I sit,sipping coffee (nectar of life) and contemplate the realities of aging. On the floor above, my mother lies sleeping, dazed and exhausted with the after-effects of pneumonia and industrial strength antibiotics.
I have always said, from a young age,that old age will not capture me nor bind me with its cloying breath, that the inevitability of the body's slow but insidious decline into sore limbs, faltering steps, eyes blurred and hearing dimmed will not be my lot. Old of course being a relative concept, one you deem clear and hard and delineated when your limbs are young, your heart strong; a concept that change and mutates and resolves itself into a confusing array of ill-met goals as you travel the wavering thread of life granted you by the Moirae... as they sit weaving in their far away eyries,watching with immutable gaze the fate of the frantic creatures we call humankind.'
It takes great courage, I think, to keep walking, to keep to the path, putting one foot in front of the other. Knowing in the dark recess of restless nights that perhaps the dreams of youth and belief in self are simple static in a sleeping mind and that the soft tendrils of dreams soon disappear when the cold light of day creeps in and dissipates the last clinging tendrils of belief in achievement.
Harshest to contemplate is the possibility that what you have lived is the sum of what you will ever live, that the achievements you've had to this sad point in your life is the total of what you will have wrung from this desperate existence. I think of myself in my early 20s, strong limbs, ambitious and fierce, with vistas to conquer and mountains to climb and wonder.....