Maria has a habit of growing and growing, there is nothing much in the creative realm that she cannot do beautifully. I have to get used to the fact that she is a wonderful writer and photographer also, something we can share but also makes me humble. Move over, Jon. I will need all of my big ego.
I always knew Maria was talented, but I never quite grasped the depth of her skills. I respect and admire her greatly as well as love her.
She took this photo with her Iphone, it triggered a beautiful dream she wrote about on her blog. I love the image, she explains it in her dream, they were at Soma’s house in a village outside of Kolkata, they left their shoes outside. And I can spot Maria’s shows, they are the red ones outside the door, I bought then for her as a Christmas gift in Manchester, Vt. four or five years ago, and she loves them
The photo touches me, I feel close to her shoes, and thus, to her, and I love the magic and mysticism of this photo, it says so much about her and about India. Maria’s photos and journals from India are wonderful, another great step forward for her, her blog posts have been inspiring to me.
They have persuaded me to go back to India with her if she invites me and it works for her and her program there. I want a couple of days with my Canon in Kolkata. And I told her I am not that keen to spend more weeks alone on the farm in the middle of winter. It’s a different place without her. I love it still, but it is not the same.
I think the donkeys feel the same way.
India is rich in color and feeling, Maria is capturing it so beautifully. She comes home Sunday. About time. The Cassandra experiment is working out beautifully, I am leaving her alone to do her work, which she does so well.
I am happy and busy, and worn out. A small farm, but keeps me going all day long, and I am beginning to get to work on my book after a tumultuous week. I went to the market to get some fresh salmon for her when she comes home, it’s her favorite meal. Polenta and salad as well.
This is one of my favorite photos from India, it says so much more than it seems to say. I love those shoes.
“Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. ‘Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.” – Jesus Christ.
Thomas Merton wrote that prayer and love are learned in the hour when prayer becomes impossible and the heart has turned to stone. I feel some mornings that we are at that hour, when prayer seems impossible and we are called upon to keep our hearts from turning to stone.
The truly spiritual person is one who has discovered the art of finding leisure even in the midst of his or her work, by working with such a spirit of commitment and detachment and memory that even work becomes a prayer.
For me giving a gift each day to the gift page supporting the newly arrived refugees from Syria and other countries in America is my daily prayer. My prayer today is a package of multi-colored spiral notebooks for the refugee children to take to school, they need everything – shoes, socks, backpacks, and notebooks. They come in a box of 24 of varying colors and have 70 sheets in each and the notebooks cost $30.32 and they come to me in this hour when prayer sometimes seems impossible and so many hearts have turned to stone.
Some of the gifts – recommended and distributed by the U.S. Committee On Refugees And Immigration – cost as little as $2 (prayer mats), others, like six back packs, cost up to $130.
I am not a Christian, but I am touched by the love of Christ for the needy, and I can help fill the hungry and help those who weep laugh. Love and compassion keep the heart from turning to stone.
These good people, mostly women and children have suffered terribly, are here in America legally, they want nothing more than to live in peace and safety, work hard and support their families, and one day, to be re-united with their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers and children. They are no threat to you or your families.
They have come to America at a frightening time of change, when our hearts seem to have turned to stone, and they have lost everything and need everything I will be meeting them in the coming weeks and writing more about them.
We have filled up the USCRI warehouse, hope to do it again. The Army Of Good is on the move.
Check out the Amazon gift page, it is inexpensive and very simple. No need to argue. Do good.
Thomas Merton wrote that “prayer and love are learned in the hour when prayer becomes impossible and the heart has turned to stone.” The same, I think, may be sex of making love, when I gave up on it my heart turned to stone.
I am always happy to write what I’m not supposed to write, pop open taboos like a Pinata, and try to be thoughtful and helpful to others. Those things are not always compatible. Lovemaking and aging are rarely put together or associated with one another. You won’t see them in movies, magazines, on TV or even in novels.
The subject of sex and older people makes other people queasy, some find it repelling. I’m sorry about that, I find sex beautiful and essential. As one who lived without it for a long time, I know its importance in a relationship.
The subject simply makes some people uncomfortable. Older people are expected to move along, collect their entitlements, disappear, make money for pharmaceutical companies and die out of sight
Old people are certainly not expected to have sex or talk about it, as Arleen pointed out in a Facebook message for “friends.” Younger people often find the very idea of older people having sex ludicrous. Oblivion and arrogance a part of being young, I can testify to that, no one is worse than I was.
I tell my writing students that if something makes them uncomfortable or uneasy, then they should write about it. I follow those rules. You must never write to protect yourself or others, or hide what you are feeling. You must never lie to your readers.
It is important for me to write about sex and aging, not because I love talking about it in public – I do not.
Rather, its because sex is an integral part of love and relationships. How I deal with it as I age is important, for me and for other people. I am so grateful Henry David Thoreau did not share his journey to Walden Pond On Facebook. He would never have made it for a full year.
I took one important step last night when I wrote about Arlene’s request that I stop talking about sex on the blog. It made her uncomfortable.
