COLUMN For the Ages

From Sonja Stumacher's "Fragments of the Sun," Fall '95 From Sonja Stumacher's "Fragments of the Sun," Fall '95Something about the nature of our culture has led us to believe that old things are used up things, things to parcel off and forget about, things that we don't need. What's old is leftover, past its prime, too near the end. Old things are placed in corners where they collect dust and quietly pass the time until they expire. We don't want to think about old things. In the midst of the chaotic stream of messages inundating my brain with notions of age and its forgetability, youth and its desirability; in the thicket of the clash between new and old, revered and discarded, strong and weak, I find myself pausing to wonder why. Why have we developed this idea that old means spent? Why does something have to be young in order to count? Our society pushes what's aged into places where it is hidden, where its presence doesn't need to be felt. Our culture tends to prefer that what's uncomfortable, sick, weak, remains unseen. Kept under cover, tucked away in the back of our minds, carefully shrouded by the bright lights and loud music of youth. Perhaps mainstream culture stashes away the old so that we will not be reminded that all things must, one day, expire. Age reminds us too much of the cessation of what we consider to be vital and essential to existence: youth and energy and vigor. Age reminds us that our youngness, too, will come to a close. Age foreshadows our own imminent, unavoidable and eventual death. Why is death such a feared, shunned element of our world? It is as much a process of living as living itself. Death is merely a passage from life, the closure of everything that has come to mean you. Death is simply a final curtain, a peaceful rest, a slumber of the soul. Death is the completion of the cycle. Maybe what's old reminds us too much that we are not as superior and as all-powerful as we would like to think. We cannot prevent ourselves from reaching the point when we, too, become old. Our lives cannot be lived simply for our youth. What's old reminds us that we might as well live as we wish, pursue what feels right today and not what we think will feel right tomorrow, because each of us will end up mingling with the universe when all is said and done. Perhaps the realization of our equal and imminent end rests uncomfortably in the mind of main stream society. I suppose that youth, to me, has meant a plethora of questions, of wishes, needs, unrealized goals and sought after dreams. Youth has not offered any answers, really. Youth looks ahead, waiting for something. Waiting for something to be reached, attained, accomplished. Well, perhaps what youth waits for -- somewhere buried beneath the guise of success, money, beauty, whatever -- is age. Age that brings wisdom, peace, security, balance. Age that begins to approach the answers to our questions. Age that starts to discover who the self really is, the self that opens its mind and arms, so that together they might embrace with love and compassion all that lives and breathes. Age offers a stasis from the mad rush and zeal of young energy. Age stops for breath. It offers a moment's pause from the bold, blazing trail you feel you must lead when you're newly making your way. Age lets you close your eyes after the long day, restores your body's vital liquids, rebuilds your mind's inner skeleton so that you may think and decide on a clearer foundation. I strongly question prevalent messages claiming that only when we are young may we be beautiful and vital contributors to the world. I look with gladness to the coming of a time in my life when I can begin to appreciate such serenity and wisdom that comes only with time. Let's celebrate and value the solid security of age as well as the sparkling energy of youth. So that at the end of a long journey we may all breathe our collective sigh of slumber and mingle with each other harmoniously as we together become the blood of the earth.