Living Twice

The first century CE Roman poet, Martial, wrote, "Those who live in such a way that they can look back on their past lives with pleasure, live twice."

I love the photo that the Harenberg Kalender people have chosen to accompany this quotation, a beautiful barn owl sitting on a fence near some poppies - wisdom and remembrance combined.

But I do wonder whether any of us can truly look back on every aspect of our past lives with unalloyed pleasure... because life is never perfect, unsullied bliss. It is messy and complicated, with highs and lows, joys and sorrows, bad decisions as well as good ones. So I think that looking back with inevitably be with a mixture of pleasure and regret.

Part of growing older (and I'm 60 now) is coming to terms with our lives up to this time. If we are wise, it should be a time of self-examination, in which we learn to look with clear eyes at what we have done, how we have loved, what has gone right and what has gone wrong, and become reconciled with what we regret, learn from both those experiences and from what has nourished us, and move on with a new serenity.

I'm currently doing a course with the Charter for Compassion Education Institute, called Growing Whole, Not Old.  This week's lesson included a beautiful poem called Becoming an Elder by Cathy Carmody, which has shown me a new way of looking at my life:

Leaving behind my journey of struggling and racing through

the white water of many rivers, I become the river,

creating my own unique way.

Leaving behind my self-imposed role as a tree upon

which others have leaned, I now become the wind,

with the greedom to blow whenever and wherever I choose.

Leaving behind the boxes I've created in my life, 

crammed with roles, responsibilities, rules and fears,

I become the wild and unpredictable space

within which flowers sprout and grow.

Leaving behind the years of yearning for others

to see me as somebody,

I soften into becoming my future,

with permission from SELF to

continually unfold as I choose, without concern

for how others may see me.

Leaving behind years of telling and teaching,

I become instead a mirror

into which others can peer and

view reflections of themselves to consider.

Leaving behind the urge to provide answers for others,

I become - in the silence of this forest retreaat

- the question.

Leaving behind the rigor of my intellect,

I become a single candle in the 

darkness, offering myself as a beacon for others

to create their own path. I become an elder.