Still in the stars

Still in the stars

Six Canada Geese descend

toward the water, arcing slightly

to the left, with perfect velocity, precise

angles.  They glide on outstretched wings,

only micro-adjustments of feathered-bodies-in-space.

Witnessing, held, I hold

my breath. I am on an airplane

descending toward the tarmac: gut

going two directions, dropping down

and churning, my heart

fleeing into my throat,

in a prayer for

safe landing.

I have flown like that, my body

is remembering!  Perhaps a favorite

dream? Or my life as a bird? (Maybe

I was previously a silly goose!)

Yearning

or remembering?  When

my daughter was barely

four years old, she asked me,

“Mama, do you remember when we were still in the stars?"

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Note: This is a rendering of my essay "Yearning and remembering" in poetic form, thanks to my colleague and friend Simeon Dreyfuss.

Yearning and Remembering

Heading toward home, skirting the west edge of the pond, I happen to witness a small flock of Canada Geese, six to eight in number, perform a controlled decent through the air toward the water’s surface. They arc slightly to the left, and I am arrested in my attention by their perfect velocity, precise angles, the way they glide with outstretched wings, their only movements micro-adjustments of feathered-bodies-in-space.

I am a body-in-space as well, and I have no option but to stop walking in order to better witness the geese in their descent, to behold their performance. Once still, I have reconfirmed an impression I’ve had many times before that when I stop, or sometimes when I am still moving but more slowly than usual, I experience time as fundamentally in flux, that it expands and contracts, alters its pace, holds me gently.

Held gently, witnessing, I realize that I am holding my breath. And that my body – especially the region from my gut to my heart – is reacting as though I am on an airplane descending toward the tarmac of my home-town airport: gut going in two directions simultaneously, dropping down and churning, and my heart fleeing up into my throat. I am slightly queasy and disoriented, suddenly inhaling deeply and raising my shoulders and eyebrows in a sort of prayer for my safe landing. This physiological drama is unfolding so quickly and seemingly automatically, keeping pace with the flock’s descent. And then my mind kicks in.

My mind kicks in and takes over my embodied experience, doing what minds seem to like to do—commenting upon and asking questions about what is happening. Now, as I continue to watch the geese, no longer in the throes of my embodied experience, I think: “I wish I could fly like that! I have flown like that, that’s what my body is remembering! Wait, have I actually flown like that, not in an airplane but just in my body? Perhaps I’m remembering a favorite dream? Or, perhaps, I am remembering my life as a bird? (Maybe I was previously a silly goose!)” In other words, my mind is in a state of wonderment, desire, recognition and confusion, all at once, the cognitive analogue to what is happening in my body.

All at once: Wonderment, desire, recognition and confusion. I start breathing regularly again, the geese have landed safely, and so have I. I resume my walk back home, trying to keep a fix on what just happened. Time is back to its business as usual, no longer rocking me gently but picking up my pace, but I resist, I dwell in the experience a bit longer. And I ponder this question: Am I yearning or remembering?

Am I yearning or remembering? Now as I write this tribute to the geese, to my life as a bird, I recall for the first time for quite awhile something my daughter said to me when she was barely four years old:

“Mama, do you remember when we were still in the stars?”

New Year's Musings

I really love each new year.  Because it is, well... NEW!! Like a blank slate.  I get to fill it with something that I hope is meaningful, fun and purposeful.  I don't always receive what I expected is always insightful.   With that, here is something I have been thinking about for a while.

To age intentionally we must first be courageous enough to let our true self out in to the world.  To do this requires that we are willing to take certain risks.  Possible risk of humiliation or perhaps retaliation for being our self, or NOT conforming, is a normal reaction in our culture.  We want to be liked and maybe loved by those around us.  To be authentically "real" could put these desires at risk which might be painful.  Or even more ominous, we might lose a job or be ostracized from our community for being different or going against the grain.

The sixty-four thousand dollar question is if there are so many risks to aging authentically, why even try?  What is the benefit of taking the risk to live intentionally?  Where do we get the strength?  I ask myself these questions almost every day and although I can't really say I have the definitive answer I do have some thoughts.

What does seem to be true is that as we get older we have a strong desire to "become whole" and to feel connected in new and intimate ways to family, community and the world around us.  By whole I am refering to our inner self driven by a set of beliefs and values and our outer self or the self we share with the world which can be driven more by the culture.  This desire to be whole, I think, bears a strong resemblance to when we were children with our wonderful penchant for being ourselves, all the time.

I am also coming to believe that when we separate our inner self from the outer self (or what Parker Palmer calls the "Backstage Life" from the "On-stage Life") we suffer spiritual and maybe emotional pain.  And I think a desire to be more "pain free" or whole is one of the major tasks of aging.  Speaking for myself, I want my deepest values that direct my inner self to be the guiding principles of my external self.  I find that I  am driven to merge what has been my separate inner and outer lives in to one authentic personality.  I am also discovering that I don't care as much about what others think.

To live and age intentionally requires a "wholeness" with no differences between our backstage lives and our on-stage lives; just our true self shining for all to see.  My New Year's wish is that each of us find the courage to let our personal truths guide more of our lives in 2011.

Blessings!



 

Books, Regret and The Future

There's a pile of fifteen books next to my bed.  I'm not at all sure why I store them there.  Except for the two which I read before I go to sleep most nights the others just gather dust. A couple of times a year they get moved around, cleaned, sorted, prioritized and then re-stacked, but never read.  The "stack" is bothering me.

Included in the stack are books on meditation, jazz, mythology, gerontology, novels, science, songwriting, travel and spirituality.  Some started, most still sitting with their receipts sticking out.  All bought with the expectation of great things and personal transformation.   There they are, unread, gathering dust.   For some strange reason I am feeling regretful that these books have been abandoned and unread.  I even feel a little guilty that I have apparently abandoned my own enthusiasms that initially inspired me to buy them.  

Oh, boy, now I'm starting to brood over this.  What about all the other things I have not done or completed in life?  And what about all the other accumulated mistakes and failures?  Hmmm, such a deep topic!  I should have done better in school; I should have waited to get married; I should have taken that job in Washington D.C.; I should have become a Priest like my Grandmother expected. It goes on...and on!  Whew, I'm now exhausted... and depressed!

The years have apparently slipped by without my realizing it.  Now it is too late to make the changes that these regrets demand of me. My life is almost over and I don't have the answer.  I am comparing my life to old acquaintances and new ones. Now I really feel bad! The thoughts of what could have been eats at my heart pretending to be "reflection" or life review.  But it feels more like failure.  What have I made of my precious life?

Regret is such a temptation, isn't it?  Regret entices us to lust after what never was while we lose our sense and connection to the present.  This is such a misuse of the aging process.  One of the gifts of aging is to become comfortable with who we are rather than mourn what we are not.  Regret also fogs our ability to see the present and the future as full of possibility and grace.

This is not to say that we should not look back.  We must ask ourselves why we are where we are.  It is also important  that we gently and gracefully think about past choices and motives as these inform us who we really are now.  It is from this vantage point that intentional aging begins.  It is the judgment about our past that leads to regret.  When we look at our lives as a loving non-judgmental observer we receive both the wisdom about our past and enthusiasm for our future.

Now maybe I can recycle the old stack and begin a new one.

Blessings!