“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may”… This first line from Robert Herrick’s poem may well be familiar to you. I always thought it was its title - wrongly as I’ve discovered – it’s actually called “To the Virgins, to make much of time”. The general message of the poem is that we shouldn’t be aimlessly faffing around, but instead need to make the most of our life on this earth, bearing in mind its finiteness. Old Father Time’s footsteps never let up – brought home to me the other night when I had one of those annoying periods of wakefulness. All was utterly silent apart from the ticking of my bedside clock which I normally don’t notice, but which this particular night seemed to be extra loud, as it relentlessly marked the progress of the minutes and the hours. Much more impactful of course are the distressing figures that have been presented to us on the news every day since last March and especially in most recent months, detailing the rising numbers of deaths from the Covid 19 virus, which can’t fail to drive home the fragility of our existence and make clear to us that we’re not going to be here for ever.
Time passes no matter what – and faced with the inescapable, what are our options? If we have a firm, traditional faith, perhaps any apprehension about dying would be well in the background, as we’d be able to look forward to life everlasting. But even then, there is still the challenge of dealing with our finiteness. One possibiIity I suppose, would be to try to imitate the ostrich, bury our head in the sand and go into denial mode. Another might be to panic, like the rabbit caught in car headlights and be temporarily paralysed and incapable of taking any action at all. I’m not sure how helpful either of those strategies would be in the longer term.
I don’t think I’ve ever indulged to any great degree in either, but after the theme of this service presented itself to me almost unbidden, the process of its preparation became a wake up call, evolving into an urgent invitation to face up to my own mortality - but more importantly to mull over how to make the most of the time still at my disposal – I know of course that I’m a lot older than many of you, but at the end of the day no-one knows the answer to how long their life will last, no matter what their age. But when I reached the proverbial 3 score years and 10 some 9 years ago, one thing was certain – there were fewer days ahead of me than there are behind me.
A few members of the Buddhist group I belong to suggested getting together to look at how we could constructively approach our advancing years, using a book called “Grace in Ageing” by Kathleen Dowling Singh as the springboard for our regular discussions. One of the basic messages that comes over loud and clear from Dowling Singh’s book is the necessity to accept the fact that our death is inevitable and inescapable and to keep sight of this awareness. Not something we’re used to doing in this culture I think. If we were trainee Buddhist monks we’d be sent out to meditate in the charnel grounds, but death & dying are not the most usual topic of conversation over a cuppa, and are for many of us even taboo subjects. But without being moralistic, Dowling Singh’s recommendations are salutary I think, even though I wouldn’t suggest that facing up to our finiteness is not without its challenges. Perhaps coming at it intellectually may not be such a problem, but to take it on board with head, heart AND guts, well that may not be so easy. I’ve already had a bit of practice, in that when I was doing my Interfaith Minister’s training I was asked to compose a funeral service for myself– as you might imagine, this provided food for thought in no uncertain terms.
I hope all of this doesn’t sound depressing. To counteract any reservations you might be feeling at this stage, my plan is to explore with you the flip side of that coin, because if we’re aware of death, surely this must highlight the significance of life, so here a useful question might be, “How do I want the rest of my life to look?”. This could then lead us on to thinking about what’s really important. Even identifying this would be a significant first step, but then we’d need to see how we might actively cultivate what matters and then let go of what doesn’t. A great deal of what we think and do is probably determined by habit and conditioning. I know for instance that until Covid and lockdown changed everything and forced me to slow down, if not grind to a complete halt, I seemed to have some kind of whip in my head driving me on to fill every moment of the day and to do everything at maximum speed as if the world would come to an end if I didn’t accomplish every task by yesterday or even the day before that and to feel useless and a waste of space if the diary wasn’t filled to overflowing. I have a good idea where this originated – partly it was the example set by my mother who was always busy as a bee and partly the high expectations of achievement laid down by my father (no slacking permitted!) - but the quality of my life was not enhanced thereby. I’m sure that you can all think of similar conditionings. So if we can become increasingly aware of our internal processes, there is a chance we can make a conscious choice to make changes – even the smallest modification can make a difference.
