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Archive for the ‘aging’ Category

Part I

My world is on a jagged, roller coaster ride.  Sometimes the path appears to be straight without any impediments along the way and suddenly, under one of the wheels that ships me on my way, a tiny stone throws me off balance.  Peace may follow again for a short bit, but watch out because there is always a quick, jagged turn.  I lunge forward, crash backwards, appear to ricochet and then settle down only to sway to the right or left before balance and quietude return.  During this maelstrom of events, as I gather up myself from the mental bruising of feeling like a boomerang I become even more quiet, or move into repugnant actions, but always become more introverted than ever before and as I draw within me,  solitude is gained through an incontrollable binge on food followed later by discomfort.

As I grow older,  I find I don’t handle these torrential periods as well as I used to and I am particularly not happy to feel the wear and tear on my body and mind.   Wearing out, physically or emotionally,  before I want to, is not to happen.  I vowed years ago that I would never let something get the best of me, but now I begrudgingly admit, I acknowledge it takes too much energy to even try to go on as long as I used too.

Ah, the wonderment of young years.  In my twenties and thirties I could stay up all day and night working or playing and regardless of the action was able to continue on the next days without a bit of problem.   During my late forties I noticed a little change, but certainly nothing to get excited about, but then that terrible number rolled around and life began to change significantly after fifty.  Oh the change wasn’t again the worst thing  I have ever experienced, I only adapted new ways of working or balancing long hours with hours of rest.  When this current decade of age arrived (the one that placed me in my sixties)  I knew that life was going to be different.  Now at sixty-two I can definitely say, particularly when I have much too do, the amount of physical work I can do is far less than in my twenties.  I must also admit that my midriff is a lot larger than it was.  It seems that if it isn’t one thing then it is another.

Fortunately, I pray, my current situation will not last much longer.  Hopefully, once I reach a point of conclusion in my work, my roller coaster ride will change to a gentler Merry Go Round.  Merry Go Round’s are fine.  You can get on easily when something happens and in a short time you can also step off and quickly and easily return to normalcy.  Now should this not be possible, or if my current  tumultuous life continues on longer than it should, then I will need to take a severe measure by taking charge of me–something that is quite difficult to do.  I can try to help others take charge of their lives, but I am not as good at it in my own life, so let’s hope I don’t have to try!!!


Part II

The climb up the hill finally ended the other day.  All that was to be finished was finished, even though my psychological hill was gouged with unforgettable marks recording how often I slipped, stood up, continued and finally achieved what I wanted.

But–yes and it is a big but–not more than 48 hours after the I looked around from the top of my jagged, hill I began to worry if all this wear and tear would do me some harm.  Another day I knew, as I lay in my bed racked with fever, swollen sinus and chills.  The dreaded ills of just a month ago returned to me.  Possibly if I had taken the time to care for me then, today, I may have not been able to enjoy the return of the same symptoms.

As I look back over the past weeks I wonder if I would have done it any different.  Would I learn to stop, rest and go on, or will I continually just plunge, recklessly forward believing my anthem of “It must be done!” is right.  Here I am somewhere near the entrance to my Crepusculum.  I think I am supposed to be wiser, smarter, seasoned as I cross  over to my twilight years.  But the truth is, I am sure I will continue to blunder on my way as I always do without once taking charge to plan.  Ah tis sad to know that the older I get, the more stubborn I get.

Now with aspirin in me to hold down the fever and allow me to write and think I see just how ridiculous this all is.  I am an adult and I should know better, but I don’t.  Tomorrow will not bring a bolt of lightning to change me, but the tomorrow after each of the new tomorrows may lead me down a new trail and change may occur a little bit at a time.  If only I could believe I am sixty-two and not twenty.  If only I could accept I can’t do it all.  If only I can remember that exhaustion leads to areas I don’t want to go to.  If only I would remember that once I have entered my Crepusculum I had better be just a little more in control!!



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Sitting on my patio, looking out over the pool and all the wonderful, Florida vegetation in my half acre of garden, I am prompted to ask what my aging is all about.  Is it in my head, or is there something definitely happening physically to me.  I thnk for some it just is a state of mind they get into, whereas, I have never thought about my age and even now have to tell myself that I am sixty-two.  Then I must remind myself that I am and make a couple physical comparisons to make me remember how old I am.

