Do Not Look Back

Rumi, world-renown 13th C Persian poet philosopher and teacher wrote: “Do not look back, my friend. No one knows how the world ever began. Do not fear the future. Nothing lasts forever. If you dwell on the past or the future, you will miss the moment.”

Pain had been consuming me for weeks. Consumed by the pain, I became a complaining, unhappy old lady. A friend from the west sent me a card and the above poem. Of course I was happy to receive her message, greatly touched. I shared its message with others, then came up short; those in their mid-seventies and under thanked me, asked me to repeat so they could write it down, or asked me to email them a copy. Those closing in on 80 and up, however, came back at me: “What’s so good about the moment? My trouble is the moment. Why do I want it? What’s wrong with remembering the past when I wasn’t in pain, wasn’t taking pills, wasn’t helpless” and on and on they went as I reluctantly found myself nodding in agreement.

Back in my youthful 70s and yoga-teaching days, I ended each class with a prayer of my own devising and the exclamation as we stood and raised our arms: “Old Is Magnificent!” I do not feel magnificent today. I feel lousy. I have grown brittle, tire easily, hear poorly, no longer see that well, find little joy in eating. I, once was absorbed with good cooking and good food, see no way out of the problem. I am alone, living almost exclusively on Social Security. A comparative new comer to Burlington, there is little continuity in my life or companionship from a shared past. What few friends I had have either died or left the area. There is no family nearby. What’s more, I find Vermonters, I regret to say, do not reach out easily to a single, old woman. Younger people, with energy and ability to participate actively are more readily embraced. With public transportation almost an impossibility, without a car and limited walking capacity, it is difficult to take oneself to events of interest, particularly in bad weather. I do not pass judgment merely state a fact. Each of us justifiably becomes embroiled in our own lives, families, problems, parties. It is hard to keep up ones own obligations without taking on someone’s else, especially an old someone else.

Back to Rumi and missing the moment!

Unable to take a sleeping pill since the doctor had ordered only one a night, I was restlessly tossing and groaning in exasperation and self-pity when, for no reason I can think of, up came the Rumi poem. Also up came my former bitter thoughts as I muttered a disgruntled “Sure, sure! Missing the moment am I? Do I give a damn about the moment! What’s to like about it! I know too well what I can do with this kind of moment going on, well yes, moment after moment placing me smack into the Who Needs It Division!

Then I sat up straight in bed, yes, I actually did just that, to exclaim “But this is the moment and it’s all I have.” I can want it to change, I can hope it will change but it doesn’t change and I cannot expect help from others. Already my children and grandchildren –plus caring friends– have given their best efforts. Sure, they, too would like it to be different, would like to help more, but they cannot. It just is.

And, bingo, it came to me there in my bed on that dark early morning, in that silent room the words and thoughts I have been uttering for years now to my yoga classes: “It is not how expertly you perform the postures that matters. What matters is the attention you pay, the effort you exert, the concentration and recognition of practice in and of itself is enough. That’s all of it. That’s the moment, the moment you are not missing.”

Bringing me back to my Bingo Moment: I cannot change the situation. I can, however, change myself. I can realign my concentration, my yoga practice --bad as it now is. The result is both elegantly dramatic and frighteningly traumatic. I want to talk about it to see if I can bring you into this new, self-healing realm.

I still hurt like the very hell. I haven’t grown a whit sprier, no, nothing has changed except my reaction. It has made such a difference I want to share it with you , explain how it is being a frail, ragged, aching nonagenarian with not a single recourse except my own, very private heart and mind set.

Much as I want, I cannot evade a decision; Either I re-evaluate my sense of self, or continue wallowing in grief and despair dragging friends and family with me. I have decided to seize the moment, to turn it into not exactly one continuously blooming rose garden but at least into an occasional, sweet-smelling rose.

Will you join me?