Itineraries Spring 2011: The Inner Work of Eldering

Contents:

Honoring Our Elders | Reb Zalman: Living from the Light by Robert C. Atchley

The Inner Work of Eldering by Ron Pevny

Crones of the Flathead by Ina Albert

Honoring the Cycles of Our Inner Seasons by Deborah Windrum

Artistic Creativity as Renewal in Eldering by Richard Matzkin

The Hidden Work of Eldering by John G. Sullivan

Books of Interest: Aging Through Disparate Lenses by Barbara Kammerlohr

Honoring Our Elders | Reb Zalman: Living from the Light by Robert C. Atchley

Many of our ideas about aging with consciousness have their origins in the life and thought of Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, called “Reb Zalman” by the many thousands whose lives have been deeply affected by his ideas and presence. Reb Zalman’s writings, especially From Age-ing to Sage-ing: A Profound New Vision of Growing Older, and his workshops on “Spiritual Eldering” have provided a stimulating conceptual overview of how we might think about spiritual growth in later life — how we might think, in particular, about our potential for spiritual connection and our capacity to manifest wisdom, and their importance at all levels of social life. But as useful as his ideas have been, Reb Zalman’s way of being and its ongoing evolution is perhaps his greatest lesson for us.

In my own spiritual journey, I have met many people who are so in touch with the sacred that a holy light radiates from them. Reb Zalman is one of these. He makes no claim to have answers to life’s churning conveyor belt of perplexing questions. Instead, he contemplates the deeper questions and affords them the largest possible space in which to reveal their lessons. This contemplative space within his consciousness allows Reb Zalman to balance a keen, creative, and active mind with an extraordinarily open heart and deep knowledge of the history of human wisdom. He is continuously learning from deeply contemplated life experience.

Living proof that if we encourage people to be wise they can be, he has honed his “wisdom process” over decades of listening deeply to people who come seeking wisdom from him. “I am not wise until someone asks me to be,” he has said. Wisdom is not something to have, it is something to be in a given moment. Of course, the more often people practice being wise, the more likely they are to be able to find that place within themselves from which wisdom comes. And Reb Zalman has had lots of practice.

I attend a discussion group with Reb Zalman that has been meeting weekly for more than a decade. We explore such issues as the frontiers of spiritual experience and spiritual development, and examine whether spirituality can influence the world, and if so how, in discussions that range far and wide. Reb Zalman knows how to listen with compassion, to be open to both the joy and the pain underlying whatever is said. He also knows that singing and humor are vital glue that helps groups stick together. He is a repository of wisdom stories from many spiritual traditions and a master of using them to help us see an important side of the issue under discussion. His stories remind us that spiritually grounded wisdom has been a part of human life for a very long time. They press us to think through the implications of our spiritual insights for action on many levels — family, community, nation, and planet.

Reb Zalman’s own life is structured around the demands of his own religious devotion, and he is always a Rabbi. But he is a Rabbi who understands his role as one that is consciously re-created in the moment rather than dictated from an unchanging script. Although a devout Jew, he honors all religious traditions, holding that all were initially inspired by the same Light.

Reb Zalman is an exemplar of someone who lives from the Light, someone who is never far from direct contact with the Light of being. Even when he feels lost, he trusts that he will return to the Light. It is an irresistible magnet for him. His life is an uncommonly well-documented struggle to remain true to the Light, while still leading an ordinary human life. Like all of us, he has to deal with the ups and downs that come with living in an aging body, being part of a family, living in a community, and so on. For Reb Zalman, keeping in touch with the sacred Light is a source of optimism with which to resist the powers of darkness that often seem to be overtaking our world.

In honoring our elders, we not only honor who they are for us, we honor the potential for spiritual connection and wisdom within ourselves. Our elders point the way, but we each have to find our own inner path. Thanks to Reb Zalman for continuing to point the way for so many of us.

Click here to watch an interview with Reb Zalman on Jeffrey Mishlove’s Thinking Allowed (YouTube).

The Inner Work of Eldering by Ron Pevny

Ron Pevny, M.A., has for forty years been dedicated to assisting people in negotiating life transitions as they create lives of purpose and passion. He is Founding Director of the Center for Conscious Eldering, based in Durango, Colorado. He is also a Certified Sage-ing® Leader, was the creator and administrator of the twelve-organization Conscious Aging Alliance, and has served as the host/interviewer for the 2015, 2016 and 2017 Transforming Aging Summits presented by The Shift Network. He is author of Conscious Living, Conscious Aging: embrace and savor your next chapter, published in 2014 by Beyond Words/Atria Books. Ron has presented many conscious eldering programs at Ghost Ranch and other retreat centers around North America over the past fifteen years.

On one of the conscious eldering retreats that I lead, a participant in her early sixties shared something that had a powerful impact on all present. In reflecting on her intentions for her retreat, she spoke of two significant older people in her life. One, who was in relatively good physical health, was difficult to be around because of her seemingly constant anger, bitterness, and negativity. She was old and miserable. People avoided her because she was a drain on their energy and joy. The other was a woman who, while not physically healthy, attracted people like a magnet. In her presence they felt joy, serenity, optimism, peace. People saw her as an elder whose radiance and wisdom lifted their spirits. Our retreat participant affirmed her intention, on this retreat and on her journey ahead, to grow into a radiant elder rather than a joyless old person; and she shared her questions and concerns about how to accomplish this.

The aging process seems to bring out either the worst or the best in people — magnifying and emphasizing the flaws and shadow elements of some of us; amplifying the wisdom, radiance, and compassion in others. The question carried by those of us committed to becoming peaceful, fulfilled elders is, “How can my aging bring out the best in me?” The inner work known by rubrics such as “conscious eldering,” “conscious aging,” “spiritual eldering,” and “Sage-ing” holds important answers to this question. That INNER WORK OF ELDERING is the theme of this issue of Itineraries.

The journey from late middle-age into fulfilled elderhood is facilitated by inner work that is focused and fueled by conscious intention. This journey can lead to the pinnacle of one’s emotional and spiritual development. Undertaking this journey is in fact what our lives to that point have prepared us for. And as conscious elders, our service to our communities and to the community of all beings can be profound. Carl Jung succinctly expressed this potential: “A human being would certainly not grow to be seventy or eighty years old if this longevity had no meaning for the species. The afternoon of human life must also have a significance of its own…” (1)

The word conscious is key to understanding the wide range of ways that the inner work of eldering may be done. It is also key to the distinction between being “old” and being an “elder.” Conscious means aware. Aware of who we really are, of our authentic emotions, talents, aspirations, strengths, and weaknesses. Aware of a growth process unfolding in our lives through all of our experiences, positive and painful. Aware of that within us which is conditioned by the myriad of disempowering messages that surround us, as well as that which is authentic, natural, and life supporting. Aware of those shadow elements in us — our dark sides — which can block our radiance and sabotage our potential.

