Some friends and I were talking about getting older today. Sometimes we feel the age creeping up on us. Little bits here, little bits there. Knees creaking and protesting as we climb stairs. Not able to run around as much as we used to. Feeling the cold more. Feeling the heat more.
And then there are the funny ones – facial hair that seems to have a mind of its own, sagging in unexpected places (including butts), that line on the corner of your mouth that you think has been caused by the way you have been sleeping but is still there six hours later. Walking into a room and forgetting what you are there for. Farting when you bend over.
Despite all these physical changes we all agreed we still feel the same. Inside. The essence of who we are is still there. Will always be there.
And each of us have realised that with every year that passes we have gone a little deeper into understanding our true selves.
And all of us, more than we ever did, long for a bit of serenity.
There is an 8th century Chinese poet named Wang Wei whose every word fills me with peace.
This is one of his best –
The breeze in the pine trees makes my belt flutter.
In the mountain, I play the zither under the moon.
You ask me what is the last word of philosophy?
It is the song of a fisherman returning to shore….