Twenty years ago I would not have sat in this chair with a pinched nerve, overweight and have my thumbs tingle as I type.  Yep, there are changes I can’t deny in my body.  I can take care of most of what is wrong with me if I lose weight.  So, since I hate exercise and will not go to a gym, but love gardening I do the work here in the garden.  I have grown to particular about how the tree or bush is planted to have someone else do it for me.  What I get in return for doing this is a beautiful garden, done the way I want it, a feeling of tiredness in the bones and especially a pain in my back for shoveling and moving wheel barrow after wheel barrow full of topsoil and then mulch.

I also ask if it is worth the aggravation of pain and exhaustion, when I could hire a gardener.  My  neighbor thinks we must be too poor to hire one and then questions why we live where we do.  Well, it is worth the pain and the exhaustion because as I sit here  looking out over what I did this past week I can nod and know it looks good, it looks the way I want it too and tomorrow it still looks good because of the way I did it.

I wonder why I think this way and I know it is because I do not dwell on age, nor hold onto specific actions that may give me a few aches and pains.  It is all part of life.  Just because I have a pain in my back doesn’t mean to stop and say:  “To much doing for a person your age.”  Particularly I will not say that when I smile and see I have lost seven pounds.  Tomorrow will continue on just as today and yesterday.

Probably there will be a day when I have to face the facts and know it isn’t safe to continue on my course I set for myself and agree it is time to sit in a chair, but I will tell you that day is a long way from now.  In the interim, I cannot deny that I may be very close to the doors of my Crepusculum, but being within Crepusculum does not mean you stop, hang up your towel and sit in the rocking chair.  Crepusculum is and must be a time of thinking, of planning, of enjoying, of doing and always a time of self fulfillment.  It is a time of my life that I don’t mind if I enter.

If aging is anything for me it is a state of the body, but with diligence and determination it can be controlled for a very long time.


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I am sitting in the dark as it wraps around me, except  I am not at home, I am in our apartment in Phoenix.  I can turn on the lights, but my old habit of writing in the dark lets me think better and as I sit here I can put on earphones and listen to my music and feel comfortable.  I think that everyone has their unique  place they go to that triggers thought.    Each morning I arise very early, before the thought of dawn and I go to the computer to write and catch up on my emails.

Habits, such as my writing and thinking in the dark, are a part of everyone’s life–our lives are based on inner impulsion’s drawing us to do particular acts in unique ways.   Think about what your life would be like if you didn’t have that private place to go to, or if that private place wasn’t respected.  Fortunately, since I was a child, I have been able to enjoy an exclusive area without worry of intrusion.

Today as I write, “Old Folks” plays from the computer’s  media player.  The song is from the original, cast recording of Jacques Brel is Alive and Well.  I have listened to this album since the mid 1970’s and never tire of it.  I have the songs memorized and even when I didn’t play them for years, the lyrics remained with me.  I enjoyed this collection of his songs because each are written with such poignant meaning.  They are a great catalyst for forming thought.

Even before I ever thought about making a piece of art, going to art school, becoming engaged in the process of growing older, or planning the journey to my Crepusculum, the song, “Old Folks” triggered strange feelings in me and for years the story haunted me.  It reinforced all of the kindness my parents taught me to show to someone who is elderly.   It also, in the seventies, opened a door to some other person’s view of the elderly that was not  sweet.  The lyrics paint a far different picture of so many of our elderly today.

Brel’s old people do not talk too much.  They have no illusions and their homes smell of time and old photographs.  Their eye’s are always clouded by a tear and for most of their day they sit in a chair or remain in bed watching the old silver clock on the shelf that waits for that moment that will be their time to leave.  Beautifully sung, you here that the old people only going  out in the day arm and arm and if they do leave their house they are out to see someone who is older than they are.  They go to say their good byes and they are aware that their world gets smaller each day.  The song ends reminding the listener that the old people always go back to their chair and wait, as the silver clock ticks away the time until their own departure.

If you do not know “Old Folks” please click the audio button and listen to it–you won’t forget it!!

https://crepusculum60.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/old-folks.jpg

Even though, occasionally now and particularly in the past, many people believed in  societal structure that said the elderly were to be seen as non-productive.  Once, in the seventies, I visited  family living at Century Village in Florida.  Then, I accepted what I saw–it was in line with societies beliefs  of the elderly.

