Do you want me to tell you how old I am? Is that what you want? I’m 95.
Actually, I’m halfway through my 96th year. Because when my 96th birthday comes around in June I will have completed my 96th year. What do I love most about being in my body now?
That I can still breathe easy and I’m happy for whatever I have, knowing more and more limitations are on the way, and more and more mobility is on the way out. I don’t want to have just visited this world. So I’m living as fully as I can with what I have.
I want to be a child of wonder and astonishment. I’m having my second childhood now. .
. my happy childhood. I had a miserable childhood.
I did not enjoy being a child. I was always the outsider. I was always pointed at.
I always felt terribly self-conscious. Terrible! I don’t even like thinking about it.
So I have fun now. I’m enjoying my childhood, finally. I’m just learning about play because I didn’t know what play was when I was a child.
I think play means exploring, experimenting, being curious, looking, seeing, being in the body, being alive, not being afraid, free. It’s about the miracle and the mystery of being alive. .
. discovery, exploration. ‘We shall not cease from exploration.
’ ‘And the end of all our exploring’ ‘will be to arrive where we started’ ‘and to know the place for the first time. ’ That’s T. S.
Eliot. I had cancer once. And.
. . Afterwards.
. . I had surgery and didn’t have to do anything more, it was done.
And I felt like I had to give myself a reason that I was spared, that I got my life back. And then over many years I saw that I had something to give, my light. Something ineffable that I don’t know.
That light of harmlessness. . .
harmlessness and harmony, and singing and being joyful, and rejoicing and being grateful. We’re here to experience the wonder of being in a body. To know that we are each other, that we’re the same.
We’re made of all the same stuff. . .
scientific words you know. . .
neurons, protons, cells, molecules. We’re part of the whole thing. We’re little bits of stars, we’re dust.
It’s like we’re the great kaleidoscope. . .
all little pieces, but every time you turn it, it’s different. So you and I are made up of exactly the same stuff. But everyone is unique.
There’s only one in all the world. And the same with every petal of a pansy. Everywhere I look I see another little version of myself.
If there were a person in every little section that would be another version of myself, all made of the same stuff but put together differently. Same same. .
. you and I are same same and different. Same same and different.
I’m the same as the tree, and different. I’m the same as the garbage heap over there, the compost pile, I’m definitely part of the compost pile, on my way out. I’m the star thistle and the grass and the dirt, and the black ant climbing the mile high.
. . I am you, you are me.
. . we’re the same.
Same same different. I am very much at this time, contemplating not being here, contemplating my death. ‘We die with the dying:’ ‘See, they depart, and we go with them.
’ ‘We are born with the dead:’ ‘See, they return, and bring us with them. ’ That’s T. S.
Eliot also. Love that one. I’m hoping, my prayer is to go as gently and as much aware of my self leaving with gratitude and joy.
And the satisfaction that I’m done, I’m out of here, and it’s OK. It’s all such a mystery. And thanks, I want to say thanks, and I’m grateful.
Not try to figure anything out or understand it but just be in awe. People ask, what’s the secret of longevity? What’s the secret?
There’s got to be one thing that if I just do that everything will be ok? And it’s go slow, for me. Go slow then you’ll know where to seek the truth when to speak your truth from your heart.
Go slow then you’ll know that the only way to enjoy this day is right now.