I quite like the idea of doing a life spring clean. Obviously we can’t re-jig everything, but one helpful question might be, “What unfinished business is lurking at the back of my cupboard?” Maybe the spring clean could include the forgiveness of felt wrongs inflicted by others which might even go back years and years, but this could well be about forgiving yourself for unskilful words or actions. I still have a vivid memory of the words of the Anglican general confession dutifully recited in my Church of England days– you may remember them too if the C of E was part of your spiritual journey – where we were asking for forgiveness for the things we had left undone, and the things we had done which we ought not to have done. So, rather than classifying ourselves as miserable sinners & beating ourselves up, we could exercise forgiveness towards ourselves and release any guilt, offering ourselves up to that self-compassion talked about so beautifully by Gerrie Hawes in her service a couple of weeks ago.
The words “meaning” & “meaningful” seemed to be hovering around in my mind – could these be a way into identifying the components of what really matters to us? And once we’re clearer about our priorities, we could then see a route to incorporating more of these meaningful components into our lives, avoiding the weeks sliding past filled with trivia. I’m far from suggesting ceaseless activity – after all just being quiet and still on a regular basis could be one of the most meaningful parts of each day, giving us the chance to experience what Richard Holloway, the former bishop of Edinburgh, called the “beingness of being”. And in fact Dowling Singh in her book stresses the need to have some meditative practice if we are to move into growing older with equanimity. Those meaningful components will be different for each of us, though I can’t imagine that there wouldn’t be overlaps! Joseph Campbell, the American professor & philosopher who explored comparative mythology & religion, famously advised “following your bliss” – perhaps we don’t do enough of that. I grant you that could come over as an invitation to be pretty egotistical, but a bit of bliss-following could be just what the doctor ordered – and if we are feeling more fulfilled, we’re going to be much nicer to live with and have a lot more to offer, and doing so will surely enhance our own sense of worth. This doesn’t necessarily mean embarking on major philanthropic projects – it could just be about performing more small acts with great kindness, to use the words of Mother Teresa of Calcutta.
As an extension of considering the meaningful, around my 70th birthday I thought it was time to compile a bucket list. Now no-one could say I’d had a deprived life – far from it in fact, but I suppose we all have some pipe dreams. I think my list was fairly modest – it included seeing puffins, re-visiting Sissinghurst in Kent to be able to sit in the White Garden one more time, and learning to belly dance! I’ve managed the first two – the last will have to wait for another lifetime I’m afraid. But I can recommend thinking about your list if you haven’t already done so, even though with things as they are it might be a while before you can fulfil your plans. But I can tell you that my first sighting of a puffin near Bridlington in Yorkshire filled me with huge pleasure - and that the Sissinghurst White Garden didn’t disappoint, especially as I was through the entrance gates the second they opened and so had the luxury of having this glorious space entirely to myself for quite some time. Those minutes in the Sissinghurst garden were a special interval – something approaching what Elizabeth Tarbox talked about in the piece read for us by Dee earlier in the service.
Elizabeth Tarbox also suggested looking at a crocus through a magnifying glass. If you’ve never done this, I can highly recommend picking up any flower or natural object and trying it. An undiscovered world of beauty may be revealed to you for your amazement and delight. In these restricted times, entering this world of beauty might well need to be about getting to know the undiscovered country of the nearby – try it and see!
Now I’m not going to pretend that anyone’s life can be an uninterrupted succession of wonderful moments. I know myself that it’s easy to fall into what I call a psychological sludge where nothing seems worthwhile and when everything seems too much trouble. Mostly, wretched though these times are, they pass and we return to a more positive frame of mind. Sometimes these lifts seem to emerge from nowhere. At other times we can clearly identify their source. For instance, I know I will be forever grateful to the little two year old son of a neighbour. Feeling grumpy and dispirited, I’d forced myself out for a walk on a dismally grey and cold afternoon. On my way home, I encountered Charlie and his dad Tim also out for a breath of air. Charlie announced to me in tones of utter glee and with the broadest of smiles on his face that he had seen a red tractor, two cars AND a white van. His enthusiasm was infectious. No way could I continue gloomy. Next time I’m feeling down, I hope I’ll be able to re-connect with Charlie’s attitude. In actual point of fact, just the memory of it makes me smile!
I hope my musings have offered you some food for thought – maybe even a pointer or two, so that each one of us is able to echo the words of Mary Oliver in her poem “When Death Comes” knowing that we haven’t been just visitors to this world.