The more I age, the more my admiration is sparked by the quiet humility of those who have lived and who keep quiet about having lived. There is grace and modesty in true wisdom.
I love the greyness of age, with its nebulous thoughts, its gentle ideas that roam without ever seizing upon a truth. I love this refusal to reveal one’s experience, this silent resolve to let others learn and grow of themselves.
I love age. I love its contemplation, its determination to abstain from judgment, its compassion for others and its ability to step aside gracefully and just observe.
I think in the next years of my life, I shall be doing a lot of observing. Self-effacement is a joyous thing.
The more I age, the more astounded I am with the arrogance of youth, the self-sufficiency of those who judge and who by way of remarkable shortcuts of the mind, arrive to simplistic conclusions about all things.
Every day, the same song repeats and tires me.
Who am I? What am I thinking? Did you understand my motivations? I see by the judgment you pronounce and what you say to me that you err in your understanding and behold, this confidence you have, how it thrives, how your eloquent voice resounds to all who may hear and you, you really think you know me, that you know all. How do you do it?
I make no attempt to shift your assessment. I leave you with that understanding, the one you made, in your haste to judge, I leave you to maintain your erroneous belief because I know that it is the only thing you are capable of ever grasping. I do that to my detriment, even though it wounds my honor, but I live content in the belief that I will never have to explain myself to those who truly see me rather than project onto me.
Never mind all that. Be safe with your judgment and be content knowing that your judgment serves you. After all, it was designed to serve you and uphold all that you are. Your judgments are reflections of your soul, and the faster, the more nimble your mind is at forming them, the more ingrained your attitudes, the more unbending your spirit. You live for your judgment because through it, you assert your ephemeral self in the hope it will live forever.
But I love, love the ephemeral. I love the way it floats aimlessly, I love its caress and the thin veil that exists between it and nothingness. I am not afraid of nothingness, the abyss does not threaten my ego. I care little about having an opinion; I can settle with just feeling your soul.
Because I can feel your soul, did you know that?
I have eyes where the mind does not go. Your motions are just memories to me.
All of this, it will mean nothing to you. How well you ground yourself to the concrete, I wish I could know it all, like you do. How do you do it?