Century Village is large with many apartment buildings that you need to drive the distance between.  Along the road way were benches for residends to sit as they waited for buses to take them to a different buiding.  The day we arrived the benches were filled by one or two couples, usually not marrie, usually two women together.  Even though it was warm everyone had on sweaters, every one clutched a hankie, no one talked, and all had silver, blue or pink hair.  After we arrived at our destination building the scene was duplicated again near the buildings.  When someone spoke to you it was often to tell you of how terrible it was to watch their friends die.  I have never been so glad to leave a place because during the time there all I could see were crocheted doilies under silver clocks while the residents sat in their chairs–day after day, not talking, just waiting—waiting for their day.

Now that I am the age that I am, hearing the lyrics reminds me of  all of the people and family members that reached far into their eighties and never lived the life described by Jacques Brel.  My Mother was very active until she was 84 and then continued with some limitations after her stroke until her last year.  At eighty she traveled to Italy to visit her parents homes.  She loved life and never looked toward the silver clock.  During the last two weeks of her life, after spending too long a time not being able to function,  she shared with my sister her anger that life had been taken from her and questioned how her sisters would still live.  If changes could have been made to her health she would have been utterly happy to be able to enjoy many more day.  That was not the case and then, and only then she acquiesced to her passing.  Momma was like so many people that believed there is no reason to stop just because you were of a particular age.  On Eon’s one of the members of the writer’s group I manage writes stories of her Mother that has as much zest for life as my Mother did.

Today, fortunately there are more people that understand that seniors are much better off keeping active.  Fortunately, we have come a long way since 1970, and for the most part the elderly enjoy their lives.

I began this post referring to habits, those patterns of behavior that is acquired through frequent repetition.  It also refers to the established disposition of the mind or character.  Habits can be beneficial and detrimental and if you think about it, the way we viewed the elderly before and the way that many are now thinking about it is the first links that will break the older stigma that people of elder years live in homes smelling of time and sit in a chair waiting for time to pass for them to die.  Please join me in supporting the  idea that seniors and the eldest of seniors have much that they can still give society and that the busier they are the better they will be.!!  This is a good thing to believe, particularly if you are near my age!!  If you are,  we need to be as active entering our twilight years as we can be and remain active just as long as we can.  If we don’t, just think, they will want us to watch a silver clock…….

I am so glad I do not own a silver clock!

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If wrinkles must be written upon our brows, let them not be written upon the heart.
The spirit should never grow old.
–James A. Garfield

Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.
— Mark Twain

Age does not diminish the extreme disappointment of having a scoop of ice cream fall from the cone.
— Jim Fiebig

When does that time come to you.  Are you one of those that, when you are sixty, you will call yourself old?  If you do, I wonder why, although I have known a number of people who,  at a tad younger age than me,  say they are old at sixty.  I also have a mid-fifty year old, very close friend, who says she is already old and has been that way for a number of years.

I wonder why and how that time of oldness has stepped in for them, but didn’t happen to me.  When the people in my own family were sixty, they may have had medical difficulties, but it was never a gauge for their age.   Even though they had a major ache or two they kept going because they knew if they acted old,  old age would creep in and wrap up in their bedroom slippers and wait for them to slip them on.  Then in a short time you become old.

Sometimes, or maybe most of the time this “old” phenomenon creeps in because there is little life left  in the heart,  not much stamina  in the stride and  little curiosity in the mind.  I can’t imagine not having any of those qualities.   Presently, I may be on a little detour, but even during this hiatus of grief and during the years of my care giving, I still knew the importance of protecting the “feel good” attributes of the human psyche and body.  I always want to know what is current and I always knew the quest for life was still alive in my heart….To this day I sing, smile, laugh and cry each day.  I respond to life as it changes minute by minute and I need to give credit to my Mother for making sure I  always had a positive attitude, nevertheless, during my years to get where I am  now I  lost track of the joy of tomorrow and the need for hope, but thankfully I am beginning to see the joy of anticipating tomorrow and the buds of hope are beginning to return.

