THEY GET OLDER; WE GET OLDER Was up at 4:30 this morning reading various news articles and other mentally stimulating articles of science, medicine and the like. Took a break and went to YOUTUBE to listen to some old 60s music. How dang depressing it was! Listening and looking at the videos of those artists (then and now) and seeing how aged they had become, and that I was the same age as some of them-- my God what a kick in the pants that is. I look in the mirror that is not supposed to lie, but I dont see the old lines; I dont see the bluish hue surrounding the iris that is sometimes indicative of age; dont feel the creaks of bones; Im not bothered by arthritis and the instigator, inflammation; no body aches, pains, loss of hearing, stomach problems or exit problems; there is no weight gain; no wishing the end would come near; no excess graying and no wrinkling. So why did I feel depressed sighting my old friends’ pics and neighbors and favorite singers/performers with ailments that incapacitate to varying degrees? Should I not be grateful that I feel youthful exuberance, and am mentally on par with what I was 40 years ago? Somehow I have not accepted the fact that I, too, have gone through the dryer several times but left unscathed for the most part. And that leaves me thinking that I should have many, many, many more years left. But the buzzer rings loud and clear every time one of those artists cycle buzzer rings for the last time. When will the bell toll for me its final tone? When does the pleasure of being a part of this screwed up world with all there is to learn throughout ones life, cease? I want to learn more; I want to know the things I have missed in all my studies; want to be able to crystallize and formulate my own philosophical tenants-- I want to LIVE for my brain to encapsulate all the great thoughts and ideas that swirl around us but are so often ignored by the youth who should want this, but dont. The inevitability of death, especially when one is physically and mentally fit, for 62 year old, hungry, knowledge-seeking elder. And somehow when one hears about the passing of friends and acquaintances or old friends one knew through recordings or film or television at the start of their gray days, the big picture of ones mortality seems to loom over head in a vision of no longer brightly lit red embers of life, but that of dying white embers that can heat no more the soul of youth, only that to which the aged is deserving. Life is wasted on the youth, Ive heard somewhere; this may be true, depending on ones view, but they would quip, dry up and bury yourself. Well, with the breakdown of the human machine with all the frailties of a sunflower, who is to say that they arent correct. Should I get to the place where life is no longer worth the effort, I may also say life is wasted on the aged. But feeling a great life-spark in my latter part of living saddens me to no end that life is a journey and can end without fanfare. And the want for long life is such an inherent quality, that I can’t shake feeling down about seeing myself in those I’ve known who have loved life dearly, but have been kissed by the Reaper too soon. Why can’t I not trust that God has the last word and I should trust in His timetable? Does He have it all wrong? Should decent people be called Home at the early part of their latter years? I want to say, He has it wrong, but then Id be a fool and would deserve that last tolling of the bell for my departure, because I would have learned nothing. I feel better about it now that I’ve engaged a bit of common sense. Thank you, Lord. It’s been a pleasure, this one-on-one. ~~Eddie
Posted on: Sun, 16 Mar 2014 12:39:10 +0000
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