In aging, my body dwindles and with promising certainty parts from lessons painstakingly learned. My efforts to conserve the body  surrender to the imminent decay, always present and in equal measure denied, in its plain form acknowledeged, later accepted. I pain in swollen knees. An aching back sends shivers through my arm. Every mention consumes energy ruthlessly and senselessly. I am learning to pay attention to my dissolving form, to discover I cannot avoid. I am beginning to think that transcending the body is an idea to escape this life experience. I find treating my pains and not creating more is a feasible stance to take.

I am reminded of the restless body before sleep. My incessant search for a cold patch on my sheets, my search for relief, for escape. Until, exhausted, I lean into discomfort like an old friend, who has been my companion for long, in and out of the shadows of my life. In turning to, and listening to, I find form in freedom, legs and bones. The hidden joy in aging and decaying.

Now old friend sits on my table and smiles, is a flower dried by time and wind and light, growing stiff in its stalk and limb in its petals, vivid colors now pale and thin and thinner yet. Picked up by gentle hands and carried to the ocean of petals equally parted from their ancient seed. Here life rests formless and ageless, wide and far in boundless respiration, birth in and death out. Inhale, exhale.