Walls of Antiquity

If I were the historian of my life, I would compare myself to a medieval castle, and I would have to say that the time has come when my walls have begun to crumble. I am thinking this is what the Third Stage is all about.

When I was young, I was joyfully aggressive about building a truly grand structure, and I have done that. When I was middle-aged, I was as smart and dedicated in expanding that structure and building defensive walls as my energy could make me, and I rejoiced in it. But now, near the end of my sixth decade, I am definitely slacking. I no longer feel a real need to attend those walls, as if it is just too much trouble.

I might have thought this was owing to encroaching feebleness, except that I don't feel very feeble and in fact still have trouble sitting still. It is not that.  Instead, I think the torches have been passed, the bridge has truly been crossed, and there is just no need for the constant upkeep any more. Let those walls crumble!

It strikes me that this is not simple capitulation to age and powerdown, not just the unfortunate breakdown of bodies returning to earth - this is the gradual process of freeing the energies I once put into building, in my life the most significant investment I have made. And I am not just eroding out my energies, I am unearthing the dedication to pathways that reaped those gains, the focus that required a lot of unconscious censoring of behaviors and thoughts that were detrimental or even just extraneous to my goals. I think they call it The Straight and Narrow. I habitually don't window shop because long ago I knew I would never have enough money to purchase frivolously. I have quit reading serious literature in favor of murder mysteries because it is too distracting. I am known as level-headed, grounded, and calm (if not always rational). These are rocks cut for my walls.

The decisions that shaped my castle, including long-suppressing conventions and the desire to not offend, are no longer required. I find the crumbling is releasing fairy dust, covering my goal-meeting faculties with irrelevancy. I am not likely to be able to meet anyone else's deadlines any more. Likewise I cannot bring myself to care much who hears me rant or what they think about me. There is a general freeing of suppressed self that is coming up through the cracks. I think it is kind of exciting, to get to know me again. I am wearing purple!

For that is what it is - the self does not seem to change within a life, just to gain perspective. The cement that held the stones of my castle in thrall was my own determination to build it that way.  It now is crumbling from time and age, yes, but also from my recognition of having already had a fabulous lifetime, from my satisfaction with the structure I built. Any future joys are pure gravy, the laurels on which I am learning to comfortably and eagerly rest.