Instead of feeling old, I often have the opposite problem.   I forget I am aging because I still have my youthful, even childish thoughts inside.   A few days ago I found out an acquaintance had a passion for roller coasters.  Oh, it brought back memories of my fervent entreaty to ride every roller coaster in the  world and then facing the fact that most of the fun of roller coasting is to go with someone,   I never had anyone who was willing to share in my delightful quest and so whenever I was near one I went on alone.  Even today, if someone was willing to take a ride with me,  at sixty-plus years,  I would act like a child getting into the seat first and scream my head off as we reached each turn and dip.  Oh what a wonderful feeling in your tummy!!

Since I am always curious about everything I posed a question in a group I belong to on Eons, the baby boomer cyber site I have written about.  All the responses were emphatic that “Oldness” is a state of mind; although the response from the manager of the group ,  was the best of all:

“I am not OLD! I am more mature in my thinking and behavior.  I have a lot of knowledge and wisdom. I am at the perfect age not to give a damn what others think of me.  I am beautiful, special, sensual, intelligent, sweet, loving and giving, wise beyond my earlier years, but I am not ‘old’!   And for those who feel they are  old at sixty, then get ready to stand at the orifice of the grave;  please go right ahead.  I give YOU my blessing. Old is when you give up on life and living it without gusto. I am not old. Old is when you forget what it feels like to love and be loved. I am not old. Old is a state of mind. If your mind is old then so is your body and believe me you will bear the ravages of time on your body if you think you are old. I AM NOT OLD!”
photo of ladywrite2



If you are near the age that we speak of, please think about what you are saying, if you consider yourself old.  Probably there are many years left in your life to live.  Read the quote once more from ladywrite2 and if you really feel you are old then have you also have given up the goodness of life that she refers to—-I hope not!!

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When I was in undergraduate school, I became very interested in Anthropology/Archaeology. That led me to take enough courses to get a BS degree in it without taking many more courses. Before I officially turned in a portfolio for grad school, I toyed with the idea of getting the Bachelor of Science in Archaeology first and then go to grad school! If I had, I am sure that I could have arranged to enter grad school the following year. My concerns in art and the complexities within the studies of Anthropology and Archaeology are interwoven in my mind and because of their simularities many issues in Anthropology helped define my art.

I have always envisioned being a part of a team of Archaeologist excavating a mountain’s surface and exposing layer on layer of rock, sediment, debris and different forms of life that create the intervals of growth and help to supply material to determine the age of the fossils sandwiched between the stratum. As archaeologists uncover the remains of an ancient people’s midden their story unfolds as the site is uncovered tier by dusty tier. Each layer of excavated soil is carefully sifted to find artifacts that will tell a story and give a time line for the living that inhabited that particular spot. In comparison, our thoughts, memories and emotions become multiple tiers in our mind that lead us to self-understanding and expression. Regardless of which idea they both demonstrate a passage of time structured by a complex cycle of growth, life and decay.

Many spiritual dogmas, in the past and in our present day, enlighten the cycle by believing in an afterlife. When I think about the artistic possibilities of life being spiritually continued I imagine a line of hollow, fragile forms. Each represents an empty homogenous soul that waits patiently for a heavenly tomorrow. In reality, I imagine souls serenely floating in azure blue skies accented with billowy, white clouds as they pass through the immense golden gates of heaven. On the other hand, the souls may become a part of an interminable final que and as the line of fragile forms sway, one by one the souls fall and become anonymous hollow pods that are brittle, frail and worn from the passage of time. The fettered, empty shells give little information of who or what they were. Yet they are the remains of countless people who have lived throughout history.

Death Scene         Gothic Illustration          Girl Reading Book

Cave  at Lascaux        Simone Martini         18th Century

At times, it is those people, probably us in another five hundred years, that makes me stop and try to remember them for a moment. Can you possibly guess just how many people have preceded you in death. Can you look at the three images and feel that their lives were equal to our current existence? In the majority of paintings or illustrations held in Museums there is never information about the people that are in the painting, unless they are infamous.  Nonetheless, they need to be acknowledged. Imagine that the death scene, from the Lascaux caves, probably was drawn by someone with blood and urine.  The death scene had to have been important to the artist to have recorded it and is as important as one that is recorded today.

Nevertheless, the relationship between man and time continues within other relationships. In our youth and early mature years our backs are metaphorically, straight and strong, while we collect stacks of memories and information. Rarely, while we are younger, do we consider our ending chapter, although our subconscious tries to signal that we are changing. Where once our memories were occupied with dense information, later in life as we grow older, we find that they may thin and fray at the edge. Where once the back never tired it now asks for a moment of rest and we begin to understand and accept that there may be passages in life that leaves us perilously fragile and degenerately transformed.

