The recent workshop I led on “Aging as a Spiritual Practice” was so delightful. The shared wisdom in the group reverberated. I realized how very much I love sharing time with elders who are invested in growing in self-understanding – and to do this as a group was delicious.

I wrote a poem, on the back of a slip of paper – sort of a tongue-in-cheek bit of humor. A couple of folks asked me for a copy of it afterward — so I’ll share it with you, too. Perhaps you’ll enjoy the humor — and understand! – also.

Coming together –
all the loose shards of my life.
What to call this?
“Retirement” hardly
     seems to qualify.
 
Although I do seem to be
     tired, a lot.
 
Memories, in part,
   the fragments of my mind
drifting through hazy, lazy days
    in a sometimes frenzy.
 
Wanderings, a fair bit,
      the mind wondering what –
if anything – might motivate me
      to put in time
- and energy – to “step up to the plate,”
“volunteer,” “pay back” (whatever
does that even mean?)
 
I do seem to be
     tired, a lot.
 
Curious, still,
   what the day and days
will hold.
   Grateful, often
for deeper and deepening
   relations.
 
With those I’ve known
and are still meeting.
   Awestruck at
the way the changing
light of the seasons
   glint off the old log pile
in the back.
 
That can’t be new –
    yet –
to me, it is.
 
  What is left, then –
without the alarm
propelling me into the
busy days of
   clinic-life?
 
“Re-tired”
     OK,
  Well.
Let’s just see
where these new
treads will go.