CAN ELDERS SAVE THE WORLD
by Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi
The work of elders may never have been so important as it is today, when the continuation of life on Earth is at stake and wisdom is in short supply
I didn’t know what was happening to me when I reached my 60s. I wanted to be the same workaholic I had always been, but I couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t keep up. I was depressed in situations where I had no reason to be. I felt like I had a guilty secret that I couldn’t share with others. I kept pretending that I still could do what I used to do.
My inner work involves a mystical form of Judaism called Kabbalah. As part of that work, I do a nightly examination of conscience. I ask myself: What was this day all about? What did I do? How did I feel? How did I relate to people?
It became clear to me as I did this work that the spiritual practices I had been doing up to that time couldn’t help me with the new season of life into which I had entered.
Seasons
It was then that I began to look at life from the point of view of seasons. It seemed to me that the biblical seven years are important time periods, and that each seven-year span could be represented by one month in a hypothetical year. If the Feast of Nativity, December 25, is birth, by the end of January you’d be seven years old. By the end of February, you’d be 14, and by the end of March you would be 21. Then comes the spring of life. By the time you are 42, you are at the end of June, and you’re figuring out what you are going to do when you grow up. And you have summer—July, August, and September—to do your life’s work.
There is a script for each of these phases. From one to seven, you’re a toddler and you start kinder-garten. From 14 to 21, you become an adult. You have a script for all of life until you reach retirement age; then there are no more scripts. You’re no longer a “productive-consuming” adult, so you fall off the perimeters of visibility and must be warehoused until you kick off. From 60 on, when you are in the October and November of your lifetime, there aren’t any good models.
It is very difficult to live without a script, so from 65 on, many of us just continue playing the same games we played before.
The Spiritual Eldering theory is this: In the first months, January, February, and March, we are in the world of sensation. In the spring months, we move into the world of feeling. We are in the world of reason in the summer months. But in the fall, we go to a place of intuition, of spirit, and we need models on how to do this.
In aboriginal and native societies, elders have a place; they sit in council together.
There’s a wonderful dance that is done at the Jewish wedding of the youngest child. The mother puts on a crown and dances with joy that the last child is out of the house and the burden is over. But then what does she do? Then she becomes the shtetl who carries under her apron a pot of food for somebody. So the script is there.
In our society we have been given an extended lifespan, but we don’t have the extended consciousness to go with it.
We have the largest elderly population ever, and we have a planet that is sick and is trying to heal itself. Do you see why elders are so needed today?
But you don’t become an elder unconsciously. Nobody is going to do it for you—not mommy, not a teacher, not rabbis, not priests. You’ve got to do this work yourself.
As baby boomers enter the elder years, I’m seeing people learning to do the work of spiritual eldering.
Harvesting
Why is it that people are often depressed about getting older? One reason is that most people, when they get older, have a long history of plowing and of sowing seeds, but not much history of harvesting.
How do you harvest a lifetime? You need internal tools that add to awareness.
Every day, for example, I walk toward the future. What do I see as I look ahead? The angel of death.
Oy! I don’t want to look.
So I back into the future. But what happens if I back into the future? I see the past.
Oy! I remember what I did wrong, and I remember the disappointments.
So I cut myself off from the past. As to the present, I don’t want to think about the diminishments, so I have little awareness of the present either.
When you don’t look at the future or at the past, and you don’t pay much attention to the present, you’re in a box of crunched, narrow consciousness. This is the psychic field of Alzheimer’s. No future, no past, very little of the present. Intentional non-
consciousness. Invincible ignorance.
October: the Ancient of Days
When I stretch my awareness of time, I get in touch with an aspect of God that is called the Ancient of Days, which is witness to everything that has ever happened and ever will happen. That’s my companion for eldering. This kind of meditative work is what needs to be learned in October.
When I go inside myself and start checking the past, I come to things that I don’t want to look at—the file in which I keep my failures, the things I don’t like, the things that are not yet reconciled. Anxiety keeps me away from there.
