I have noticed how amazingly unique aging people are, even when they are all of the same color, the same intelligence, all aging daily with new pains and losses of memory and function daily, gnarled, and all still arguing about the same old things. How so?
Meet Methusalem. I take a clue on aging from this ancient tree.
This 700 year old Holm Oak tree around whose presence and wisdom Pope Francis and his gang have decided to build a new project called Papal Gardens. In this garden stands the most ancient tree in the world—so they say.
I remember my mother often saying, with either admiration or scorn, depending on her own feelings about this person, that he/she/they was older than Methusalah, born in 3074 in the ancient Near East, apparently the grandfather of Noah.The reason for such age and status was that Methusalem (Hebrew spelling) walked with God. Well, okay then, and yet………. I do not want to live longer than my body permits. Oh yes, I take meds, exercise as I’m able, most days make sense, have wonderful insurance and the daily comfort of a loving spouse and nearby family. I can tolerate ugliness. BUT chronic pain? I haven’t the courage.
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As a child I felt terrified of Methusalah, especially as I watched the aging process of grandparents— withering skin, bedridden, drooling, sometimes senseless mental wanderings, and more. My maternal grandmother in her dying looked out a window and said: “Look! See, right out there, that beautiful horse.” If I didn’t see it she would call me silly, and if I pretended to see it I felt silly. So I looked out her NYC window, brushed my tears aside, and told her: “Oh yes, it’s beautiful.”
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As we enter this Advent season, we watch for all kinds of things wonderful and strange, seemingly impossible. Children have the amazing gift of sitting and staring for a long time, totally absorbed by something fascinating to them, mostly invisible to others.
This is wonderment. If possible, no adult should ever interrupt, scold, or berate a child thus engaged. When adults take time to sit very still, breathing without expectations or agenda, it’s called Contemplation, aka Wonderment.
Unless you’re already living in a contemplative community, you have to pay for such time, take time off for it, travel to a retreat setting where they won’t declare you insane, feed you good food, and maybe make your bed. (I recommend this option and Mercy Retreat Center in Madison, Connecticut!)
4 comments:
Aging is a wonderment to me. It's not for sissies, as they say, but it is definitely for the young at heart.
Agree. Nor is it for the faint of heart. Laughter helps.
I remember the horses out side "Ga's" New York widow. It was sad and it was beautiful. So wonderful to look out on a brick wall and see a horse. What we see, or believe we see, informs our mind and effects our feelings. In this case a sense of well being which was not present in her bedroom as she was being ignored and very lonely. Care givers are not always able to do all that may be required. The horses were a gift from a loving God to a tired elderly woman who lived her 90 year life with great courage. Not perfect but ahead of any women's movement. For me this is a treasured memory of the Grandmother I adored warts and all.
Grateful for this invitation to wonder... and to marvel recalling the carapace of a horseshoe crab I came upon on the beach in Ptown last month.
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