Birthday Poem

One more year passed

in a long life.

One more year beginning.

In these times,

no amount of time

can be taken for granted.

This is nothing new,

yet the immediacy

of the moment is

somehow more real now.

It is as though Death

had been looking at us

from a great distance, and now

 it is right before us.

Hello, Death.

I see you there.

You make this day more precious.

I tender my respect.

I apologize for taking so long

to make you an offering.

It Begins With a Call (Part 30): Sitting in the Elder's Seat

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt - oh, happy illusion -
that I had a beehive
in my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old bitterness.

                  - Antonio Machado

We had dinner not long ago with some friends, and the after-dinner conversation rolled around to times we may have hurt others and the times we have felt hurt or betrayed.  It was interesting timing for me because I’d just worked a dream in my dream group in which a group of 13 or 14 men I knew all knocked on my door to serve me with legal papers, and I felt terribly hurt. 

What wound up intriguing me about this conversation was the question of why we continue to carry episodes of old hurts.  I can think of some situations from 40 years ago (at least) in which my hurt feelings, if not fresh, still spring up when I remember the triggering events.  Most of these concern friendships, and especially the loss of friendships.  There are other memories of feeling under-appreciated, especially in work environments, that I can almost brush off with a smile now.  Why do we hold on to some painful memories?  It’s almost as though I (I won’t speak for anyone else) keep them, resurrect them from time to time, in order to feel righteous and wronged.  And then there are the people who used to be friends who resent me for reasons either real or at least real to them.  

What can we do, or do we even want to do, to let the old hurts go?  In Machado's dream, the bees transform the bitterness into sweetness and the container for the sweetness.  What are these bees, and how do I find them?  Can you forgive simply by wanting to forgive?  Can I let go just because I’d like to let go?

Maybe better questions to ask myself are:  What do I get out of holding on to bitterness and hurt?  What could these emotions teach me, if I really considered them? 

I think this strikes me now because I am taking seriously my mandate to see the glass half-full and change those neural pathways. I know I will fail if I simply try to pretend that everything is just hunky-dory, singing “La la la la la!” while skipping down the road.  That has always been my complaint about New Age thinking.  Everything is not sweetness and light.  I want the change to be real.

Asking the feeling what it has to teach me, I hear that I always wanted to be seen, loved and valued.  But more than that, I have wanted to be special, the special one.  It’s not easy admitting this.  If I blame the other person for not recognizing my specialness, for not appreciating me enough, I continue to hold onto a distorted view of my place in the world.  It’s not that I don’t believe that we are all special, carrying our unique gifts and talents that need to be given.  But we need to just give those gifts, no matter how they are received. 

I was fortunate and blessed to gather a group of close women friends to help me acknowledge this year’s big birthday.  Preparing to turn 70, I wanted to consciously face this turning.  To embrace it.  To, as my dear friend Leona used to say, sit in the elder’s seat.  I hope the ritual was useful for my friends; it was powerful for me.  I knew when the tears came as I offered wishes and blessings to each woman that something definitely worked, at least for me.  As an elder, I want to bless.  I know how much we all need to be seen.  None of us ever gets enough appreciation, right?  But for true elders, it is the seeing and blessing of others that is the real work.

As Michael Meade has spoken about the need for us each to turn away from the wounds of our childhood and face the door we will all eventually go through, I realize that part of that for me is letting go of those old stories, the old bitterness.  I don’t have time for it.  And it inhibits my ability to see others.  I also offer apologies to anyone I have unwittingly offended.  All of this is important and necessary for me now to truly see the glass half-full.

I have to say my 70^th birthday was probably my best ever.  My children gave me the most amazing day of treats followed by an incredible surprise party.  Then my dream group celebrated with me on my actual birthday.  And then came my ritual.  I feel well-fed on all levels and hope I can be true to following this call of elderhood service.

Thanks to Janis for the photo!

The Invitation to Become Grand

Ruby turned six today.  My first grandchild.  Naturally, I've been remembering the day she was born.  All four grandparents-to-be were hanging out all week at a Berkeley bed and breakfast; Emily’s waters had broken and she didn’t go into actual labor for a number of days.  Such a rite of passage, of course for the baby and for her parents, but for all of us.  For Barry and me particularly, being first-time grandparents.  I hadn’t thought about it that way until this morning. Becoming a grandparent is not something we usually ritualize or commemorate; we aren’t the point, after all.  The child and the parents are the point.  I can remember when I visited my parents with Max, my firstborn, for the first time.  I felt that my mother finally treated me as an adult, even though I was 26 years old.

It’s not necessarily about being an elder, either, as many become grandparents at a much younger age than we did. But what becoming a grandparent truly offers is an invitation to become Grand.  My etymology dictionary says that grand comes from the Latin “grandis,” meaning “big, great, full, abundant,” and connoting “noble, sublime, lofty, dignity.”  That’s a lot to live up to.

We all know the benefits of grandparenthood – having the fun without having to be the disciplinarian or having the 24/7 responsibilities.  It’s just a matter of holding a heart full of love 24/7.

Here is my SoulCollage® card I call “The Grand Mother.”  A grandmother is connected to the Grand Mother, She who holds the world in her arms.  This isn’t big news or a fabulous insight on my part; only an acknowledgement of what this precious child (and her little sister and cousin) have given me and a reminder of what my job is.

Shortly after Ruby was born, this poem came.  It makes me happy to remember it today.

Honu* 

Little honu,

swimming her way to shore

on the full moon’s tide.

We have scooped her up

and held her next

to our hearts,

each one of us.

Blessed is the mother

who labors to bear the child.

Blessed is the one

who protects so fiercely.

Blessed is the father

who attends to the mother

and who welcomes his child.

Blessed are the grandparents

who dream the baby

into the world and

add pairs of helping hands.

Blessed are the uncles and aunts

who fall in love

at first sight.

Blessed is the baby

who give us hope.

For a week we

lived in a bubble

outside of time.

Only birth and death

drop us into that place.

The outside world

disappears in

irrelevance.

A long waiting week

it was.

The two, never

losing faith, never

wavering,

surrounded by light,

held in many hearts.

So many hours, so

many long nights.

Then, suddenly,

she is here; the

word came,

she is here.

The world has

waited eons

for her.

Her gifts, yet

to be revealed,

unique on the earth,

may be exactly

what is needed

to save us all -

little honu,

so recently surfacing

from the seas of

the other world.

* honu = the Hawaiian word for sea turtle