Life Review

If the essence of conscious eldering is increasing awareness, then its core practice is Life Review. “Wisdom does not come from having experiences,” as Rosalie Muschal-Reinhardt states in her article in this issue. “Wisdom comes from reflecting on one’s life experiences.” There are many ways of doing Life Review. Some entail structured exercises to focus on challenges, learning, and growth during the stages of one’s life; and they use pen, computer, or art materials as tools. Oral history work with a knowledgeable friend or guide can be a powerful catalyst for remembering life experiences and discovering their significance. Creating a “family quilt” is the creative way that contributor Steve Harsh’s grandmother memorialized key events in the life of her family. Whichever method most resonates with us, what is critical is doing it. The awareness we gain is what makes virtually all the other inner work possible and effective. The elder wisdom we arrive at is a precious gift to the descendants who will remember us.

Healing the Past

Much of the inner work of eldering focuses on healing and letting go of old baggage. Actualizing our unique potential as elders requires that our energy be free and clear, that our psyches be capable of embracing the possibilities and opportunities of each present moment rather than stuck in the experiences of the past. We can’t shine as radiant elders if our energy is continually sapped by old wounds, grudges, angers, hurts, and feelings of victimhood. We can’t move lightly and serenely through our days when we have not forgiven others or ourselves for the slights and hurts we have experienced and perpetrated through unconscious behavior. We cannot display our wholeness when unprocessed grief keeps open wounds that sap our energy. This critical inner work is the particular focus of Julia Riley’s article in this issue on forgiveness.

When we review our lives, we become aware of the immense power of story. We become aware of the myths we have constructed for our lives as the result of our experiences — the stories we tell ourselves (and oftentimes others) about our lives that shape who we become as the years pass. We see how disempowering these stories can be when they contain strong motifs of victimhood, inadequacy, unworthiness, and regret. It is liberating to know that the stories can be changed and that doing so is perhaps the most powerful inner work we can do as we age. This process is often called “recontextualizing” or “reframing.”

Recontextualizing

The essence of recontextualizing is viewing painful or difficult life experiences with the intention of finding what in those experiences has contributed — or has the potential now to contribute, as we reappropriate it with conscious awareness — to our growth and learning. Taking a longer view of our lives, the job we lost may have pushed us into a difficult search that led to a fuller expression of our gifts. The wounding inflicted on us by another may have taught us compassion or empathy for the suffering of others. The hurt we inflicted on another may have been a teacher for us about our shadow side — a critical awareness if we are to grow as human beings. A career decision we made that we regret may have been a crucial step toward our becoming who we are today, even if the mechanics of this are not obvious.

Recontextualizing experiences that do not hold a strong emotional charge can be relatively easy. But if this practice is to truly impact our lives at the level of deep feeling and allow us to reshape the stories we live by, then we must grapple with emotionally charged experiences, allow ourselves to deeply feel suppressed emotion, and do the inner work of forgiving or grieving. At its core, recontextualizing is profoundly spiritual work. It requires a deep trust that the divine intelligence present in us has a purpose for our lives and is working through our experiences to achieve that purpose. We may not understand its workings, and they may not be what we would choose. But this wise inner guidance possesses the eagle’s eye view of our lives that eludes the narrower view of our ego selves.

Deepening Spiritual Connection

Our ability to trust in a divine intelligence with a purpose for our lives depends greatly upon the strength of our connection to a Higher Power — to Spirit, Soul, God, the Great Mystery. The inner work of eldering requires us to find spiritual practices that nurture that connection. The goal of all true spiritual practice is, of course, to help us experience ourselves and our lives in a wider context, framed in a truer story than the stories our ego selves tend to create about our lives. When we trust — with a trust grounded in the deep inner knowing that flows from spiritual connection — that our lives have prepared us to become wise elders, our unfolding stories become gifts to our communities.

Our deepening spiritual connection is intrinsically related to the shift from a life grounded in “doing” to one grounded in “being” — a shift that is a key dynamic in conscious eldering. When we make this shift we move from living and acting with the primary goal of meeting the needs of our ego selves, to living and acting so that Spirit (or however we may name it) shines through us as fully as possible. Gary Carlson, in his article “The Heart’s Path,” reminds us of the joy of courageously following a path with heart, one step at a time, with deep commitment to having our “doing” grounded in “being.”

Accepting Mortality

The world’s great spiritual traditions consistently teach us that accepting our mortality is perhaps our biggest ally in helping us to truly embrace life and the wonder of each moment. Yet we live amid pervasive denial of mortality. In this issue, physician Louden Kiracofe, reflecting on his work with the terminally ill, celebrates the power of illness and physical loss — realities for most of us as we age — to transform denial into an acceptance that gives zest to each of our limited number of days.

Creating Legacy

We all leave a legacy — positive, negative, or mixed — to the generations that follow us. Aging consciously requires that we become aware of the legacy we have created up to this point in our lives and intentional about the legacy we want to create in our elderhood. Life review and the work of bringing healing to the past help us acknowledge and build on the positives of this evolving legacy and free up the energy needed to identify and move forward in building the legacy that is our gift to the future. Here again, a growing spiritual connection that allows us to see clearly our unique calling and gifts as an elder is key. This experience of a calling, or vocation, helps us become aware of the legacy we truly want to leave and of the path that will help us realize this goal. It opens our heart, strengthens our intention, focuses our action, and taps our spiritual depths so that we bring our whole selves to the creation of legacy.

Letting Go

We cannot move fully from who we have been into the elder we can become without letting go of that which will not support us on this journey. We all have culturally instilled attitudes and beliefs about life and aging that are disempowering. Our inner work is to become conscious (aware) of these and then to let them go. We all have attachments to people, places, things, activities, ideologies, attitudes, old stories, and self-identifications that may (or may not) have served us in the past but which will definitely not serve us in the future. Here again, our work is awareness and surrender. Life review is a valuable tool in becoming aware of what must be surrendered.

Rituals of letting go, whether conducted alone or with the support and witness of a group, can be powerful tools for transforming that awareness into willingness to let go of who we have been. Eldering rites of passage, which are powerful examples of rituals that allow us to let go of outworn identifications, will be the focus of the Fall 2011 issue of Itineraries. True, effective surrender requires a deep trust that by letting go of the familiar and what has come to feel “safe,” albeit constricting, we are supported by the wisdom and life force which is calling us into a new identity and positive new beginnings.