I am sure one day, I will pass through an ominous threshold and I may find I cannot live independently because I am not able to control the escalating fragility of my mind and body. If this happens I will begin a transition towards total dependence for life care. This major, unidirectional modification in life care prompts feelings of vulnerability to the world and apprehensive of tomorrow. It is evident how important it is for me to find that certain, younger person that will understand and follow my directives for my life care. The directives have already been listed in my living will and so my only worry is appointing an executor for the more distant future should I be alone to die.

Death, the end to all this thought, comes when it wishes. There is no preset date or hour, nor is there a preset script. You may think death will come and sweep you away at that unknown moment, that it will whisk your spirit instantly up to the heavens, yet sometimes for some people death lounges at the door letting the person’s degeneration become unbearable for the family and their associates. Death, that final hour, will tick in the background of my twilight…………..

2012                  2014 tick

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2013 tick tick tick 2021                                              tick

2025                                tick tick 2026                                                               tick tick tick

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tick tick 2229 tick tick

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2030 tick tick


tick 2031 tick tick 2032


tick tick 2033…………….

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To reflect upon my own life is much more difficult than if I was asked to give thought to another’s worth. While I was in college, I became concerned if I had done anything that would let me be remembered after my death. Even more so had I achieved any lasting legacy for the far future to know me?

I asked that many, many times and now my reaction to that question is that it is unimportant. There are other concerns in my life that I should attend to, or begin to resolve. These are issues that relate directly to my elder years or that will help me feel fulfilled. I cannot guarantee that anything I have done meets some unknown criteria. If it does, fine, but then it runs the risk of history not recording the accomplishment. Often a special deed is lost or distorted and if it is a small achievement, it can be lost. I think I am far better off knowing the things I have done in my life have made me happy and that I have done some good for someone else and not worry if anyone else remembers or agrees.

Even though I may occasionally complain, I know my life has been good to me. I have little wrong with me except many, many extra pounds! Early in my life it became important for me to be employed in distinctive positions, ones not in the regular mill of things. I accomplished doing that, but now wonder if I was doing that so others would acknowledge my success, or was I doing it for me so that I could feel better? Until I went to college I always felt I wasn’t equal to someone who was educated. So often in grade school or high school, I had problems with my grades. I had no idea how to go beyond that stigma. Even when I applied to Arizona State University and was finally accepted it was on the condition that I take limited courses the first year. After the close of the first semester the grades rolled in and I was astounded I had a 4.0 pt average for the semester. As I graduated from grad school, I still had a 40 average and I began to understand what my capabilities and intelligence was. That lack of trust in me marked why it was so important to me to have jobs people recognized as special. I never was able to understand that if I could do the job that it must have taken a little more something than pure brawn.

Throughout my life, withstanding any minor character deficiencies, I have been generous and willing to help someone. Unfortunately, this help and generosity has been limited mostly to my family, but occasionally I have given my time to help others. The last few years I have cared for my mother, as she passed from her Crepusculum and into her darkness. Constantly I hear how special I am that I can do this for her, or that I will do this for her. It is my choice to care for her because when I watched my Aunt and Father deteriorate faster in a nursing home than necessary, I decided I would never allow anyone else close to me to experience the same. Now, a few years later I know I have made the right decision. Caring for her has given me insight, knowledge and patience. Now, even when one of my S/O’s family members called to tell us that they were terminally ill, I offered for her to come here so that I could care for her. This is not an act of goodness on my part; I believe it is more an act of caring and a responsibility of what should do.