But in that file may be treasures. Imagine I had some stocks from before the Depression that I thought were worthless and I put them in a file of failures. And then one day I see in The New York Times a name that sounds familiar. I go to the filing cabinet and pull out the stock certificate, and by now it has become very valuable.
So it is with failures. What I felt at the time was a failure may be what moved me in a new direction; the fallout of my failures may be where my successes are.
Letting go of vindictiveness and forgiving are other parts of the harvest work of October. To give you an illustration, the prisoner does his time in prison, but the warden does time in prison, too.
Every time you hold somebody in the prison of your anger, you tie up vital energy in the grudge.
Remember the phrase from the Psalms that goes “Thou prepareth a table before me in the presence of mine enemies?” This is often interpreted as vindictive: I’m going to have a good dinner, and you’re not.
Instead, in this October work, I hold (imaginary) testimonial dinners for the people who did me wrong: Because you did this nasty thing to me, you turned me away from a routine life to an extraordinary life. You didn’t know you did it for my good, but you did it anyway. Today I honor you for having been a difficult teacher, and I let you go free.
The more energy we can recover from the past, the more life comes back to us and the more energy we have for the present. That’s why we say, “Teach us to number our days that we may get at the heart of wisdom.”
If you don’t recover the past, you won’t get to the wisdom. Wisdom comes from having learned from experience.
How do we expand awareness of the present? There is a kind of conversation that I call spiritual intimacy that many of us crave more than any other form of intimacy. It sometimes happens when you sit on an airplane next to a stranger and have a conversation that doesn’t require you to tiptoe around the landmines of everyday relationships. It feels so good to be heard and be understood.
You can consciously initiate a conversation of this kind with a trusted confidant. Take turns asking each other questions such as these: What are my questions? How do I perceive my problems? What troubles me?
One Hasidic master said, “When someone comes to me with his problems, I listen to his Higher Self give me the solution. Then I offer the solution that he has brought to me.”
Finally, in opening up to our higher capacities, we need to bring in the body’s contribution to extended awareness, keeping in mind the old Hermetic axiom, “As above, so below.” This means, among other things, that the brain/mind and body are mirror images of each other, reflecting and intensifying the capacities of each.
November and service
Imagine for a moment you’ve done the October work and become an elder.
To understand what it means to be an elder, recall that God told Moses, “Speak to the elders.” The elders of the church serve as mentors and guides. The Russians call their spiritual director Staretz, which means an elder. The Sufis call their teacher a Shaikh, which means an elder. There is work for the elders to do at this time to give over to the next generation and to help heal the planet.
So you could do what Jimmy Carter did. As an elder citizen of the planet, you could do conflict resolution or build affordable housing for Habitat for Humanity.
I’m thinking of an elder corps. Instead of sending young soldiers into the world’s trouble spots, we would send in elders. They would meet with those who had lost grandchildren on both sides of the conflict and grieve with them. I think that with such conversations, the aggravated political climate would yield to wisdom and compassion.
What if we are caught in the crossfire? It’s better than dying from emphysema. And if we are unarmed, I doubt if we would get shot.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., said, “I’ve been to the mountain.” I have a contribution to make that is made deeper and richer by my witness at the painful spots on the planet. This is my work now.
Within the context of eons, our personal lives and actions are both meaningless and intensely meaningful. On the one hand, we’re specks of dust on a little planet in an obscure corner of the Milky Way. On the other hand, we’re inhabitants of a planet that is trying to save its life. Earth needs a cadre of conscious elders who are aware of their task for healing the planet.
December and the exit from life
The December work is preparing for the passage from life in such a way that a child can come to the bedside of a dying grandparent and say, “Oh, wow, so that’s how it goes.”
A good completion would take away much of the fear associated with death, which, in our culture, is often translated to “Eat and drink and take drugs, for tomorrow we shall die.”
The work of December is also to leave a moral legacy. This means deputizing the next generation: This is what is unfinished; would you continue that for me?
