My thoughts on aging and dying,

Gaer

Gaer

"Angel whisperer"
Location
New Mexico U.S.A.
I hope you will allow me to post this.

Youth charges into life , yelling, "Here I am world!"
as age watches, listens, remembers.
You live so gently now, blooming inwardly as your understanding grows and your wisdom flourishes.
Age bends to know each new life must grow his own way.
As age steps back, views widen, perspectives change, values deepen.
The unfolding reveals a subtle delicateness, you never before percieved.

Seasons pass and decades linger. Cherished moments of contentment, moments of strength and mettle,
Mistakes, regrets, pain and loss all blend together now.
loves, which teased and tormented, impassioned and faded, yearned and cried, now blossom softly in your soul.

Don't ever be afraid of what is yet to be, as you grow into fulfillment.
Your body weakens but but you arm your soul with your strength, your joys, your compassion, your integrity.
Your life has meaning, purpose and value.beyond what you could ever know.
These are the things that matter.
These are what is needed in your future.

Don't go gently into the abyss.
Muster your strength and march bravely into
no,
CHARGE into your next adventure yelling,
"Here I am, Heaven!" "Here I am!"

by Cheryl Gaer Barlow
 

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The only thing that I think of when contemplating my own death, is that I hope to go peacefully, I'm fully aware that I will be alone but the thought of being terrified whilst gasping for breath eg, on a ventilator, or maybe crushed by a landslide ... ( I know, better chance of being mown over by a hovercraft !) really confirms my view that we should be able to choose when and how we depart.
 
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas.
 
Once again, I return to Harry Chapin who's lyrics put my life into perspective. :)

There you stand in your dungarees
Looking all grown up and so very pleased
When you write your poems they have so much to say
When you speak your dreams it takes my breath away

You know I want to be a ball player
A regular slugging fool
But both our dreams must wait awhile
Until we finish school

And so you and I
We watch our years go by
We watch our sweet dreams fly
Far away, but maybe someday

I don't know when
But we will dream again
And we'll be happy then
Till our time just drifts away

There you stand in your wedding dress
You're so beautiful that I must confess
I'm so proud you have chosen me
When a doctor is what you want to be

You know I want to be a painter, girl
A real artistic snob
But I guess we'll have our children first
You'll make a home, I'll get a job

And so you and I
We watch our years go by
We watch our sweet dreams fly
Far away, but maybe someday

I don't know when
But we will dream again
And we'll be happy then
Till our time just drifts away

Listen to the seasons passing
Listen to the wind blow
Listen to the children laughing
Where do broken dreams go?

There you stand in your tailored suit
So many years gone by, but you're still so cute
We take the car to go and meet the bus
When our grandchildren come to visit us

You say you should have been a ballerina, babe
There are songs I should have sung
But I guess our dreams have come and gone
You gotta dream when you are young

And so you and I
We've watched our years go by
We've watched our sweet dreams fly
Far away, but maybe someday

I don't know when
But we will dream again
And we'll be hap hap happy then
Till our time just drifts away
 
Another, this time from my favourite poet, Sir John Betjeman

Late flowering lust...

My head is bald, my breath is bad,
Unshaven is my chin,
I have not now the joys I had
When I was young in sin.

I run my fingers down your dress
With brandy-certain aim
And you respond to my caress
And maybe feel the same.

But I've a picture of my own
On this reunion night,
Wherein two skeletons are shewn
To hold each other tight;

Dark sockets look on emptiness
Which once was loving-eyed,
The mouth that opens for a kiss
Has got no tongue inside.

I cling to you inflamed with fear
As now you cling to me,
I feel how frail you are my dear
And wonder what will be--

A week? or twenty years remain?
And then--what kind of death?
A losing fight with frightful pain
Or a gasping fight for breath?

Too long we let our bodies cling,
We cannot hide disgust
At all the thoughts that in us spring
From this late-flowering lust.
 
Don M. said:
My goal is to run hard right up to the end. I would hate to be stuck in a bed just waiting for the inevitable.
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I like that!
IMO: There are two moments of life which are sacred. One, the birth into this world and second,
the moment the soul departs into the arms of the angels.
This is a natural movement of the soul and is to be cherished.
More wonderful experiences than you ever imagined lie ahead of you in the eternal absolute.

Even as a fragile flower droops to glimpse a new and sprightly bud emerge, he is to treasure every moment.
Unaware in that his seasons are eternal, instead he spends three quarters of the Summer awaiting
but the snows and winds to drive him to the soil.
(haha! something profound, by me, just now)
 
Perhaps some might find this strange yet I often thought if I died at sea one fine morning in serious waves and didn't show up for work that it would be a very fitting end. Did big teeth get me or was I pushed down too far and couldn't make it to the surface? No washed up body on the rocks. Just gone and forgotten.

One thing I do know is I want no memorial service nor people standing around talking about what a wonderful guy I wasn't. In reality, the law says I must be buried properly or cremated or whatever. So, the VA will simply plop me down into a hole at Fort Ord and that will be that. :cool:
 
I wrote this about 20 years ago about life's reflections.

Self Evident

Live and love will flourish.
Hate, your heart dies slow.
The Soul is redeemed by a power Supreme,
Not by the wailing of woe.

Need and you just go on searching.
Want and you cry from within.
Seldom is found a love to expound,
And love minus love can't win.

Be silent, no one can hear you.
Resound or expect to be last.
Make effort to feel for love that is real,
So the wings of evil fly past.

If rich, your friends are abundant.
If homeless they censure your faults.
Excel in love, shower it thereof,
And no man can measure you small.

Loose faith and the Earth will darken.
Repent, heaven will surely abide.
No need for friends when time nears it's end,
For we each have to choose how we die.

For us there's a place in the Heaven's
To welcome the righteous and good.
And one by one with the setting Sun--
We'll be judged on life how we stood
 
My posting of Betjeman's "Late flowering lust" seems to have caused varying reactions. This was part of an excellent BBC film of the same name and based on Betjeman's poetry. It is centred round a reunion and is part nostalgia part parody of English life long gone. In contrast to the bright young things enjoying their youth, it shows an elderly couple still clinging on to their desires, possibly based on Betjeman's later years. In his last recorded interview he was asked if he had any regrets. He thought for a moment and then said, "I wish I'd had more sex when I was younger".

Here's the film...
 
A man, (or woman), is born beside the road to death.To die is not so much, it is inevitable.
The journey is what matters, and what one does along the way. I's not whether he (she) succeeds or fails, only that he (she) has lived proudly, with honor and respect. Then you can die proudly.
Okay... now my head hurts. 🤯
 
Lakeland living said:
I was told a while ago that I did not walk like an old man, at 67 I still walk long 🚶‍♂️distances, with my dog. Until then I had never really notice how I walked. Just one step at a time...repeat. lol
Death will eventually find me, until then I live and enjoy my life to my best ability, NOT someone else's idea of living my life.

:love::devilish:
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Old man?>..OMG...that's only one year older than me :oops:..I absolutely don't think of myself as old, not do I walk like an old person ( despite having a dodgy knee).. and I hope that walking much slower is decades away yet...

me.jpg
 

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