age

A Day in the Life: Age

It is not death that brings on judgement day, it is age. Age, the years lived or not, the lies told to ourselves and others. Age sat him down in a room of excuses made while they whispered in his ears. They were ghosts from his past, most forgotten. But age had not forgotten.

Age was judge and jury and every day in that house was another day in prison, another whisper in the room, another problem to be solved. His age sat silently making notes. It didn’t matter that he screamed “I DIDN’T KNOW!” Age would look up and past him and then down at his life’s ledger.

There was nothing to do with age or with anything. Age was reality. There was only reality and there was no escape but one. He looked around at others that had outlived their age: afraid of dying, not aware that it was age that was their enemy, not death.

He was not going to let age win. He was not going to accept its forgone conclusions. Age was an option, he remembered, and it was himself that gave it the power it had.

Age

It is a peculiar thing, age. In some ways clarifying, opening unseen pages of a book that we have forgotten. And in some ways oppressive, sucking the life-energy, the blood from our veins.

How we think about age matters long before we grow old.

In those years before age we talk of the past in terms of years and then decades, not often thinking of ourselves as young or old. We simply are, and this is good. But it would behoove us in our impetuous years to consider our own age then, and in the future.

When we are young we create our older selves.

Age comes upon us quietly and shrouds us in doubt and apathy, in fear and pain. Unmotivated to act we must draw upon our younger selves. Those times when we knew what we were capable of. When we are old we need to know our limitations. It is a different side of the same coin.

So if we know our limitations, and strive to know what we are capable of the child within will never really go away. We can live comfortably knowing we are old but believing we are young.

We can spend our old age playing like children.

Fear, Power, Clarity, and Old Age

fear_clarity_power_oldage_blog

Many, many moons ago I read a series of books by Carlos Castaneda. The books were not that good, although this is something that realized only long after I had read them. But, like many things I’ve learned since then, we can learn things from the most surprising of places. Castaneda’s books presented an idea of life that I have not since forgotten.

In a discussion with a wise, old Indian, Castaneda finds that we have four enemies in life: fear, power, clarity, and old age. I have since thought much about these enemies. Now that life has presented me with yet another challenge, they come to mind again. The story is similar to many of the stories we learn to not disregard so quickly.

The first enemy, fear, is the easiest enemy to understand, and when we understand fear, we have in fact defeated it. The problem with these enemies is that they never tire in their attacks. When we have defeated fear, then comes power. Power is often thought of as enlightenment but it is trickster. Power is not enlightenment, but blind capability. We must defeat power by understanding that it is an illusion. But power, like fear, never tires in its attack.

Clarity, or enlightenment, is the prize in overcoming the illusion of power. But enlightenment, like the other enemies, is a precarious path that we must take care when we follow it. Arrogance (power) is often the result of careless enlightenment. Dogma is the result when we cease to ask questions. When we cease to ask questions fear begins its work. When we come to realize that we have completed the circle, only to begin again, we are often too old to correct mistakes; we can never defeat old age.

And so it is with a particular endeavor that I now spend time fearing, overcoming, understanding, and again fearing. It seems that the only thing left is to grow old, but I need to grow old at least trying, even if failure is the only option. I have a dream that I fear because I know that I have the power to achieve it because I am aware of the work required. I am only left with the time to do it, and that is running shorter every minute of the day.

Carpe Diem

Age

age

  • Reminds us that we are mortal: we will die.
  • Reminds us what reality is: we live now; we die now.
  • Reminds us to prioritize our lives: don’t worry, be happy.
  • Reminds us to think: we don’t know the answer if we don’t know the question.
  • Reminds us to live: most of the time the alternative is not better.
  • Reminds us to make a choice: if we do not, others will.
  • Reminds us to take time: time is the eternal thing that we have least of.
  • Reminds us to that nothing really matters: “Nothing we do now will matter in a million years”, and “nothing that will be the case in a million years matters now.” –T. Nagel
  • Reminds us that honesty is the best policy: we cannot lie to ourselves forever.
  • Is that inevitable reminder that change is the only consistent, that we have only one life to live, and that we often forget that fact.

Nothing But the Spring

future

The fall is coming and with the coming cold, change. The bees are readying the hive for winter; the garden is beginning to show signs of age. Harvest continues but the nights are getting a bit colder and the mornings are darker. Change is a cold reality as it is a reminder that all that we hold dear is temporary, and the seasons continue to march on, counted only by us.

I am reminded of the cycles of the seasons, of life in general. When I was young these cycles were nothing more than an old wife’s tale. But when I began to notice my own age, these cycles began to become recognizable from years before. The cycle of seasons became the cycles of life: Spring, Summer, Fall, and finally Winter.

It is almost as if all change is the same. It begins as an exciting possibility and grows into a busy reality becoming the aches and pains in the morning, the nematodes in the soil, the repairs on the house, the mileage on the equipment and on myself, the goals achieved and the dreams that never were. These things are not bad, but simply the reality of living. Things wear out, ideas disappear and so do we.

As I get older I begin to notice that my parents are old.   This realization is painful and soon I am reminded of the relentless seasons not only by my own age but also by the needs of my parents. The child becomes the parent. This too is the cycle of the seasons. Winter comes for us all and all the while I think of nothing but the spring.

Patience

patience

I am told quite often to have patience, but I watch my tomato plants and they seem to grow inches everyday, but the fruit remains green. Large, green globs of fruit hang heavy on the vines. I can taste the fruit of my labors; I envision the salsa if only my peppers would hurry.

 

My peppers are bearing fruit as well, but the plants themselves haven’t grown much. They look healthy now, but only after some attention. I watch as peppers sprout from white flowers, healthy green, red and purplish. I watch the peppers and envision baskets of Anaheim, Joe’s Cayenne, Poblano, Jalepeno…, if only my tomatillos would get bigger.

 

The tomatillo plant was given to me by a friend of mine; the plant is beautiful. Small, yellow flowers wielding to pockets of green, sticky fruit. Spreading its spindly branches, I tie the plant religiously to the homemade stands I’ve built. Dozens of green bags hang precariously from the plant, and I check often for the fruit hidden inside. The green chili that I make from the peppers and tomatillos always taste good with a homemade beer, if only my hops would hurry.

 

The cascade hop plant is probably my favorite plant in the garden. It hangs heavy with sticky leaves and gorgeous, small green cones of goodness. The lupulin inside the cones await golden nectar. The plant is a fast grower, and the hops that spring forth (with a little help from the bees this year) are lovely light green and smell of the goodness that beer is. I plan to brew a honey porter, if only the bees would hurry with their making of honey.

 

I added a honey super to the hive two weeks ago. The last check on the super, the little girls had begun to make comb for the honey that I hope will soon be. The bees have been a favorite addition to my garden. They have done so well this year. I really didn’t get the bees for honey production, but out of curiosity. But I remember the addition of the second hive box. They filled it hurriedly and I worry about the bit slower production on the honey super. I have mason jars that I can almost taste the honey dripping from the spoonful’s that I ladle from them. Honey harvest is often in September, and only if the girls have enough for themselves. August is almost here.

 

August is almost here and with the end of summer begins the fall. I remember the times past in the fall as the leaves change and cool evenings bring the leaves to the ground. I’ll gather them and send them through the shredder for mulch over the winter. I always like that job because it is somehow calming, but it does make me wonder where the time has gone.