matter. So many have gone before....and who remembers? Who even knew?
God, I am in such despair!
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