Welcome,
Friends.
As we age and move out of the central years of our adulthood and look ahead to growing older,
We may become aware that the number of things we no longer do accumulates.
Perhaps we've stopped mountain biking or skiing or going to concerts and sports arenas.
Perhaps we've stopped drinking or staying up late into early hours of the morning.
Perhaps we've stopped seeking that ideal life or life partner and have come to find the quiet satisfaction of accepting what is.
And with this awareness,
We may realize that more is not lost with each thing we let go of,
But more is gained.
Time,
Presence of mind,
Comfort with ourselves.
And with this realization,
We may feel some gratitude of this growing awareness,
A richness and a wisdom that is of our age and couldn't be fully experienced or appreciated when we were younger.
This is a short poem about that experience of realizing how many things we left behind and how each had their last time to be experienced.
With that realization,
We may experience a sense of freedom,
Of release from clinging.
As you listen,
I hope you'll allow the words to suffuse you with a sense of acceptance and peace.
After,
I'll offer a short reflection for us to meditate upon.
The poem is titled,
Last Things.
Mostly,
We are unaware of the last time we do something.
The last time we lifted our child into our arms to comfort them.
Now,
They are an adult.
Or the last time we kissed someone new with tenderness and terror.
A teen in a car parked outside some near stranger's parent's house in the dark.
Or the last time we stepped foot on some other continent,
Passing through Asia or Africa,
Our eyes on what lay ahead,
Unaware of what lands and people we leave behind,
Never to be seen again.
We do not know all the things we do for the last time.
See a friend,
Drive a car,
Speak with a loved one.
They may all fall away behind us at any moment,
Washed downstream,
Further,
Until,
Gone,
Beyond a bend.
And we,
We are here,
Dry,
Ashore,
In the quietude of a late autumn day in the high sun,
With the world opened up all around us and above us.
An eggshell blue sky beyond the tangled network of burnished branches,
As a stream burbles along behind us.
Here,
On this rocky shore,
It is only us now,
With nothing left to wrestle with,
To fight for,
No future to shape with our will,
Nothing left,
Nothing to hold on to.
But this,
This too may be the last time for something.
Our time upon this shore,
Our search in the sky for the call of a bird.
So now,
With our quiet mind,
And in this quiet space,
Let us lovingly and tenderly allow it all to be one last time,
Until it is the last time for last times.
Let's take a few moments and consider the impulse of this poem,
Which asks us to consider last things,
Not as an inducement to sorrow,
But as a call to release from striving,
And with that,
The arising of joy in the acceptance of what is.
Let's take a few moments now to reflect upon whatever images,
Voices,
Or feelings arise.
I hope you have found this experience helpful as you move into the next phase of your life.
I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments section below.
I'll try to reply to all.
Be well,
My friends.
