Yule and the Moon of New Beginnings
Wednesday gratefuls: Joe, coming today. Dr. Josy. Healthy Shadow. Paying bills. Tom in recovery. Alan, too. The great American medical contraption. Books. Leads for books. Notebooklm. Pan. Lycaon. The enchanted world. Zeus. Athena. Hera. Poseidon. Hephaestus. Hermes. Hades. Arcadia. Ancient Greece.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dr. Josy
Life Kavannah: Wu Wei Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress
Year Kavannah: Creativity. Yetziratiut. “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso
Week Kavannah: Wholeness. Shleimut. “The concept of shleimut extends beyond the individual, applying to relationships (finding a life partner with whom one feels complete) and the community (mending societal cracks to achieve collective creativity and flourishing).”
Tarot: Eight of Arrows, Struggle
“…profound personal struggles require calm, decisive and resolute action. Reach down into the very core of your being and summon all the reserves of your courage and wisdom. See honestly what the issue will require for you to resolve it…View this necessary sojourn with clear eyes and a resolute heart, for to overcome these tests of life makes us stronger.” Parting the Mists
One brief shining: Old age is an eight of arrows life phase, a time when the cycle of an individual life nears its end, yet also when a lifetime of contemplation and courage and love drives a personal distillation, the alembic of a lived life able to transform the dross of work and care into the golden fleece of wisdom and self-compassion.
Old age presents its insults. Those of us in our late seventies and eighties know. Could be maturing cataracts. Might be regrets. A certain hitch in the step. Maybe balance uncertain. All those family issues, good and troublesome. Of course, some sort of physical decline, could be serious illness.
Then there is the end of this story, once infinitely far away, now looming not far out of sight. Even with a death-friendly outlook, which I have, I’m still with Woody Allen: I’d prefer not to be there when it happens. Kate knows. Regina knows. Jon knows. Mom and dad know. All ancestors know. Death loves us all.
When I couldn’t open the jar of sauerkraut or the sour Cherry preserves, it hit me hard. Weak, so weak. When back pain constantly gnawed at my day, my composure, I let myself fall, often, into the slough of despond. Cancer’s various moments of deep uncertainty had the same power.
Yet. I’ve been reading. No surprise. My mind follows the threads of political change, for example, from a unique vantage point. One earned in years, decades of action and reflection. Or, as I research Pan, the great Arcadian God of the natural world, my heart and my imagination open up, seeing connections, linkages from other years of reading, learning.
Or, I have the insight, as I did yesterday, that I’ve stayed the course in many difficult situations: with Jon and his troubles, with Ruth and Gabe, with Kate in her final years, with so many Dog’s in their final weeks, with Shadow through our mutual angst. Even with myself.
Yes, old age has its insults. It sure does. It also has depth of compassion earned. Love emboldened and strengthened. Knowledge gathered, connected, created. A calm that comes from kicking the hamster wheel of achievement to the side. I’m glad I’m old. How bout you?