//

We doubt that you would be reading this issue of Itineraries if you were not somehow feeling a call to continual growth as you age. We sincerely hope that the contributions of our authors help to increase your understanding of the wide spectrum of inner work that will help you respond to this call. While this inner work is “work” — at times quite difficult work — it is also dynamic and enlivening. It can be the most important work we ever do. It may well be accompanied by tears of both sadness and joy, as bound-up energies are freed to reflect a growing consciousness of who we are and what is possible. Its fruits can be the radiance, passion, and service so needed by a world in need of conscious elders. We wish you well on your journey.

//

Notes

1 Carl Jung, Modern Man in Search of a Soul (Abingdon, UK: Routledge Classics, 2001), p. 112.

Crones of the Flathead by Ina Albert

Ina Albert, author, Life Transitions coach, certified Age-ing to Sage-ing seminar leader, and communications professional, shares 76 years of life experience with clients, workshop participants, and readers of her monthly column in Montana Woman Magazine. She has published articles in Second Journey, Belief Net, and other Internet and print publications. Ina co-authored Write Your Self Well… Journal Your Self to Health, an instructive journal based on the clinical research supporting the value of expressive writing in the healing process. Ina lives in Whitefish, Montana.

For the past few years, four native American women in their seventies have been meeting to share their life stories, their tragedies and joys, their concerns about aging, about children, about death, and the goals they want to accomplish in this last part of life. Two of the members are leaving, and the group is now disbanding. The author dedicated this poem to the intimacy and comfort the women found together.

//

We sit as council on our lives, searching backward to find the roots of our being; looking deep into the core of what brought us to this time.

Together, we stare at old photos, trusting we will find threads that, strung together, will answer the questions that remain.

Splinters need pulling to expose raw truths.

We tell our stories to each other, harvesting their meaning one by one to make sense of our seventies, the weavings of substance to create a tapestry of each life.

It is a secret confessional.

A sharing beyond sharing. Beyond shame or guilt. Not a place for cowards, this place where souls are bared and tears are the currency of trade.

We are healthy and handsome and humbled by this time together.

A time to harvest our lives — to peer through the lens of coming old age, to choose our most valued possessions as keepsakes for our heritage chest of memorabilia.

Only our most sacred memories and nubs of wisdom will dwell there.

We are strong now. Full of energy honed with years of caring for our bodies. Yet we see creasing skin sagging over muscles, hair turning ashen.

We chart each sign of aging, of memory loss, of fatigue, the wear and tear that scrolls its record in the furrows on our faces.

We are more careful now. Careful of our bodies, our money, our relationships. Careful with our children.

Too soon we will be their children, trusting that they will be careful mothers and fathers.

Then it will be time to open our chests and offer their inheritance, hoping the gold of our lives will be their treasure.

Honoring the Cycles of Our Inner Seasons by Deborah Windrum

Deborah Windrum wrote Harvest the Bounty of Your Career in response to an aversion to aging that struck in her early fifties. Her book is about appreciating the natural cycles of life’s seasons, distilling the gifts of work, and cultivating a new season of life. Now she is reaping aging’s bounty and transitioning gradually to a new career as independent author/presenter. As a librarian specializing in instruction and then outreach at the University of Colorado at Boulder for more than 30 years, her resumé includes publications on learning and instructional design. Visit her website at http://harvestthebounty.com/.

Do you remember being asked as a child: What do you want to be when you grow up? What image did this question generate? Dressing in a white coat and stethoscope to provide care? Writing on a chalkboard to teach? Performing athletic feats? Protecting the innocent and punishing the guilty? Making music or art? Nurturing your own children? Your response probably stimulated your imagination and planted seeds of possibilities. Many of us find that one or more of those seeds do take root, and over time we embrace the qualities of the roles we imagined as children.

As youthful adults, we busily till, plant, and cultivate the landscape of our lives. We are the architect of our dreams, goals, education, work, family, and material needs and wants. We choose what to do, and we are asked: How are you doing? Over time, we notice how we feel in the doing.

And then how quickly the landscape of life reaches full bloom, and the weather begins to change, suggesting the onset of a new season, new priorities. Interest in retiring from employment may arise when our preoccupation with the outer landscape gives way to a desire to create greater balance in our lives. “The actual task is to integrate the two threads of one’s life,” the French philosopher and Jesuit priest, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, wrote, “the within and the without.” The inner landscape and the relationship between the inner and the outer become as compelling as being busy in the world.

The usual question at this transition point is “What do you want to do when you retire?” And the most frequent response, according to Tammy Erickson, expert on workforce and demographic trends, is “Take a cruise.” After decades of employment, most of us would benefit from a break and a significant transitional event. However, the most important question is not What will you DO? in retirement or your second half of life or your third age. The question is not even: What do you want to be when you retire? The question is: How will you be? And then: How are you being?

Doing and being, of course, are not polarities and cannot be separated. Doing is about activities, and quantity counts. Being is the degree of awareness manifested, whether the activity is bicycling, computing, or meditating. We all know the difference between being hyperfocused, distracted, or fully present. When we attend to the quality of our being, the what and how of doing simply flow. This is the developmental possibility of life’s autumn season.

Each season or stage of life offers opportunities to cultivate personal growth. For the infant, growth must be supported by caretakers. Throughout youth, developmental markers that bring us to independence are celebrated. Despite the coincident doubts, confusion, and heartbreak, many grownups never stop yearning for youth’s aliveness, beauty, and promise. But obsession with youth has created an “ever-summer” culture, in which they forever explore the adolescent fascination with sex and violence — bastions of Hollywood and network television.

A never-ending summer requires the denial of winter and diminishes the developmental benefits of appropriately timed spring and autumn seasons. The sweetness and slowness of childhood’s spring are sacrificed in the rush to summer; preadolescent girls dress for sex appeal earlier and earlier, while boys experiment with danger at younger and younger ages. The gradual process of development that extends the magic of childhood into the teens is arrested.

No less important than an appropriate springtime of life, an autumn season is the developmental stage that brings us to true maturity. It need not be the staid, boring, narrow maturity which we once repudiated in those over 30. We can choose a ripeness of being that is expansive, creative, embracing, accepting. Baby Boomers are now learning that an extended transitional period is important to make a shift from working for a living to living a next life stage. Most of us who have been actively employed for decades are not likely to be suddenly comfortable with a ”restful” leisure that does not include meaningful social interaction and activities.

