Age creeps up on us. It’s not fair! We start noticing little aches and pains in our 50s maybe, get used to them and accept them as part of our reality. We can still do most activities, so it’s not too big of a deal. And then bam! we hit another one, ponder it and accept it. And then another, and another. They may come far apart, and then gradually get closer together or more serious.
It’s like the bell curve. After the top bend, it begins to gradually slope downward, for quite awhile. Of course, this is a normal distribution curve, and some people may fall either at a slower pace or a faster pace. As more and more body breakdowns assert themselves on us, steeper and steeper we dive. “It’s always something ...”
The Sage’s Tao Te Ching
The sage has achieved life’s balance.
Work gives way to rest,
And returns again to work
without resistance.
Health gives way to illness
and returns again to health
without worry.
Life gives way to death
and returns again to life
without fear.
Some issues come and go, others are more chronic, others perhaps terminal, or at least causing much suffering.
How to keep going? Enjoy what we can? Find a good balance between making an effort and letting it all go? Remember Dr. Ezekiel Emmanuel’s article in The Atlantic, “Why I Hope to Die at 75?’” He writes about too many elders being kept alive for years and years who are riddled with disease and dementia and constant pain. He has decided not to have any medical intervention to prolong his life after age 75. He wants to die, “ ... when whatever comes first takes me.”
And Bill Plotkin, in his work “Nature and the Human Soul” talks about how aging can involve no longer being able to physically or cognitively manage recreational and social actives, and a loss of dexterity, balance, strength or visual acuity. This often leads to depression, confusion, pain, disability and regret.
But what if we looked at our demise and upcoming death as a process of surrendering, the ultimate letting go? A nonattachment to form or outcome, a lightening up, a celebration of the beautiful mystery of death, of decomposition?
As I walk through the forest I see all kinds of decay, from trees that have fallen and the new life they bring, to the rich ground cover that was once fallen leaves and composted into soil, to dying flowers that feed the earth. Some of the delicate pasqueflowers have passed too, and their spiky yet feathery seeds are ready to blow into another patch of blue beauty. The compost in my garden bins is beautiful to watch as it turns ever so slowly into dark, black loam to feed my newly growing sprouts. From death, there is always life. Have you ever noticed that when a friend or loved one has died, there is always a new baby born somewhere that we hear of?
What if we didn’t ever die? What would our lives be like? Aging and death is sad under any circumstances, but it’s also the way of life, birth and death, summer and winter, yin and yang. Perhaps it’s a merging into a mystery no one really knows about, a joyful ascent, an enlightened and simple natural process, just like the trees. Death as a celebration, a final journey with mystery. Can we make friends with it?
I see beauty in this aging and dying process. And having the consciousness of being able to watch it, be with it, describe it, brings me closer to all people going through this. We are all one, actually. What if we thought of it all as something holy?
Martha McClellan has lived in Durango since 1993 and has been an educator, consultant and writer. Reach her at mmm@bresnan.net.
