Keeping the Dream

On my birthday week, I want to talk about death. Somehow it seems fitting. Not because I’m depressed, but because I am encouraged and feel stronger within myself than in my youth.

My growing fine lines, the appearance of more white hair and whiter white hair, the change of the texture of my skin and the slowing of my metabolism do not trigger a panicked desire to run in the opposite direction. That happened over a decade ago for a couple of years. I’ve moved to a place where I feel the desire to stand with my feet planted firm in the ground and look at what awaits me straight in the eye.

Ronni Bennett, one of my all time favorite bloggers, made an awesome post not too long ago entitled “On the Advent of Our Death“. My approaching birthday at the beginning of the 2nd “half a century” of my life makes me contemplate this reality, that seems to move closer to me with each passing year.

She writes,

Ageism. However wrong it is, however much individual pain and debilitating consequences result from it and how many people are harmed is, to a degree, about fear of death.

She includes a number of quotes about death down through the ages from the book, “Light on Aging and Dying” by Helen Nearing.

I was not only thrilled to find out about this book, but the author’s life was simply inspirational. She was a fascinating woman who left an incredible legacy along with her husband, Scott. Perhaps, when you live a life as rich as this, you are less afraid…perhaps not. I don’t know.

I do know we do associate death with aging, but really, death doesn’t discriminate like people. It has no preference for old age, like we have no respect for it. Far too many children become well acquainted with Death, embraced in it’s arms through the courtesy of starvation and indifference.

And Death is a gracious guest. Whenever invited by human cruelty, Death will enter and take a life, take a dream, take someone’s last hope. There’s the death of esteem or self worth. There’s the death a child experiences when abuse descends upon her innocence just as sure as any Grim Reaper.

But Death isn’t a solitary, for wherever Death goes, Life goes too. Like the inhale to the exhale, Life emerges from Death like the Phoenix from the Ashes or the Pegasus from the Medusa. Just because the living can’t follow the dead, doesn’t mean there’s no place to go, and just because the spirit lays crushed under snow, doesn’t mean the ice won’t crack in the spring.

I like the Zen philosophy about death, as a continuum and as a teacher. Being mindful of it is a great humbler of pride and the foolishness that follows.

How many bad choices have I made in my life because I thought I had all the time in the world? Perhaps wisdom is the beginning of realizing we don’t. But for now, I will not fear the closer proximity to Death as I grow in years, because measuring time is an illusion, anyway. This could be my last post or one of thousands more. I don’t know. And neither do you.

What I do know is that for whatever reason, I don’t feel alone, and I don’t mind if among the angels, Death is one of them.

~ ~ ~
Book referenced in this post:

While looking at the journey of my life, it’s only right that I should stop and thank my greatest teachers. These are the ones who have had the greatest impact on my life, the ones who have taught me the most about myself and living, the ones who have forced me to look in the darkest places and inspired me to sweep them out and throw open the windows.

Not always so quickly. I am not the best of students, and sometimes I need to fail a class over and over again, before I get it enough to move on…and then I always need a lot of review.

But they are patient teachers and the most forgiving ones I have ever met. It’s within their nature.

I’d like you to meet my children.

My children have certainly been a major factor in leading me out of the tangled swamp of my own childhood…and sometimes with no small amount of pushing. I will be forever grateful to them.

But tell me, is it really fair that children should grow taller than their parents? In just another couple years, my youngest will be taller than me, too…that’s just not right.

I remember how my mom used to complain about having to look up to me now, and I’d lovingly call her “Shorty”. But it’s my turn now.

But you know, I do look up to them…in more ways than one. And when it’s time for me to have to tilt my head back a bit to look into my youngest child’s face, the truth is, I will already have been doing that.

…which will be next Friday, November 2nd, I’m going to be writing my thoughts about growing older all this week. Some will be older posts, that I once had here, then moved to another blog, and now am consolidating back here. Others will be brand new.

In this week of contemplation and celebration, I will, also, be posting photos between here and my more personal blog concerning my childhood at Miyasan’s Daughter, as well as add some thoughts about my mother, her mother and the paths they traveled…and built for the one that followed.

I will also be posting a song I wrote just recently, called “No Apologies”, to celebrate and express how I feel at this stage of my life. I have the song in hand. It’s recorded, mixed and converted into an audio file. But I will wait and present it to myself as a gift and share this song and my joy with you on November 2nd. It’s that special to me.

I wrote this song not only for myself, and all older women everywhere, but for my daughters, and every woman’s daughter. The models are not the skinny ones who slink down the cat walk. We are the models, and we are the promise of what our daughters can be.

I want to do my best to make it a good promise.

You know, I just may celebrate all month.

I have never understood the rationale behind condemning a person for who they are, what their genetics designed them to be, and what no one has the power to change (and why should they?).

Like how old you are or aren’t, what race you are or aren’t, what sex you are or aren’t. Or the genetic role of the dice that gave you features that deem you unattractive in a particular culture and time…or praises you for that same role of the dice for being attractive - as if that was some kind of accomplishment.

How absurd is that? And yet we do it.

I’m not sorry for being an older woman. I am sorry for the people I’ve hurt in my life and the times I’ve fallen short of my ideals, when I could have embraced them. Now that’s something to apologize for. Not my age.

I’m not proud others think I look younger than my years. I’m proud I published a book and released a CD right before I turned 50, when the common belief is that I should have been “over the hill”, or that I’ve gone through childhood abuse and a series of toxic relationships and have not only survived them, but that I’ve learned and grew.

I’m proud that I have a voice I rediscovered after it was taken from me and that I have a heart that can love.
That’s something to give to your self-esteem. Not what a thin layer of epidermis looks like.

Let’s be real here. Let’s become more aware of how we restrict ourselves and deprive our society with the prejudices of ageism. Let’s reclaim our voices, our power and take a stand together.

Because this is one prejudice no one can escape short of dying young.

(First published on another blog I have closed - Demian~DreamSinger)