Fulfillment of each adult life stage is more likely when it is preceded by a period of conscious transition. And our extended life span offers the opportunity to transition effectively into our autumn and winter seasons. Winter, especially, is more likely to provide fulfillment when it follows a developmentally healthy and satisfying autumn. The fact that winter’s life-giving importance lies beneath the surface makes it no less vital and purposeful; winter is the final stage of growth that allows us to become fully who we are. As James Hillman says, in The Force of Character and the Lasting Life: “Aging is no accident. It is necessary to the human condition, intended by the soul. We become more characteristic of who we are simply by lasting into later years; the older we become, the more our true natures emerge. Thus the final years have a very important purpose: the fulfillment and confirmation of one’s character.”

Aging is, in fact, very attractive to me about now. At 61, I’m one year into my seventh decade. I’m also a full-time librarian in an understaffed, underfunded, and nevertheless striving and thriving academic library. As a professional, I remain busy beyond a newly developing comfort zone. Although, given the fact that U.S. productivity grew by over 60 per cent between 1989 to 2010, it may be that my stamina is challenged due to not only my increasing age, but also expanding expectations of increasing performance with diminishing monetary compensation.

Whatever the complex of conditions, I find myself in the autumn of my life as overloaded as my younger colleagues and filled, not with their befitting ambition to achieve, but with longing for some of the enticements of age — more time for contemplation, more expansiveness, more space for evolving priorities. Despite the media’s offerings of lasting youth, I am not interested in staying young or getting younger.

I am, however, interested in “youthfulness,” as well as “agefulness.” Both youthful and ageful are qualities of being. And one of the pleasures of aging is that, while we continue to enjoy qualities that serve us, we also are positioned to consciously choose and develop qualities that may have eluded our younger selves, including those inherent in vocations that appealed to us as youngsters.

The autumn season offers an opportunity to create a deliberate blueprint for living — to notice how we want to be in order to choose what we want to do. With the advantages of youth and adulthood — experiences, skills, knowledge, and acquired wisdom — we are positioned to become the considered architects of our beings. With qualities of agefulness, we have the opportunity to mindfully, consciously fulfill life’s cycles — to embrace the heart of aging.

As I find myself feeling urged from within to enter into a more “age-appropriate” period in my life, it occurs to me that aging can be viewed as a “practice.” There are at least two reasons to practice. When we practice to get better at something — a musical instrument, sport, or skill — we do so to acquire mastery of something. There is also practice that one integrates into life, such as yoga or meditation, not just to do, but also in order to be masterful in life.

A Practice of Aging

So, how do we make a practice of aging? How do we integrate such practice into our autumn season, which often seems to hold as much busy-ness as ever? How do we build a practice that does not require lengthy or consistent chunks of time or even a foreseeable conclusion?

Here is an exercise that can be embraced without adding any weight or pressure to your life. In fact, you may find that it lightens stress and energizes your sense of purpose:

Consider what qualities of youth and age you most appreciate. What traits do you admire in others? Which of your own attributes represent your best? What do you consider indicators of fulfillment? Allow the qualities you value to coalesce into an image or a sensation. A personified image may be based on a projection of yourself, an idealization of a real-life person, or someone completely imagined. A felt sensation may be represented with an abstract image, such as a symbol, graphic, shape, or color.

You may wish to collect pictures, or, even better, draw, color, paint, collage, sculpt, or otherwise manifest your image. Whenever you desire to soothe, reassure, or inspire yourself, experience the feelings evoked by your image. Notice and embrace each sign of aging as movement towards that image, and celebrate your progress. Claim and cultivate those feelings — they are the self-fulfilling blueprint of your ageful inner landscape.

A favorite colleague of mine, 42-year-old Andrew Violet, has long held an endearing image of himself as a wise, old man practicing yoga. Andrew finds it grounding to return to his yoga mat daily, and he believes the sense of groundedness will become amplified as he sustains the practice throughout his future. He calls it “simultaneity of timeline” as he joins his ageful self on the mat now. His image of the future yoga practitioner is his blueprint for aging.

My blueprint for agefulness derives from my maternal grandmother. Although she died when I was a young teen, I remember vividly the look and feel of her sweet, calm presence and her unconditional love for every family member. A revered matriarch, bonding the family together with her wisdom and warmth, clarity and strength, she was the steward of family traditions and provider of holiday feasts. (And, it doesn’t matter at all for my practice whether my memories are based on accurate perceptions or childish idealism.)

My heart’s depiction of my grandmother is my blueprint for agefulness. Every time I appreciate her qualities, I strengthen those same qualities within myself. Every time I savor the sweetness of her image, I embrace my own progress towards that future landscape. The traits she personifies are my vows to self, as I repeat the mantra that “I am the seed of her seed; she is a seed in me.”

Are you ready and willing to transition from summer without artificially prolonging the season? Will you embrace life’s autumn to experience it fully? Will you hold an image of agefulness now, practicing so that you will “become of age” in the wisdom of your winter season? That is aging in practice.

//

Deborah Windrum’s book, Harvest the Bounty of Your Career, is an inspiring guide for exploring what has been gained from work in the first half of life in order to deliberately create a fulfilling second half of life.

The book’s central metaphor — the tree — has been exquisitely translated into its design by fine artist/graphic designer Michele Renée Ledoux. The book’s size and cover art are an invitation to pick up and hold the book, and perhaps savor it beneath a tree. The inspirational original full-color art plates and quotations woven throughout the text are not only integral to the content and experience of the book, but they also transform the physical artifact into a keepsake to be personally enjoyed and appreciated and shared with friends.

Harvest is not formulaic, prescriptive, or a set of ordered steps, and it is much more than text for passive reading. Harvest offers options for personalized engagement through a variety of intrapersonal experiences. The questions and experiences stimulate reflection, remembering, dreaming, and imagining in order to discover your own answers from within.

Interpersonal activities are also suggested, as well as detailed outlines for experiencing Harvest in small group settings. The text, activities, and artwork can each stand alone, thus appealing equally to those who prefer to just read, those who prefer active engagement without extensive reading, as well as to those who prefer to be visually stimulated by the artwork.

“An inspirational, reflective, and practical resource, reminding us in tangible ways that at any stage or season of our life, we can harvest and integrate our experience.”
— Angeles Arrien, author of The Second Half of Life: Opening the Eight Gates of Wisdom.

Artistic Creativity as Renewal in Eldering by Richard Matzkin

Richard Matzkin, M.A., is a sculptor, jazz musician, author, and retired psychotherapist. Richard has had numerous one-man shows, and his sculptures are in collections throughout the United States. He and his wife, Alice, are authors of the much-honored book, The Art of Aging: Celebrating the Authentic Aging Self. They live in Ojai, California. Contact Richard through the website: www.matzkinstudio.com/.

