The Spark

A few days ago, I was lamenting.  Lament: to feel or express sorrow or regret for, to mourn for or over.  In my case, it was feeling sorry for myself.  I was lamenting over my age.  

I sometimes wonder how I got to be this old.  Gee, it seems like yesterday, I was cruising down the Valley City blacktop in a 1961 red Bel-Air station wagon, seeing just how fast that beast could fly. Then, fast forward and a look in the mirror, I realize those times really were a long time ago.  

To be fair though, to all of us in this predicament, it's not always easy.  The generation known as the Baby Boomers have been bombarded, from day one, with notions and potions to stay forever young looking.  Even today, there is hardly an advertisement for anything relating to health or skin care that does not include the words, "anti-aging".  Getting older is treated like something akin to the plague.  It's unfortunate that so much time and money is spent convincing us that something about us is not quite right, be it our eyebrows or toe nails or the list of things in between.

In my period of lamentation, I was corrected by two people.  One was younger and the other a bit older.  Both said the same thing.
They told me I was fortunate to be the age I am and there is one alternative to not getting older.  They were right.

So, I've been trying to be more grateful.  Reminding myself of simple things, like listening to how I speak to myself.  Most of us fall into the category of, if we talked to others the way we talk to ourselves, we wouldn't have many friends.  

I've been trying to be better about paying attention.  Not just about my surroundings, but to this physical house that contains my soul.  I read in a book on yoga, that all the poses are to be done by breathing only through the nose and when we do that, we can feel the air move over the soft palate in our mouth.  I thought that was the weirdest thing I had ever heard of, but guess what.  It's true, you can actually feel the breath.  While pouring a bottle of water into a cup, I noticed the bottle got warm, then it dawned on me.  The bottle did not get warm because the water was leaving it, it got warm from the transfer of heat from my hand to the plastic.  

Just little things like that are great reminders of the spark.  The spark of life that is the only thing that keeps us and the Creator apart.