Aging into an Ornament

If you’re not over 40 years old, and probably, it’s safe to say that if you’re not over 50 years of age or thereabouts, understanding that as you advance closer to life after death, and the groovy anticipation of being worm food, or ashes lovingly dispersed over places you once loved to travel upon… ones own insignificance is…well, incomprehensible.

ahmad-odeh-460173-unsplashIn your twenties and thirties and even forties… a looong life stretches out before you. Nary a wrinkle to be concerned about – supple movements of joints and ligaments are not a concern. Life moves at a free flow pace. Yet, life has tricked you into mistaken belief that your care-free life will continue on forever.  It won’t – but it is understandable that such thought of your ultimate end is buried deep within regions of consciousness that you haven’t yet explored. Why would it…you’re still young.

Then the magical age hits. We here at the Asylum think it’s right around 55 years – give or take a few years.

Bones begin to creak, muscles tighten, vision is more impaired, thinking is somewhat limited – and this before noon on a good day.

What is confounding about it all is that you didn’t think twice that such limitations would be yours to enjoy back when you were in your twenties, thirties and forties.  Ah! – the joke is on you!

Father Time has caught up with you.  It happens to everyone if they live long enough.

Aging changes one’s all-consuming concern from being relevant in one’s career, marriage or other nefarious undertakings, to whether you can shower, dress, eat breakfast, without calling 911 before lunch time.  If you make it to the cocktail hour in one piece – it’s a very good day!

If you advance into your sixties with half the brain operational you had when you were in your twenties, you basically could give a shit about anything that someone half your age has to say about…anything, before Noon.  Let them experience the joys of crawling out of bed by 8:00 in the morning, looking for any type of life-line to get them to the bathroom or kitchen and see if they can have a coherent thought about jack shit.

lawrence-green-318013-unsplashYes, there are still certain things that continue to hold your interests that you had back in your impressionable years.  Sex (seems to be the all-consuming interest no matter one’s age or coming to terms with the depressing realization that gravity does have an affect on the skin and body). The ability to dress one’s self without robotic assistance or the realization that your life ahead will probably be lived in an apartment that is twice smaller than your college dorm room plays upon your mind. Sustenance, in the form of meals takes on another surreal method of madness – you don’t care about it unless it’s food being prepared for you by another – then you wonder where in the hell is my meal.

Sixty-plus years of life leads to significant insight you previously thought impossible.  That being, for the most part –  the daily guano from the mainstream media, government imbeciles, Hollywood shit-heads and other assorted drippings of humanity’s scum are nothing more than a collection of high school dimwits who somehow managed to win a few of life’s lotteries, maybe made a couple of deals with the devil in attaining positions of power and authority that has allowed them to cast a heap of shit upon anyone and everyone – typically in the form of the nuttiness in their warped minds that consumes their every waking hour. Sadly, attaining this age also brings the wisdom of knowing that  few others see this.

You wake every day, wondering –  1) why am I still here and 2) when will these shit-heads of modernity disappear?  Sadly, your 60+ years of wisdom tells you that they never will – so you cultivate a deeper appreciation of all that has held its’ interest for you all these years…anything from the beauty of the written word written well; art – represented by artists who have struggled their entire lives to produce beauty; real, glorious music, nature; or maybe, that if the present-day charlatans continue to be voted into power to determine the fate of others, they will inevitably lead their constituents into one of the the circles of Hell – this of the type of shit you worry about.

Call it empathy, call it wisdom, call it whatever you want – but attempting to be the modern day Paul Revere, decrying the glorious horseshit of the present day is about all that your bones, muscles, ligaments, eyes, ears and brain cells will allow you to contribute on a consistent basis once you get to “that age”.

Of course, life being what it is and apparently always has been – that being one life-long series of jokes played out by the pranksters who are in charge of all universal goings-on – “gray-hairs” aren’t given much credit for knowing anything other than what is currently ailing them and comparing said ailments with their senior citizen compatriots.  In other words, we are somewhat of a relic – an ornament to give a hug to when seeing at family gatherings, or rolling an eye toward when we open our mouths. “Dear old Dad…he was once so bright, so talented, so open-minded – now… well, we really need to check into some assisted living facilities for him.”

As has been the cry of many an aging person from every generation – we want to scream out – “listen to us”.  “We’ve been around for a while – and we do know a few things.” Basically, like spitting in the wind, it is useless – but we continue with the effort…for the one simple reason that we are real, living human beings and give a shit about you – the younger generations.

ember-ivory-431240-unsplashWe may seem out-of-touch. No – we don’t know how to operate all the modern day tech BS that consumes your every waking minute. We freely admit we know very little, compared to the vast universal knowledge you all seem to have attained before the age of 40. We, for the most part, could give a lick about your social media nonsense –  frankly, there are more important things that we think about.  And if you reach our age – it may very well become all too apparent to you as well.

So, in the meantime, while you’re waiting on Father Time to grant you life into your 60’s – create! Be significant by being true to yourself and not a slave to the latest hashtag or tweet. Use whatever gifts given to you and explore, teach yourself, learn, and give to the world. Be a rebel and disconnect from the BS of the times and use your gifts for advancing enrichment in the lives of others.  If Father Time allows you to reach your sixties, you’ll be grateful you did, and those lives your gifts, talents and love reach, will be grateful as well.


Tonight’s musical offering:

Yes…older generations were also somewhat consumed with sex when we were younger…though it wasn’t treated in such a casual manner as it is today, but we understood its’ pleasures, and its’ even more profound meaning…very well!

Maurice Ravel wrote “Bolero” when he was 53 years old.  By then he knew a few things.

How this has become to be known as a somewhat “sexual/sensuous” piece of music – we won’t venture a guess. But it is! Romanticism, passion, joy, power, love – it’s all there – written by some old guy when he was 53 years old. Go figure!

The most magnificent performance of “Bolero” we’ve ever heard ~

Maurice Ravel Bolero London Symphony Orchestra Valery Gergiev

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