Creative expression is an essential aspect of the human spirit. In every place on the globe, in every era from prehistoric times to the present, humans have engaged in the creative arts.

The active aspects of artistic creativity involve an individual taking that which is free to be molded — be it art materials, musical notes, written words, vocalization, or body movement — and manipulating it in a way that becomes a personal expression. Its counterpart is passive appreciation, which also demands creativity. Just as creating art can evoke thought and feeling in the one creating it, experiencing that art — listening to or watching a performance, or viewing an art piece — can also evoke thought and feeling in the participant.

Much has been written about the power of the arts to heal. More recently, with the graying of our population, there has been a shift of focus onto elders. Research has shown that while certain aspects of brain function decline with age, such as short-term memory, speed of recall, and reaction time, creativity can remain relatively untouched and flourish throughout the life cycle.

In a landmark study by the late Gene Cohen, M.D., elders who engaged in group participatory visual art programs (average age 80) exhibited general improvement in physical and mental health, including reduced medication and fewer doctor visits. A study by the Medical School of New York University found that Alzheimer’s patients exhibited fewer problems, increased self-esteem, elevated mood, and improved social interaction following visits to art museums.

My own experience as a sculptor and jazz musician provides a hint as to what might be occurring during the creative act that would account for these healing effects. As I engage in sculpting or playing music, I enter an altered state of consciousness akin to meditation. My discursive mind turns off or fades into the background; I am not aware of my body; time ceases to exit; there is no past, no future, only the present moment. All that exists is fingers moving clay or the flow of the music.

One doesn’t have to be a professional artist, musical genius, or Zen master to enter this flow. My wife, Alice, a painter, and I have conducted beginner’s art workshops for adults at community colleges, taught art to children, and worked using art therapy in psychiatric hospitals. Almost invariably, as a roomful of people become absorbed in their work, the silence and the sense of peace in the room are palpable.

The act of creation is a living, breathing process. You are giving birth to something from deep inside yourself — your unique expression. Creating a piece of art presents you with the opportunity to proclaim, “This may not be a masterpiece, but this is who I am … This is what I have created!” This can be especially satisfying and empowering for elders, who see their sense of control and authority gradually slip away as they age and become less “productive.”

Another factor that makes creative work so engrossing is the element of surprise, of improvisation. As the composer composes, the artist paints, the poet writes, each note, each brush stroke, each word is an exploration that carries the artist along into the unknown. I watched a film, shot over a period of several days, of Picasso painting a portrait. In that time the painting went through numerous transformations before Picasso finally brought it to completion. This element of exploration, of stepping into the unknown, is the very essence of creativity, and it is the antithesis of stagnation. Stagnation — being bored, listless, uninvolved — can be a plague of the elder years, when the weight of disability or a “been there, done that” attitude can dampen one’s vitality. Stagnation is as deadly as any disease.

Artistic creation has played an important role in my renewal and also that of my wife Alice. Both of us possessed artistic gifts as we were growing up — skills which lay fallow as we were raising children and pursuing careers. In our 40s, our creative fires were rekindled and we returned to painting and sculpting. As we entered our 50s and felt the physical effects of aging, we began to use our art as a way to explore our issues about growing old and dying. Thus began a series of projects related to aging that brought our fears and anxieties to the surface where they could be consciously experienced, worked through, and transformed into understanding. Those projects — portraits of inspiring elder women; sculptures of old men in dissolution; paintings of elder nude women; sculptures of old couples in tender embrace; and sequential portraits of an aunt ages 89–97, showing the progressive effects of age on the body — helped us come to a deeper acceptance of and understanding about our own process of aging, and led us to value the preciousness of each present moment.

In time, we were able to add another medium to our creative arsenal, writing. Inspired by the focus that our artwork brought, we authored an award-winning book, The Art of Aging: Celebrating the Authentic Aging Self. With speaking engagements and additional projects, we find ourselves today, at ages 68 and 71, busier, more creative, and more engaged than at any other period in our lives.

Age is no barrier to creativity. Examples abound of elder artists whose creative production extends into late old age. Our neighbor, the potter Beatrice Wood, continued drawing and throwing pots until she was 105 years old. The autumn and winter of life is an optimum time for engaging in creative activity. Retirement and liberation from child rearing allows leisure time for exploration into creative resources. Elders have more life experience to draw upon to fuel artistic endeavors. Wisdom, wider perspective, and maturity of years lived can allow creativity to blossom with greater depth and richness. And that creative juice can invigorate the body, vitalize the mind, and renew the spirit in our elder years.

//

Click here to view a video about The Art of Aging: Celebrating the Authentic Aging Self on YouTube.

In this beautiful book, painter and sculptor Alice and Richard Matzkin explore the experience of aging through their art, finding inspiration rather than despair. The Matzkins — now in their late 60s and early 70s — use their paintings, sculptures. and personal narrative to examine aspects of growing older: the progression of physical changes, sensuality and relationships, aging parents, spirituality, and death. They feature well-known people such as feminist Betty Friedan and potter Beatrice Wood, as well as friends, neighbors, relatives, and themselves. They both explore the older nude body in some of their work. Drawing on their own experiences and the wisdom of older mentors, they demonstrate that the elder years can be a time of growth and wisdom rather than stagnation and loss. This wonderfully illustrated book is a feast for the eyes as well as nurturing to the spirit, and it leads to a greater appreciation of the miracle and blessing of life.

The Hidden Work of Eldering by John G. Sullivan

We are not human beings on a spiritual journey.
We are spiritual beings on a human journey.(1)

In the dark days of World War II, in the concentration camps, Victor Frankl rediscovered what lies at the heart of spiritual practice. He named it the distinction between liberty and freedom. In the camps, he had no liberty to come and go as he wished. His life was bounded by forces over which he had no control. Yet he discovered he still had what he called freedom — perhaps “the last of the human freedoms” — the ability to choose how he would respond to the events before him and around him.(2)

Victor Frankl’s distinction is essentially between WHAT is happening and HOW I am relating to what is happening.(3) I would put it this way in a wisdom chant:

There are at least TWO ways to relate to anything —
a large-minded way and a small-minded way.
Choose Large Mind!

• At least two ways — more likely five or ten ways — to relate to anything.
• Some are larger — in the sense of producing less unnecessary suffering and more creative possibilities for all.
• Others are smaller — in the sense of increasing unnecessary suffering and decreasing creative possibilities for all.
• Realizing this, why would we not choose Large Mind?

Spiritual practice, by this account, means (1) being aware that we have a choice in how we relate to anything; (2) recognizing that some ways are larger, freer, and healthier for everyone, and some are smaller, more constrictive, and less healthy for everyone; and (3) choosing larger mind.(4) To come to this realization over and over — moment by moment — we must follow the advice at the railroad crossings: Stop, look, and listen!

