Where are the elders?
On a day retreat in 2020 in my hammock I was waiting for a poem. Often I wait to receive poems that allow my heart and soul to catch up with my body, especially on retreat. I sensed a yearning that I couldn’t articulate well. A gap that I was feeling. I had a number of elder “types” in view, but in a more elemental way, I felt that I was becoming an elder. As I reflected, the following poem came to me. To this day, I sense that I am becoming an elder, and the reality of that journey seems daunting. How should we become elders? What qualities and marks characterize an elder? Who are the impostor elders hiding in grey hair around us?
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Where are the elders?
Those weathered by the storms, beaten by the blasts, marked by the battles.
Those who have been born, have died and been buried, then reborn again, fearful & fearless for another round of the same.
Heavens and hells marking their journey like tattoos on the back of a gang member.
All I see are the bitter, the ideological, and the triumphants - hardly a tattoo in sight.
Where are the elders?
Those who acknowledge the vessel that carried them to "here," then let it go.
Salutes drop as that ship disappears into the deep.
They look awkward with grey hair and an oar in their hand sitting in a rickety canoe, where once they pushed a throttle and commanded a ship.
They realized at some point that original ship wasn't really sea-worthy, at least not for the odyssey they were being called into.
They were the hero in their story, until they were made a hero for another bigger story, who may become a villain in our shared story if they don't sink their ship too.
Where are the elders?
Whose ears have tuned in to the interior world and can offer an uncompromising listen to a youngling.
Whose self-awareness allows them to turn off their microphone and waste some time with a sojourner.
Whose life is their message.
Instead of hashtags - scars.
In place of badges of courage - dark night tales.
In exchange for certainty - companionship.
Where are the elders?
I have met very few.
Doubt that makes them credible.
Limp that makes them approachable.
Pace that is sustainable.
Where are the elders?
Fully present but living for a century from now.
They reveal their maturity by showing up like a child.
Elders infuriate us, inspire us, rebuke us, support us...so where are the elders?
Photo by Tim Bogdanov on Unsplash