Can you imagine if people who are not afraid of dying would tell the truth to their children and grandchildren and work with them consciously when a will is written?
When I would ask my Dad (God rest his soul) what he wanted to have done with his remains, he would give me a sort of nasty rebuke like, “You can’t wait until I die.”
Then one day I said to him while taking a walk, “Dad, the following are the arrangements I’ve made for my remains.”
He listened and wanted to correct me a little bit, but then he got to talk about what he wanted for himself. And it was a relief for him to be able to talk about that because he couldn’t talk to his own father about death.
Do you see what intergenerational healing has to be done so that people are not so afraid of dying?
I would like to see an elders’ ashram where people wouldn’t try and cheer us up with old television reruns, but would let us do the serious work that we want to do. It’s so much easier to do this work with other people; the atmosphere gets filled with that electric, shared wave of people doing their inner work.
A good death would be one that says, “I’m not hungry for more life, and I don’t think I’ve over-stayed my time here.”
It used to be that life began and ended at home. Then we took it to the hospital, and now birth and death have become pathologies.
Instead of being in intensive care, with tubes in you, strapped to the bed, can you imagine being surrounded by loving people as you prepare to die? Can you imagine having a chance to once again glimpse what life is about and to give thanks for the privilege of having had the chance to live?
You begin to appreciate what those last rites are all about, where somebody says, “Taste it once again, a taste of salt. Feel again a soft and gentle touch with oil.” All of these things are a way of saying, “Go out in a nice way.”
If the right December work is done, the work of grieving for those left behind is easier. Taking the sting from death would help us to live in greater harmony with the process in which life recycles itself for further growth and consciousness.
Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi is the author of From Age-ing to Sage-ing (1995, Warner Books) and the founder of the Spiritual Eldering Institute, www.spiritualeldering.org.
FREEDOM
We live in a world of experts, specialists, authorities on almost every aspect of our daily lives. Our most common conveniences are mostly mysterious to us. If something goes wrong with our automobile, or refrigerator, or television set, we must call in an expert and hope not to get ripped off. Even our own precious bodies are subjected to expert treatments that are mostly beyond our comprehension. As with the frog in hot water, unaware of the rising temperature, we have become increasingly accustomed to a certain level of ignorance and powerlessness, particularly in areas of rapidly changing technology.
As consumers in a market economy, which is dependent upon selling us its products, billions of dollars are spent every year in figuring out how to exploit our most primal vulnerabilities. We are powerfully attracted by illusions of fulfilment, both for needs we didn't know we had by products that never before existed, as well as for needs that really can only be addressed from within ourselves. As passive consumers we await the next pampering spoonful, mostly unaware of the deeper price we are paying; in terms of self motivation, self reflection and self direction; in terms of the overwhelming support we get for conforming to the agendas of others rather than to do our own thinking.
And yet, while everything I've just said may be true, it is also true that I live in a time and place where I'm free to say what I want. Its just that I am more aware now than ever before that such freedom, without vigilant responsibility for its maintenance, especially in terms of public education and political awareness, can only remain a given for a limited amount of time.
Without giving over to undue paranoia, I know there are forces at work every second that would totally control us if given half a chance. I don’t attribute this to any particular group, or political party, but more to the fact that such a possibility simply has to exist.There is evidence of such a tendency all around and within us. It is in the nature of our dualistic universe and the vulnerability of the systems to which we subscribe. I am no expert in systems theory, but I am curious about how human designed systems work (i.e. corporate or governmental) as compared to living biological systems. Since it appears that all systems tend to take on a life of their own (autopoiesis), there may be much to learn about the success or failure of our collective efforts by studying such a comparison.
Regardless that we human beings are a product of earth, of nature, our own technology has taken us away from our relationship with that from which we came. This insulates us from the realities and responsibilities of our origins, from the grounded wisdom of our intrinsic participation. The danger of this uprooted condition is expressed in the above mentioned accumulation of ignorance and also in the underlying sense of powerlessness we feel in this, our synthetic world.Such a process can only be described as “learned helplessness,” an ideal precursor to subservience.