First, when we stop, we can notice the situation and how we are labeling and interpreting it. This is the language aspect. Second, we can notice how we are relating emotionally to the situation (moving toward or away from it; liking or disliking it; valuing or disvaluing it) and then usually projecting our emotions on others! This is the emotional aspect.

Next, we can shift our response in two ways:

• by shifting our language (shifting inner and outer conversations) — letting go of one way of speaking and adopting another way of speaking.
• by shifting the emotional charge (like, dislike; good, bad, etc.) — letting go of projecting certain emotions, and, in effect, neutralizing the emotional charge.

All of this is occurring constantly. One way to characterize the dynamic is through what I call the Four Beginnings:

• We are partial; we seek to be whole.
• We are asleep; we seek to be awake.
• We are enslaved; we seek to be free.
• We are reactive; we seek to be response-able,
  i.e., able to choose our responses.

Every day we are moving back and forth across the threshold where these two worlds touch — the smaller-minded world of meaning and value and the larger-minded world of meaning and value. As the poet Rumi says: “People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds meet. The door is round and open. Don’t go back to sleep.”(5)

Spiritual Practice and the Lifetime

Suppose we think of life as a circle — with an Arc of Ascent, i.e., Spring to Summer, and an Arc of Descent, i.e., Autumn to Winter.

In the first half of life, we strive to become somebody — to take our place in the world, to achieve maturity, to develop the capacities to love and to work. Love asks that we learn how to engage in relationships of intimacy. Work asks that we learn to persist in tasks so as to see them through. These are skills that bring us from Spring Student to Summer Householder.

In the first half of life, we focus on the three R’s: Reading, ’Riting, and ’Rithmetic. All are part of our striving toward mastery in the world. Or we might think of another three R’s: Rules, Roles, and Religions. In the first half of life we are inducted into following Rules, assuming Roles, and imbibing the “Religions” of the culture. By “religions” I mean more than those traditions that claim the name; I include under this heading the “religions” of materialism, capitalism, and nationalism, together with other assorted cultural certainties.(6)

In the second half of life, we release into the depth, becoming in a certain sense nobody and everyone — an empty mirror for all that is. In the downward arc, we are invited to release from attachments to what we have constructed and to rest in the Great Mystery — in the silence, in the stillness, in the simplicity, in union with the Source and all things. In essence, we release from those stories and sentiments that no longer serve. We let go, return to our true nature, and experience it as vast, mysterious, loving, compassionate, joyful, and peaceful.

In the second half, we also focus on the three R’s of later life: Receiving, Releasing, and Remembering. Receiving life as sufficient, and responding in gratitude and joy. Releasing from being defined by roles and rules and ideologies. Remembering who we are in our widest and deepest natures. At our core we already have all we need to live a life of quality.

Our deep Self reflects more and more our Source and reflects more and more how deeply intertwined we are with one another in the great Circle of Life — people, other animals, plants, and minerals. Here is a way of marking the difference between the two halves:

The paradox is that we must construct a healthy ego before we can release from that ego. Some young people once told the great student of mythology, Joseph Campbell, that they were lucky. With their guru, they could go from youth to sage without having to pass through the messiness of finding their way in the world — to which Campbell responded: “Yes, and the only thing you lose is your life.”

Overture to the Hidden Work of Elders: Grandparents

I have written elsewhere that a first sketch of elder is grandparents at their best.(7) I envisioned grandparents as having three tasks:

• To keep the big things big and the little things little
  Grandparents at their best see us in a much longer view, knowing the wisdom of “This too shall pass.”; the young and many adults often stay stuck in the limited drama of the moment. First love and first loss of love. First betrayal or experience of injustice. The world has ended. How can we go on? Yet the grandparent sees further.
• To encourage creativity
  Grandparents at their best can be allies of the young by encouraging them to be daring, take risks, follow their dreams. The young and many adults often are locked into worrying about what their peers will say or whether this or that is “practical” in the so-called “real world.”
• To bless the young
  Grandparents at their best see us in our unique core beauty. They see us as deeper than our actions; and, hence in their presence, we often become our better selves. Sometimes this is as close as we come to being loved unconditionally, loved no matter what. Those who are young or even adults often do not see one another’s core beauty. In our limited first half of life, we often freeze one another in stories from the past.

Now, let us think of the grandparenting years and also of the tasks of autumn and winter that take place in the post-retirement years — years which the British call “The Third Age.” In this context, the arc of life is divided into unequal thirds — say, 20 years as students, 40 years as householder, and another 20 years in retirement. I wish to focus on these last 20 years. In the language of ancient India, I want to revisit the stages of Forest Dweller and Sage. The responsibilities of rearing children have, for the most part, ended. The tasks of full-time employment are over. Surely, we grieve the passing of this stage of life. Surely, we feel in our bones the signs of growing older. Still, the autumn and winter are rich in inner possibilities, not the least of which are keeping the little things little and the big things big, encouraging creativity, and blessing the young.

Autumn Releasing: a New Vision of Forest Dweller

I saw you standing with the wind
and the rain in your face
And you were thinking ’bout
the wisdom of the leaves and their grace
When the leaves come falling down
In September when the leaves come falling down.(8)

What is the wisdom of the leaves and their grace? In part, it is the wisdom that Mary Oliver points to at the end of her poem, “In Blackwater Woods”:

To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.(9)

This is a wisdom that bring with it grace and graciousness. For the leaf is part of more than itself, it is part of the tree in its cycles and the forest and all of nature. Somehow, nothing is lost. And much is gained when we release from smaller identities and rest in the Great Mystery.

In the retirement years, we are already on the way to releasing and returning to the wider natural community. The first-half-of-life tasks of child rearing and of the ladder of career have fallen away, and we have a chance to confront again the perennial question: “Who am I now?” An embodied subject in a world of other subjects. Awake to awe and wonder. Aware of being influenced by others and influencing others. Relational through and through. Capable of learning from all things.

Becoming a Forest Dweller begins as I open my senses and come to dwell more fully in the here and in the now. I practice being present to the humans I meet this day. I practice being present to all the earth creatures that comprise my extended family (people, other animals, plants, and minerals). All are involved in making of the earth a habitat fit for life. May we pay attention to the ground we walk on, the air we breathe, the water we drink, the food we eat, the sun that lights our way and warms us, the moon that adorns the night whose voice we hear in the tides. So one doorway to Forest Dweller is to open our senses and pay attention with loving eyes, grateful eyes, compassionate eyes, welcoming eyes. And to bring this gentleness to all the other senses as well.

