on becoming sixty

THE RIVER

RIVER’S WAY

The white robe unfurls around me like a bed on the surface of the river. My face is wrapped in cloth, and I am asleep. The river carries my body.

THE CALL

Another me crawls onto a flat stone above the waterfall. Hand raised, this other me crouches and wordlessly calls. But I have no answer. There is nothing to do or say. I am asleep on the river.

THE FALL

My body spills over the waterfall. As I drop, my arms spread in angel hope to guide me. I smack the granite below the fall and gulp the surface for air.

The cloth is gone from my face. I stand against the river. Clawing the granite, I climb the waterfall and rise.

In seconds, breathing hard, I clutch moss-covered stones in shallow water. I am awake, and I stand above the fall.

the hill

HILL’S WAY

I press my weight into the verdant moss and lift my body from the riverbank. I slacken and weep. The fragrant black soil fills me. I am awake above the river.

THE ROOT

A tree with naked roots rises above the soil. I twine my limbs within the roots and then lie fallow. Nourished, I am one with the forest. I stand alone and begin to move uphill.

THE MONSTER

A fierce monster blocks the way. He is wearing my clothes and hoists a chunk of gnarled wood above his head. Splinters fall and cover him. He bares his tusks. 

I close my eyes. When I open them, a mound of boulders blocks the way. I see a rift and crawl to the other side where I rub grains of wood into my face. The grit of timber and soil enters my mouth, and I am at home in the forest. 

UNDER MY OWN WAY

Uphill, I smile. My legs are strong; my naked feet find no thorn nor splintered rock. Soon the hill flattens into an open forest; I am under my own way.

THE MASK

A mask is tethered to my bone. Perhaps it grew there to protect me. Or it is a shell gathered long ago without thought. But the forest is bright and the pathway easy. The tethered mask falls and lands again against my bone.

DAYS INTO DECADES

Alone in the forest, I slumber for days into decades, adorning my pathway with fallen nests and untold stories.

WHERE SOIL MEETS STONE

Ahead, the sky darkens with steepening hills. Where soil meets stone, I honor indifference. But I am not indifferent, even if it ends today on this bluff. I climb.

There are few holds to pull my body skyward. After one hour, I am only eight feet up the rock face.

And then I fall.

Gravity sends me sliding, mouth open, arms spread, finally crashing into stones I scrambled over hours ago.

Rattled and breathing hard. Blurry tree leaves fill the sky. Soon birds, bugs, and toads begin to sound. I sit up, arms on knees.

The wooden mask has cracked. I hold the pieces in my palms; one is still tethered to my bone. The others I offer to the woodlands.

And pull my body upward.

At cliffs edge, I kneel and close my eyes in acceptance. Only in defeat and humility does a way above appear.

Slowly, intentionally, I climb.

the field

AT FOREST’S EDGE

At the forest’s edge, I raise my hands to the sky. Broken and aching, I am not my body, but my body is a map way to all I am.

IN THE FIELD

Ask yourself: What does my body feel now? For reality surges through the body, past and future pass away, and aM all blooms in the field.

Welcome what is as it is when it is. For when you go on, your body returns to the field, and you are home again.