I have definitely posted about this earlier, but one of the most difficult things to experience is to watch someone grow old.
The zen in me tells me that - everything fades, everything entropies....
But the poet in me just succumbs to this process of aging. Including my own aging. It’s hard to see youth slip away. It hard to accept a society that does not respect the old.
Remember, I live in India. In India, the old are caught in classist sort of way. “Old” is like “blacks” or “Hispanics” or “Kurds” or “Shias”.....Old get some extra things like possibly old age income (which means the younger folks provide for that, or so I believe), but for some gracious items which come into the catch list, conversely what goes onto the altar of the dropped list is “dignity and respect”.
Like for my parents, just crossing the road has become a burden. Doing “something” with purpose (unless you call going to a temple as a purpose) is almost everyday a little more infinitesimally difficult. “Purpose” itself becomes alien with age. Of course, with age comes health related issues.
So....
I feel quite weighed down by watching the world around me grow old. By watching the world around me progressively reject “art” as I understand it. By watching the world focus on the present as it the only thing that ever mattered. The past will complete the circle. The future is encircling us.
Age is no longer just a symptom. It’s unfortunately a modern day malaise too.
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