Opening our senses re-roots us in place and re-educates us to the holy particularity of each being. “Love,” as James Edwin Loder suggests so beautifully, “is the non-possessive delight in the particularity of the other.”(10) Such delight makes joy and wonder primary in the autumn of our life. As Forest Dweller, we learn to bow to all beings exactly as they are — in their surface disturbances and in their core wholeness. To bow to others in such fashion means we release in order to acknowledge more fully; we acknowledge in order to release more fully.

Winter Remembering: a New Vision of Sage

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.(11)

Saints and sages come in an almost infinite variety — some sober and well-grounded, some ecstatic and wild. All with various blends of earth and sky.

We come to embody the sage-in-us more fully when we truly realize that we already have everything we seek. Releasing from hindrances lets the gravity of falling leaves bring us home. Remembering the whole is remembering where the three circles overlap: The Source, the Circle of all Life, and our deep Self. And here we need to overcome a persistent distortion: Our notions of saint and sage are usually too tied up with the quest for perfection — a project appropriate to the first half. So, in rethinking sage, we must turn to the perfection of imperfection.

In the Hasidic tradition, we find the story of the compassionate Rabbi Zusya, who shortly before his death, said: “In the coming world, they will not ask me: Why were you not Moses? They will ask me: Why were you not Zusya?”(12)

This is a question for all of us. In the coming life and even in this life, you and I will not be asked: “Why were you not Moses or Jesus or Mohammad? Why were you not Buddha or Lao Tzu or Confucius or any of the great-souled exemplars of a fully-lived life?” We shall be asked why we are not ourselves. This turns everything on its head! No place to go, nothing to do. Simply to be oneself as deeply and authentically and generously as we can. To be oneself with all the gifts and wounds that have come to us. With all the gifts we have given and the wounds we have inflicted. With the hurts done to us acknowledged and forgiven. With the hurts done by us acknowledged and with forgiveness sought. How difficult to believe we are loved exactly as we are, forgiven exactly as we are. And all we are asked is to share the love, to share the forgiveness with all our kin.

When I empty, when I become no-thing, then all fills me. Looking up at the autumn leaves, a friend asks: “What is the color of your mind?” I say it is the blue of sky and the white of clouds and the rich colors of the leaves.

Here are three paradoxes of the sage:

The sage is both empty and full, exemplifying sunyata-tathata. Sunyata is emptiness, a kind of openness to all that is. The sage is transparent, allowing the light to shine through. Tathata is the suchness of things — their particularity. Suppose, after a near-death experience, you awaken to see the face of your beloved, as if for the first time. Given a glass of orange juice, you taste the juice of oranges as if for the first time.
The sage’s life shows that “Nowhere” is also “Now Here.” Shows that we are in time and out of time at each moment.
The sage is of the earth, earthy, and of the sky, airborne with longing for more and ever more.
How do such sages look? They come and go — “not stinking of holiness,” as the Zen masters say. No wonder then that the sage-in-us is like a lover, like a poet, like a fool.(13) In the end, there is no way to tell sages by physical appearance. They seem irreverent, yet their compassion is deep. They come and go in the affairs of life, making no effort to follow in the footsteps of earlier sages. Mysterious and transparent, they do not draw attention to themselves. Nor do they evade what comes. They enter the marketplace. They return home. They are virtually unnoticed. “Muddied and dust-covered how broadly they grin. Without recourse to mystic powers, in their presence, withered trees come to bloom.”(14)

In the last phase of life, we release from imitation, release from a pernicious perfectionism, and rest in the grace of what is. Accepting how simple it is, how can we not smile?

//

Notes

1 This is a well-known variant of a quote attributed to Pierre Teilhard de Chardin.

2 See Victor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning (Boston: Beacon Press, 1959), p. 104.

3 How I am relating involves a meaning component (how I label or language things) and a value component (how I project my likes and dislikes onto things). Noticing what is occurring and how I am labeling or speaking of that is one thing. Noticing any emotional charge {= any liking or disliking {= is a second. For more on this, see my Living Large: Transformative Work at the Intersection of Ethics and Spirituality (Laurel, MD: Tai Sophia Press, 2004).

4 In a lesson from language, I see the “how” as pointing to adverbs {= the quality that accompanies our actions, especially that we do all we do lovingly, compassionately, joyfully, and peacefully. For more, see my The Fourfold Path to Wholeness: A Compass for the Heart (Chapel Hill, NC: Second Journey Publications, 2010).

5 See Coleman Barks (with John Moyne, A. J. Arberry, and Reynold Nicholson), The Essential Rumi (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1995), p. 36.

6 I think of a set of supposed superiorities which are supported and reinforced by the institutions of the culture, such as patriarchy and sexism, racism and ageism, even speciesism {= the notion that humans are superior to all other life forms and can do with them what they will.

7 For more, see my The Spiral of the Seasons: Welcoming the Gifts of Later Life (Chapel Hill, NC: Second Journey Publications, 2009).

8 Van Morrison, “When the Leaves Come Falling Down,” track 5 on the CD Back on Top© 1998, Exile Publishing Ltd.

9 See Mary Oliver, “In Blackwater Woods,” in New and Selected Poems (Boston: Beacon Press, 1992), pp. 177–178.

10 See James Edwin Loder, The Logic of the Spirit: Human Development in a Theological Perspective (San Francisco: Jossey Bass, 1998).

11 “Anthem” by Leonard Cohen, from his album The Future, Columbia Records, 1992.

12 See Martin Buber, Tales of the Hasidim: Early Masters (New York: Schocken Books, 1947/1970), p. 251.

13 I am echoing Shakespeare’s “The lunatic, the lover and the poet are of imagination all compact.” See A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act Five, Scene 1.

14 Here I am paraphrasing the tenth Oxherding Picture from the Zen series picturing the journey to enlightenment and service. I am also shifting from speaking of the sage in the singular to speaking of sages in the plural. See Philip Kapleau, The Three Pillars of Zen (Boston: Beacon Press, 2nd printing with revisions, 1967), p. 311.

Books of Interest: Aging Through Disparate Lenses by Barbara Kammerlohr

How God Changes Your Brain:  Breakthrough Findings from a Leading Neuroscientist
by Andrew Newberg, M.D., and Mark Robert Waldman
Ballantine Books, 2009

The Elder
by Dr. Marc B. Cooper and
James C. Selman
Sahalie Press, 2011

Topics such as elderhood and spirituality intrigue many of the followers of Itineraries and Second Journey. In this issue, we explore two books full of information and practices about both subjects. The authors of the two books approach their material from very different perspectives. One book is a summary of neurological studies about the effect spiritual practices and experiences have on the brain. The other book is is a parable (or fable). Attending to the information and suggested practices of either book can lead to a more creative and satisfying life.

