Most of us at some point reach that age. We finally begin to understand that our human lives are finite in duration. Every cliché we heard as children from our elderly relatives suddenly becomes a profound revelation, and for our former failure to heed wise words, we ruefully repent.
Our outlook changes when we realize that we are closer to the tomb than we are to the nursery. Weighty ironies settle upon us: youth’s bounty of coming years, along with its dim awareness of the riches; age’s plucking of its beard over squandered years and former vitality.
And yet old and young alike can at any instant close their eyes and feel the presence that attended their births and that has witnessed their fiery streak through life. They can hear the transcendent hum outside this fragile bubble of time and space. They can feel the eternal present that lies behind the illusion of life’s moments being somehow separate and numerous.
Our true nature is sentience–the essence of all existence and the source of the myriad reflections we see to be our lives and its seemingly constituent events.
We do well to savor the joys and pleasures of the illusions dancing before us. We owe our true nature a faithful course through the projections and shadows. We most reverently honor our source when we paint this canvas with hues of grace and compassion.
And as the journey seems to end, in the revelation of what we suppose to be our final moments, a deeper truth will saturate our entire being. None of this is what we suppose; it is infinitely more.
Photo credit: Nacho Juarez of Pexels
I am participating in the Two Writing Teachers March 2023 Slice of Life Challenge.
Real Teaching 
I think of this every time I look at my children. My husband and I met a bit later than most. Therefore we started out family much closer to 40 than 30. We had our last child close to mid 40s. And through it all, I think of how old I am and what I will miss because of that. It saddens me so much.
Thank you for reading my post. It all seems to be getting faster with each passing year. I do not have any children, but I can relate to what you express.
I think you might be Walt Whitman’s reincarnation.
He is such an influence. Thanks for that kind remark.
Getting older puts a new lens on life, doesn’t it? Beautiful post.
Thanks, Rita! Do we have to grow old? I suppose we do. And it changes everything.
It certainly does.
This is a beautiful post, both in the words that you artfully crafted and in the wisdom that those words hold. I will come back to this again, to read and consider. Thank you
Thank you for making that comment. Age is making me philosophical.
Clarity, the true benefit of age. Likewise, your words do well to snap this concept into focus in a very keen way. Thank you.
And my thanks back to you for reading and commenting. With every passing year, it all makes more sense.