Old Times

From time to time, it occurs to me that a long life does indeed permit, through the awful grace of error-making, some small drips of wisdom to seep through aged pores.

Just a very few, mind you, hard-won drips of wisdom per life. What we have is almost over before we realize this, most of us, except of course for the hyper-sensitive poet musicians, the emotionally wise mutants among us.

Age brings many unwelcome discomforts, physically, many of which are simply unmentionable. Then, there is the disconcerting loss of pure physical prowess, not to mention mental acuity. Emotionally, an aged person dwells in a hell of regrets unless and until (s)he finds resolution, and the strength to move beyond all the terrible errors a long life guarantees.

Many find comfort in faith. Though I am not among them, I share the peace of certain pieces of music, especially "Amazing Grace...How sweet the sound, to save a wretch like me."

As my older daughters, Sarah and Laila, sang this with me at my father's memorial at Rolling Hills, Michigan, in the summer of 1999, I could feel that his spirit was truly at rest. He loved music, especially religious music, which was odd because he was not a particularly religious man.

A better word for the kind of wisdom I am thinking about tonight is compassion for our collective vulnerability as a species. As my mother and my nephew Jim and I spread Dad's ashes over his favorite fishing holes around Mud Lake after that ceremony, I noted the beautiful, milky calcium-rich stream that was all that was left of Dad, which we deposited in this, his long-time, favorite fishing haunt.

So many times he pulled a big bass or a pike out of these waters, and brought it back up the hill for my mother to fresh-fry for our after-dark dinner, I'm quite sure he was happy to be eternally returned to the waters that sustained us for so many summer nights.

I've never been back there, or anyplace similar, since Mom died in '02 and we buried her ashes near his in the summer of '03. But sometimes, I find myself in a rural place, a warm field after dark, and see the fireflies that blink here, there, and anywhere around me.

It's a quiet, fleeting state, but this is when I feel that my parents, as well as the souls of many other loved ones, are again nearby. Fireflies. Shooting stars. The sound of a bass jumping and slapping the surface of a pond well after dark -- these all are strangely familiar.

The smile of a child, when you've used your power as an adult to surprise them, and make them happy, simply because you love them more than any words will ever express. The sweet tunes of that artist without a name, whose heart has been bared, in music, in words, in images or performance that unexpectedly releases your own soul from the awful confines of life's painful coffin.

The sounds worth dying for. Because that's what the aged are seeking, at the end, the way to exit this existence, taking nothing and leaving only what may prove useful to those who remain. Of course, this is but a passing insight, "with miles to go before I sleep," a glance sideways at the woods we all seek, eventually.

Me, I could care less what is done with my ashes after I die. My hope is that my children will look up at the night sky, waiting for a shooting star. That would be me. Or that they lie down in a summer field, and watch the fireflies. That, too, would be me. Or, swim among the phosphorescence, though I rarely had the courage to swim at night, because that might be me, though a rather frightened me.

Hell, they could separate a bunch of coins or stamps or seaglass into groups and that most definitely would be me.

Enough of this, already. I don't intend to depart anytime soon, so this post is not about me or mine. It is meant to be about all of us, as we live, and age, and pass on. We have a finite opportunity to share whatever it is we feel is important to share.

I've tried to do a bit of that here, in this modest little corner of the blogosphere, where for all I know, nobody much ever visits. That's okay. I got out what I needed to say. :)

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