//

In How God Changes Your Brain, a neuroscientist and a consultant/coach/researcher from the University of Pennsylvania’s Center for Spirituality and the Mind analyze scientific studies about how spiritual practices and experiences affect brain functioning. Their analysis included brain scan studies on memory patients and meditators, a Web-based survey of people’s religious and spiritual experiences, and an analysis of adult drawings of God. Subjects of the studies included practitioners from a wide variety of belief systems: Catholic nuns, Buddhist meditators, Pentecostal practitioners, Sikhs, Sufis, Yogis, and advanced meditators from a number of belief systems.

The second half of the book explores the implications of these research findings and suggests practical exercises for enhancing physical and mental health through improved brain functioning. There is also a section devoted to the “aging brain.”

The book’s title is somewhat misleading. The authors focus on spiritual practices and experience, not on God. In fact, they state emphatically that neuroscience has yet to answer such questions as: “Is there a God?” or “Is there a spiritual reality, or is it merely a fabrication of the mind?”

The authors’ conclusions are provocative and fascinating; they will probably cause intense debate as the work becomes more widely known. Those who understand research design will wonder if a different design in some of the studies might have yielded different conclusions. Below is a sample of the authors’ conclusions:

• Spiritual practices, especially meditation, even when stripped of religious belief, enhance the neural functioning of the brain in ways that improve physical and emotional health.
• Intense, long-term contemplation of God and other spiritual values appears to permanently change the structure of those parts of the brain that control our moods, give rise to our conscious notions of self, and shape our sensory perceptions of the world. The most influential factor here is time. The longer and more frequently you meditate, the more changes you will notice in your brain.
• Spiritual practices can be used to enhance mental functioning, communication, and creativity.
• Not only do prayer and spiritual practice reduce stress and anxiety, but just 12 minutes of meditation per day may slow down the aging process.
• Contemplating a loving God rather than a punitive God reduces anxiety, depression, and stress and increases feelings of security, compassion, and love.
• Fundamentalism, in and of itself, is benign and can be personally beneficial, but the anger and prejudice generated by extreme beliefs can permanently damage your brain.

How God Changes Your Brain is very readable in spite of the complexity of the subject matter. Readers will find the suggested exercises practical and easy to do. Especially fascinating is the information that new brain scan technology makes available to scientists trying to understand brain functioning.

The Authors

Andrew Newberg, M.D., is Adjunct Professor in the Department of Religious Studies at the University of Pennsylvania. He is also Director of Research at the Myrna Brind Center for Integrative Medicine at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital and Medical College. Dr. Newberg is Board certified in Internal Medicine, Nuclear Medicine, and Nuclear Cardiology. His research focuses on how brain function is associated with various mental states. He is particularly interested in the relationship between brain function and mystical or religious experiences. The results and implications of this research are delineated in his best-selling books: Why God Won’t Go Away: Brain Science and the Biology of Belief; The Mystical Mind: Probing the Biology of Religious Experience (with Eugene G. d’Aquili); and Principles of Neurotheology.

Mark Robert Waldman, consultant, coach, researcher, and lecturer is an Associate Fellow at the Center for Spirituality and the Mind at the University of Pennsylvania. In collaboration with Andrew Newberg, he conducts research on the neurological correlates of consciousness, beliefs, morality, compassion, meditation, religion, spiritual practices, and conflict resolution. Waldman has written 12 other books including: Why We Believe What We Believe and Born to Believe (both with Andrew Newberg); and The Way of Real Wealth: 365 Ways to Create a Life of Value.

//

The Elder by Marc Cooper and James C. Selman of the Eldering Institute in Bainbridge, Washington, brings together practical information, skills, and attitudes one needs to live life as an “elder.” Written as a parable (a short, fictitious story that illustrates a lesson), The Elder is the story of Samuel Block whose struggles represent the challenges of all who embark on their “second journey” determined to find a creative way to age in 21st-century western culture.

On the eve of his 65th birthday, Samuel learns that his best friend and hiking partner (Thad) has died suddenly and unexpectedly. The news comes in the midst of a negative self assessment during which our hero focuses on the unpleasant aspects of his life: divorced, overweight and out of shape, missing friends who have moved away, wishing for a better relationship with his son, dissatisfied with life’s achievements, and feeling out of tune with his career goals. The negativity of Samuel’s musings almost turns the reader away in the first chapter. The news of Thad’s death seems to be the final straw.

Fortunately, the adage “Every cloud has a silver lining” is true. At Thad’s funeral, Samuel meets Ben, one of Thad’s friends from his eldering group, and begins his quest for a way to live as an elder. The conversations between the two men and a woman elder named Fawn give Samuel and the reader information and insight about how to live life as an elder.

The quotes below are samples of the dialog:

• “Eldering is not some kind of secret society. It’s more a view point, a way of approaching life — especially the last decades of our lives. Eldering is a way to view your life experience.”
• “There is a tremendous spirituality to aging that can turn losses into gains, weaknesses into strengths.”
• “Finding what really matters and making that the focus of your life. That’s where the path to becoming an elder starts, discovering the passion and purpose that strengthens you.”
• “Getting old does not have to be full of regret or bitterness. The physical challenges are always there, but it’s one’s spirit, one’s sense of purpose, that counts.”
• “People are complicated and aging is complex. But it stands to reason that the longer you’re on this planet, the more you know about how things work and what’s important. You should be accruing capital that creates wisdom.”
• “Eldering is about finding purpose through giving back to others. In that sense, it can be spiritually uplifting.”

The Elder is a short and stimulating book —well worth the struggle to persevere beyond the depressing first pages. Not only can the information be life changing, but the story itself becomes more engaging as Samuel practices becoming an elder. One closes the book knowing our hero’s life has truly evolved into a “second journey.”

The Authors

Marc Cooper is the driving force behind of The Eldering Institute in Bainbridge, Washington. His professional career includes experience as a private practice periodontist, academician, researcher, teacher, consultant, coach, trainer, seminar director, board director, author, entrepreneur, and inventor. His five books include Mastering the Business of Practice; Running on Empty; and Source and Valuocity: A Fable for Dentists.

James Selman, founder and chair of the Eldering Institute, is CEO of Paracomm Partners International, a member of the Transformational Leadership Council, a Huffington Post blogger, and principal contributor to the Serene Ambition blog. Selman is a former member of the California Commission on Aging, a past director of the Breakthrough Foundation, a founder of Growing Older, and a founding member of the Legacy XXI Institute.