Old Age

"Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

-- Dylan Thomas (1914-1953), poet

Come another morning, and the body feels every moment of the questionable decision making which was my youth. I manage to find my way to the shower. Never one to linger, the shower takes but a few minutes. When done, I look at the squeegee and reluctantly acquiesce to running it over the marble walls. Feeling more awake, I take a fresh razor in hand and consider the aged landscape staring back at me from the mirror. This is not a squeegee. I put the razor down and opt, instead, to brush my thinning pate. Better. I look relatively civilized. The guy in the mirror smiles at me. Retrieving the razor, I continue where I left off. I carefully trace the blade over contours of a landscape which, for whatever reason, has fewer valleys and canyons, save the cleft in my chin, than one would expect for a man my age. When done, I step onto the scale which informs me I’m still fighting 175. I convince myself the fat is turning to muscle due to the treadmill and weight machines used at the gym three times a week. That's my story anyway. I slip into a white tee-shirt, blue jeans, and cheap tennis shoes. The guy in the mirror nods an approval, which lets me know I’m acceptable if only to myself.

I turn on the computer as I walk by the desk and wander into the kitchen.  A cupboard beckons to me for the ibuprofen within.  I down three pills with a half a pot of coffee.  I've eaten some breakfast by the time the ibuprofen calms the aches and pains which are the constant reminder of my past sixty odd years of bodily abuse which I figure started at five when I found out what trees were good for.  I was not Tarzan.

I contemplate what new abuse awaits me today as I sit down in front of the laptop with another cup of hot coffee.  I close my eyes, monitor my breathing, relax, and empty my mind of everything but my favorite place to think.  I'm at the abyss.  I'm only there for the moment between breaths.  I open my eyes and begin to type.

In about an hour I've written my next post for this blog site of the Congregation for Religious Tolerance.  In another fifteen minutes, it will be proofed for grammar and spelling, have pertinent quotes added, and will be finished by attaching my disclaimer to the bottom and hitting "publish" to send it on.  This is my usual morning.  I have done this 748 times, to date, since the middle of June 2013, when I was all of sixty.  There's obviously nothing wrong with my mind, not that anybody but me should be concerned about, and I'm working on squeezing all I can out of my physical shell, this "ugly giant bag of mostly water" as it was referred to by the energy beings in an old Star Trek episode.  But, then, beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, right?  I just know the guy in the mirror is frowning.  I also know he knows I'm flipping him off.

You're only as old as you think you are.  My body wants me to feel sixty-five, even though my doctor says I have the body of a person fifteen years younger.  If it weren't for all those reminders constantly haunting me, I'd feel half my age.  My high school classmates started dropping like flies at least twenty years ago.  I was concerned because I'd come to understand we were all supposed to be living longer.  My dad just celebrated eighty-eight, and I know I'm in better shape than he was at sixty-five.  I plan on making it to ninety.  

Before I'm ready to shake off this mortal coil, I want to watch us walk on Mars, launch a manned mission to Europa and, hopefully, see the first contact with an alien species.  I figure I'll be ready to move on to the next great adventure at that point.  

Until then, the "grim reaper" can bite me.

Editor's Note

(Re: disclaimer cum "get out of jail free" card)

Before you go getting your panties in a bunch, it is essential to understand that this is just an opinion site and, as such, can be subjected to scrutiny by anyone with a differing opinion. It doesn't make either opinion any more right or wrong than the other. An opinion, presented in this context, is a way of inciting others to think and, hopefully, to form opinions of their own, if they haven't already done so. This is also why, occasionally, I will present an "opinion" just to stir an emotional pot. Where it may sound like I agree with the statements made, I'm more interested in getting others to consider an alternate viewpoint. 

It is my fervent hope that we keep open and active minds when reading opinions and while engaging in peaceful and constructive discussion, in an arena of mutual respect, concerning those opinions put forth. After over twenty years with military intelligence, I have come to believe engaging each other in this manner and in this arena is the way we will learn tolerance and respect for differing beliefs, cultures, and viewpoints.

We all fall from grace, some more often than others; it is part of being human. God's test for us is what we learn from the experience, and what we do afterward.

Pastor Tony spent 22 years with United States Air Force Intelligence as a planner, analyst, briefer, instructor, and senior manager. He spent 17 years, following his service career, working with the premier, world renowned, Institutional Review Board helping to protect the rights of human subjects involved in pharmaceutical research. Ordained 1n 2013 as an "interfaith" minister, he founded the Congregation for Religious Tolerance in response to intolerance shown by Christians toward peaceful Islam. As the weapon for his war on intolerance he chose the pen, and wages his "battle" in the guise of the Congregation's official online blog, The Path, of which he is both author and editor. "The Path" offers a vehicle for commentary and guidance concerning one's own personal, spiritual, path toward peace and the final destination for us all. He currently resides in Pass Christian, Mississippi, where he volunteers as lead Chaplain and Chaplain Program Liaison, at the regional medical center.