I sinned by mentioning that I missed touching Maria’s breasts, one of my favorite pastimes. Maria read my blog from India and e-mailed me: “I love that! Shared it on Facebook. I’m so glad you wrote it.” Poor Arleen has suffered enough, she will not be happy.
But the subject needs a bit more thought and explanation. I write about mental illness because it should not be hidden, and because there is help. I write about sex and my experience with it as an older man because it is so important that people feel free to live their lives fully as they age.
Sex is a choice and many people live comfortably without it. I don’t mean to judge them. But for me, sex is worth fighting for at any age. It is not about lust for me, but connection, a joining of two souls. It is important, and it never ought to be a forbidden subject, especially for the elderly, who fight every day to keep passion and color and meaning in their lives.
When I met Maria – she is 17 years younger than I am – we started dating and when we made love for the first time, I was terrified. I had not had sex in many years, lived virtually alone for six years at the first Bedlam Farm. My wife at the time and I had separated, we just didn’t want to acknowledge it.
My fears were justified, things did not go as I remembered them or expected to. It was a great shock to me. But I recovered, we talked through it, we worked through it.
I had changed, physiologically and psychologically. Since I had never discussed this with anyone, and no doctor or shrink ever mentioned it to me, and no one in the cultural world ever spoke of it, how could I really know what to expect?
My sex life was further complicated by open heart surgery, heart disease and diabetes, chronic illnesses with their various medications that affect circulation, blood flow, and sometimes, sexual performance.
I could not do all of the things I once did and in the same way. I wasn’t sure I could have sex at all. I was in the middle of a nervous breakdown, on various medications, and my body had changed. Maria is an openly sexual person and she made it clear she wanted sex in her life, and I felt more than a little pressure to perform.
Men are never taught to be healthy about sex, it is always and very sadly presented to them as a matter of virility, not love.
The thing about getting older is that your body is constantly changing, and if you are a man, you have to own up to that and acknowledge it. Emotions are never simple for men, but to look in the mirror and talk honestly about declining sexual powers is not a simple thing for any man to do.
I am not one for artificial stimulation. My doctor at the time handed me a packet of Viagra in case, he said, “I wanted to have a little fun.” Nobody knows how to talk about sex with an older man, and I switched doctors. This was not about “a little fun.” This was about committing to a relationship I desperately wanted to keep and satisfying the needs of another, not just me. I threw the Viagra in the trash.
Whatever I needed, it would be natural, not artificial.
When men get older, their testosterone levels decline (unless they run for President). Their libidos decline also (unless they run for President). Their bodies change. I don’t need to go into the clinical details – a step too far even for me – but we have to compensate. Talk about things, try things. Sex is a partnership in every way, two people can work it out if they talk freely.
I love Maria very much and I find her very attractive in many ways, soul and body and mind. I can talk about sex with her, my fears and ideas about it. It is safe. She would never ridicule me or hide from it, as the rest of society does. And safety is an integral part of sex, for men as well as women.
But talk only goes so far, my body has its own ideas and limitations.
So I have to compensate. My therapist at the time said older men make good lovers because they are patient, sensitive, intuitive and slow. The young ones, she said are selfish, they do it quickly and move along.
We older men do not make love quickly or selfishly, partly because we can’t. Maria says my therapist was right, this is a good thing to hear.
There are many things we can do that younger men can’t or won’t do, and I am married to a remarkable woman who loves me for who I am, not for what I look like or used to be.
It works. We make love often and happily – sorry Arleen. I am always afraid the day will come when I can’t, but that has not happened, and if it hasn’t happened yet, then perhaps it will not happen at all.
For me, love is about the heart and the soul, the body parts and mechanics are secondary. I told my cardiologist once that I would be happy to die in bed making love, and I thought he would fall out of his chair. That was not in his book of data.
The Gods of Love do not seem to care how old I am, what pills I take, what others think. They tell me to seek out love and pay attention to it, fight for it, honor it and celebrate it. Think of the small things, be selfless.
I also have to say I am proud and happy to be an older man. I have accumulated some wisdom I can share, to those who are open to it. I have learned something about life, and will not again let go of it. I have a lot more days behind me than ahead of me, and the end of my life is no longer something so remote I don’t have to think about it.
I will make good use of every day.
For me, every act of love-making is a celebration, a sacrament, a gift from life.
So there, that is the testament of an older man about sex. It needed to come out. Arleen, if you are still around, poor thing, I hope I didn’t upset you further. It is never a good idea to tell a writer what to write, nor is that your business, but my wish for you is to alter your views of older people.
They are very much in the circle of life, they like to touch their lover’s breasts just as much as the next guy, and are even entitled to crow about it once in a while. They have lost some of their freedom and independence, they have not lost their souls and spirits
I believe that older people are called to speak as often as possible about the love and lovers in their lives so that they can be a light and a beacon and call out to others to never give up on love, not at any age.
I imagine a time will come when I can’t make love to Maria in a physical way.
I will find another way. And hopefully, write about it when I do.
Photo by Maria Wulf