It is an essential quality of all systems, human and natural, that they gradually become more complex. In nature, the tension of this increasing complexity tends to result in great changes, what the late Stephen Jay Gould referred to as “punctuated equilibrium.” Things fall apart, and then tend to reform at a more highly advanced level of development.In human activity, however, it appears there is a tendency to sustain the overly complex and outdated system at all cost, even after it has fallen apart. If we are not paying attention to the natural cycles that are inherent in the “living” systems of our own creation, then we tend to become the guardians of decay.
Here I must refer to a couple of lines from the writing of W. B. Yeats, in his "Second Coming," because they fit my premise so well. “Things fall apart; the center cannot hold... The best lack all convictions, while the worst are full of passionate intensity...”
We human beings seem to have stepped outside nature, establishing our supremacy over her by ripping her apart, thus to promote the spread of our “civilizing” insulation. And we have obviously done so without taking careful responsibility for the consequences of our actions. Perhaps, by now taking on a belated responsibility for what we have done, by trying to imagine a sustainable change in the direction of our own evolution, that is to say, “conscious evolution,” we may find out that who and what we are is not such a mystery after all, but has really always been up to us. We may yet find a way to forge a renewed and creative, righteous relationship within nature (if it isn’t already too late).
I believe the coming of a greatly increased number of older persons (Elders) in our society in the next few decades is neither a tragedy nor an accident of history, but by design, divine intervention if you will. The possibility of a large number of men and women who are willing to take responsibility and speak out for what they know, who have decades of experience about what does and doesn’t work behind them, portends the possibility of a vastly different, more responsive and effective shared awareness. As the Hopi Elder said: “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.” There is no one else.
© Copyright Rabon Saip 2007
No More Second Hand Art
In his book "No More Second-hand Art," Peter London describes an art exhibit he attended while in college. The work was done by college art professors, some of whom he had studied with, and so, he expected the very best. But his experience of the exhibit was like walking through a textbook. The paintings were all about technique; they were not about being alive. In spite of the quality of their technical excellence, the paintings were actually lackluster - without courage.
Peter London and a few classmates were ultimately disappointed by what they saw. They went home to lament amongst themselves about the lifelessness of technical excellence. If you admire the work of Monet, you can learn to paint like Monet, but, the price is dear. Not only would you need to spend twelve hours a day for twenty years, when you were done, you would only have learned to paint like someone else. Those artists (Monet, Cezanne, Degas, etc.) developed their particular techniques to satisfy the needs of their own peculiar expression, not to instruct others.
The very question about what art IS somehow threatens its existence. Separate from the experience, art is nothing but history. Unless we can become a part of what we sense (see or hear), for us the work will always be incomplete. For instance, how we decide to interpret the art work of the ancient world may have little to do with what was originally intended. Perhaps the ancient "artist" did not see the work as a separate thing at all, but as a tangible and direct communication with God.
I am reminded of the "Great Waltz" in old movies - reflections of a grand old time projected backwards. Could it be that such an ideal time never actually existed, but was always a wishful fantasy, a dream of lost culture and better days? We can re-write history in our own image, as we filter it through our current interpretations, but, we may never know what really happened.
When I witnessed the King Tut Exhibit some years ago, I had the strange feeling of being in the presence of a truly alien culture; not just the difference of a few thousand years and several thousand miles (on the same planet), but a difference in the essential experience of being.
Exactly what was it that had motivated those strangely powerful images (not to mention the incredible amount of work involved)? Was it enslavement, money, prestige; or does the work represent a worship of craftsmanship dedicated to the gods' perfect world, a Platonic ideal which must exist somewhere?
Later, when I reflected on the exhibit, I thought of its beauty only as a by-product of its deeper meaning. In my life's experience, the power one encounters while engrossed in any creative activity seems to provide a bio-chemical feedback to the brain. In such a concentrated state of mind, in the presence of powerful and mysterious forces, Deity is an obvious conclusion.
