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  • Writer's pictureCile

Episode Two Hundred Thirty Seven, Without Brushing My Hair


As each generation rolls into its aging process I hear the centuries old flood of litanies, laments and commiserations regarding the process. In MY culture - one obsessed with both constantly judging others, culturally cancelling older adults and worshiping youth - it is brutal to age. Aging is actually referred to as a sickness or something to battle. Hairs are dyed, faces are lifted and tummies are tucked. All of this expectation to not age is ridiculous and sick. I'm of the opinion that it is an evil spawn of the idea that death is something to be afraid of. ...as in, I must not lose my lifelong obsession of feeling in control. Fear of death is too deep of a dive to source here but I think it is a big player in this youth obsession.


All of this self loathing is as damaging as telling a toddler, "Oh, fucking grow up!" when they do something we don't approve of. We know not do that but we do it to ourselves every time we deny our aging in our bodies and judge ourselves as not enough. Walk by the mirror. What do you say to yourself? Would you say that to someone you loved? When we shade ourselves this way, we pull ourselves out of reality and into a spiral of victim consciousness. It is totally disempowering and self flagellating to deny our accumulated experience in life.


Hafiz speaks here, I think, of this juncture where love is no longer a matter of appearances. When we age, we know what we love and desire and we know that what is essential is not reliant upon our appearance. We needn't stop to groom our heartfelt feelings. We grow into that knowledge...if we allow ourselves to.


Than you for listening.



Music: This is a song from my youth written by Steve Winwood and made famous by the band, Blind Faith in 1969. It ages well. I like this soulful rendition of I Can't find My Way Home by Joe Cocker. I think it brilliant. I can still stand by this song as an old woman. It has aged with me. We are, indeed, wasted as older individuals in so many ways.


You are the reason I've been waiting so long


 Somebody holds the key


 Well, I'm near the end


 And just ain't got the time


 And I'm wasted and I can't find my way home




Picture of woman by ar.yn art


The original post in this series of poems by Hafiz (including an addendum regarding the authenticity of these poems) can be found here. Also, my thoughts on this series a year into these poems, HERE.


The Gift: Poems by Hafiz and translated by Daniel Ladinsky can be purchased here.


My book can be purchased HERE. E-book HERE. The Season Two blogcasts with audio excerpts from my book begin HERE: in Behind The Lines. This reading of the book excerpts in a mixed media format is Season Two of this blog. These recorded excerpts are outside the chronological order in which the book was written. Podcasts with audio only beginning with episode 22 can be found HERE.

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