Possibly, I should list the flaws I believe I have. Probably I am one of the worst people you can communicate with on a one to one basis. I am one of those who doesn’t listen unless they want to and I am often too quiet, nor will speak my opinion. From early on I was timid and even today carry many of the traits of an introvert. In addition, I live in a continual gray cloud. For years I only knew that everything was fine until suddenly I was moody or uncontrollably down. I continued this way on into my early fifties. During my forties, instead of changing things in my life I began drinking. I went away as so many do, but never could control it. Finally, during another gray period I decided that I couldn’t go on this way. I packe our truck with my cherished items, hooked up the muffler to the window and passed out believing there wouldn’t be another tomorrow. The next morning I awakened, unbelievably groggy and slightly irritated I couldn’t even orchestrate this event flawlessly. By that evening M had arranged to have me started on antidepressants. The world changed in a day. The gray cloud lifted and now only occasionally returns. The new day allowed me to stop drinking immediately, go to college, receive two degrees, make plans for the future and be able to take care of my mother now. Unfortunately in the past fifteen years there have been times I stop taking the antidepressants for a couple weeks and each time I do the gray, overwhelming cloud overtakes me with such intensity that it reminds of taking my pill.

My memory is very selective. I may choose to remember you as a dear friend, but I will never remember your birth date, nor will I always remember to write or call when I should. If I remember to call it may take a very long time because phone calls are a little bit of a problem. I do not like to make phone calls. I hated making business calls and always had a secretary or someone else to make the call and then give the phone to me. My family was even included in the continual hesitancy to make a call. Today I am much the same. M makes most of my calls unless i am calling a family member or a very close friend.

As I grow older and think more about my future, I find I think more of the past and wish to relive them (never change them-just relieve). Once I asked my mother if there was a time in her life that she would like to revisit. Her immediate response was, “Why should I–tomorrow is better!” It was the first time I realized how much I tend to live in the past and the first time I understood how much her attitude has allowed her to continue to live. If she had not been able to enjoy her unknown tomorrows, she may have had less living to today! I see the lesson in her curiosity of tomorrow, but it is a lesson I most likely won’t take.

Now is is time that you may decide if I have even come close to reflecting upon myself. My life is mine and at the present time I am happy with the way that I am. Tomorrow I need to forge on in my journey to Crepusculum. During that time I know there will be many diversions, particularly as changes occur with my Mother. To those of you who read my posts and especially to you who are kind enough to respond then if you have a moment that I have made you smile, gave you a moment of thought, or let helped you resolve a problem, then I am happy and content!

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Each day, in various ways, I think about my upcoming years within my twilight. At first, the thoughts are not overwhelming, but as they age they lead me from generalized thinking to a defined concern. I collect the concerns, after their fruition, file them away and then retrieve them for conscious exploration. Undeveloped concerns remain floating in the periphery of my consciousness until I decide to explore it or they never choose them. Possibly the ones that I never explore are the most difficult and so I avoid addressing those issues. In addition, a worry may be difficult to explore because the information is at the time of occurrence, although some worries are innocently prefabricated with out anything proven.

Regardless of what type of concern, the seeds are in my head buried in numerous ways. Sometime within my second year of college, during the time that I was taking many anthropology and art history courses I developed an uncanny picture of a group of people that had lived during the 15th and 16th century. Most of the group lived as artists, whose work kept their memory alive in the future. There were others in the picture that did not have any recognized voice in the future. I became very tense. I sat down on the ground without moving, nor speaking, because I couldn’t stop thinking about those “unknowns” in the picture. Who were they and what did they do? Without knowing those answers they were like empty, shells arranged within the picture plane and were used for color, texture or balance as any other prop might be.

It is then that I realized the limitations of remembering. Your accomplishments and your work becomes the catalyst for a memory of you by future generations. However, if you are unable to produce something so remarkable, then the people that knew you while you were living can only recognize your personal accomplishments. Possibly those memories, especially in families, can be handed down to each generation, but eventually that link will broken and suddenly you can become just another marker in a vast field of markers for mankind

My thinking opened a magnanimous perplexity for me in justifying a life form; particularly mine when I asked, “Is living without eternal recognition sufficient enough reason to be here?” With a raised eyebrow I realized the enormity of my question and decided that it was best left alone in its entirety, but another thought tumbled forth and it required me to reflect upon my life and fill any gaping holes or quiet any inconsistencies. Through careful examination of all actions and decisions in my life, I could be able to tell if I had affected anyone even if they didn’t know me. It seemed correct to state that if someone knew of me and didn’t know me then it would be quite possible for a future person to know something about me.

All of this began to feel ostentatious. Once again, I slumped to the floor feeling a little overwhelmed and knew I needed to return to a logical and thorough reflection of my life to guide me in the future. Instinctively, I knew that this was the appropriate time to look at my life–a time before being within Crepusculum,

a time to begin reflection.

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