I have this remarkable sense arising in me; blossoming in me might be more apt.
Ever since I turned seventy last October, I’ve been feeling this glow of satisfaction.
I’ve done it. I reached the Biblical end of life – three-score years and ten. I MADE IT!
I can lay down tools now. I can go on vacation.
School is out. It’s summer vacation year round.
Whatever I got done is what I got done. I have no need past this moment to do anything in particular.
Bliss is the quality of it. Fulfilment, satisfaction. I suspect that, if I said I wanted outta here, I’d be turned loose.
Of course I don’t intend anything of the sort, but it’s most enjoyable thinking about it and feeling the sense of relief at having reached this point.
I’m enjoying watching myself use the occasion self-servingly. When it suits my purposes to be seventy, I unabashedly play it. When it suits my purposes to not be seventy, I allow myself to be any age I want. I’m having fun with it.
Inside I actually feel around 18. Unless I just want to lie around all day. Then I become Mr Senior Citizen.
There’s an element in which it’s all play, all fun now. I made it to the putative, standard-average finish line.
That doesn’t change the fact that I’m in service to the Mother. It just means that I now can play while doing it.
I have nothing to sell anyone and nothing I’m seeking from anyone.
I don’t have a need to take my constructed self seriously any more. There’s no image of me I’m pushing, nothing I’m striving for, except to serve the Mother.