I remember an occasion, long ago, when I was living in Mexico. I was lying in bed on my back, listening to the music of Bach and looking up at the candlelit brickwork in the vaulted ceiling. It suddenly occurred to me that all of “art” must already exist - just waiting to be discovered. Its true essence had to be something like a memory, a re-collection. Otherwise, how else would we recognize it?
At that time I was involved with learning from a local Maestro of violin making - a wonderful guru who didn't know he was a guru, which made him even more of a guru. I augmented my time with him along with many hours in my own woodworking studio. As I explored the cutting and carving of violin parts, something in the very quality of their shapes began to instruct me. The activity itself took on a seemingly separate life - a power that directed me.
The image of a perfect instrument grew in my mind, I could feel it in the wood beneath my fingertips, a flawless form that seemed within my reach; but somehow, at the same time, I knew that no one ever had, or ever would, quite get there. Such perfection could never exist in this, our most imperfect world. Could I live with that - sensing and working toward something I could never quite achieve? No matter my ability, or that illusive thing called talent, no amount of work would ever achieve the ultimate goal. Throughout history, I think this understanding could have driven a number of artists quite mad.
Over the years of dipping into the creative power of the unconscious, I made an unfortunate discovery - mind altering disinhibitors seemed to work all too well. To some in this class my mention of past addictions may be uncomfortable and/or arouse negative feelings. There are two things I must say in this regard: 1) As of last August 7th, I have enjoyed 25 years of sobriety. 2) It would not only be dishonest to exclude these experiences from my autobiography, it would deny some of the most important transitions in my life’s experience.
It is a complex challenge to discuss the connection between chemical access to the power of the unconscious and the phenomena of creativity. On the one hand is the intense validity of this connection; otherwise, it would not have found so many adherents. On the other hand is the distorting psychic damage such chemical shortcuts can produce. Many artists, in various fields, have discovered and become addicted to this means of unconscious release, and, many have suffered the reality of unfortunate consequences.
Looking back, it still bothers me deeply that the only time I could really relax and sing with a group of musicians was when I was drunk - when all my doubts and fears were submerged in alcohol. In that warm, confident state, I managed to access my deepest connection to musical expression with an artful abandon. I once picked up a saxophone mouthpiece, just the upper neck, without the body and keys, and with my cupped hands at the end of that short tube, held an audience spellbound with my impromptu blues.
But I dearly suffered the cost for those chemically induced moments of fearless creativity - my personality short-circuited. Giving over to the unconscious labyrinth of the larger Self, the “god within” so to speak, I was plunged into a river of boundless energy without a paddle. The ultimate result of such intensity is burnout and alienation. Such periods of grace are fleeting at best, and unreliable.
I have worked with addicts as a group facilitator and counselor. I understand the magnificent appeal of those seemingly magical powers. But the fact that, during a period of heavy drinking one Saturday night, I held the pool table against much better players, winning game after game (in spite of my drunken state, on top of my visual impairment) did nothing to help my lousy pool game at any other time. Such is the trap of addiction. In order to become available to those magical moments, one becomes enslaved to whatever substance will do the job; even if it only works a small percentage of the time. This leads to the insanity of ever increasing payments for ever diminishing returns.
The outcome for me, and one with which I still struggle, was the attachment of my freedom loving creativity to substance. As an intellect I understand those moments of raw power as brief visits to an authentic unconscious, which, no matter the means of chemical transportation, are none the less valid. I also understand Carl Jung’s statement that complete and sudden exposure to the unconscious would be so overwhelming as to be fatal.
And so, as with many aspects of life, it’s a matter of balance. In all these years since abstaining from chemical shortcuts, I have maintained a sobriety that clothes my once naked passion like a soft glove. What I once could only hold in a fiercesome grip, I can now gently caress with a more sustainable and sober passion. Whether a tap dance on a tightrope above the abyss, or a casual stroll along the precipice, this can ultimately become a matter of choice.
© Rabon Saip 2007