I was talking to a friend on Facebook and realized that my reply to her was turning into an essay. But guess what? I forgot to save it and so I start all over again in learning humility.

Aging takes a lot of time. (I like that line a lot.) You can’t rush it or control it. It is what it is and you are what you are.

You know that you don’t know. And the list of “Don’t Knows” is getting longer.

Don’t know jack. Don’t know shit. Don’t know how to fill out papers anymore, etc.

Do know where to draw the line. Well, except when it is with an eyebrow pencil and shaky hands.

Do know how lonely it is on this crowded old merry-go-round called “incarnation.”
How does it work, anyway? I picture a new baby queuing up in a line to be born. It is slapped and then it screams like hell and the new mother feels like it!

Time goes on, sometimes fast and sometimes slow. You dislike your body and you try to change it a bit. Slimmer, stronger, more appealing, etc. Don’t know jack about it.

The Giving Up Days have now begun in dead earnest. And as my mother always added, “Poor dead Earnest.”

I look in the mirror. I have the inherited droopy eyelids of a Bassett Hound. I am still at a good weight but the distribution of fat is all wrong.

I have been a spiritual writer for decades now and a long-time student of The Work. What the Work teaches you is that everything just happens as a gift to you. All of your suffering is grist for the mill. No, not the pepper mill, you dope (mumbling that to myself.)

So come sit beside me in cyberspace, where there are no crumbs on the floor, but conspiracy theories spread like wildfire. (And so does my belly—spread like wildfire. Enabled by a box of chocolate donuts and all the time in the world.)

Time is no longer a burden on you, although you still put on a wristwatch, which is useless to a younger generation. You are easily made to feel guilty because you have left the world to its own devices. There are no more attempts to fit in. Good thing that life is not a jigsaw puzzle and that forgetting stuff comes with the territory.

I am done with my screed. Or am I?

P.S. The photo is of a friend’s living room. I really like it.