It Doesn’t Matter— What Matters Seems to be Matter

Reaching upward to the heavens, I looked at my wrinkled, crinkled, sun-damaged arms in horror and saw an old lady’s arms. Whose are these ancient appendages and when did they change? They surely can’t be mine! Never mind my unbotoxed, expressive, sagging face. I used to say that I wore my cleavage between my eyes. Now I see that deep crease as a life-long anger scar covering my third eye! Will I continue to wizen into crepe paper and then one day just blow away like a fallen leaf? That doesn’t sound so bad.

How could it be that I went to bed one night and was a nubile, juicy 21-year-old and awakened the next morning as a dried out 62-year-old? Is this a Twilight Zone episode? OK, OK, I might be exaggerating, as I’m still in pretty good shape and attractive—“for my age”—as long as I wear long sleeves, makeup and am seen in dim light. Hey, I’ve spent the last 13 years in the desert and 30+ years blissfully sunbathing under the Southern California skies! I’ve earned every freckle, wrinkle and barnacle on this Scandinavian form. What was I thinking? Oh, momentary gratification of something resembling a tan. Maybe it just takes several decades to wake up from a long, ego-centered slumber into an awakened wisdom, albeit wizened.

These moments of glimpsing my deteriorating exterior serve as reminders that life is impermanent, that I might have 10+ “vital” years left in my 60s and 70s and 10-15 challenging years after that, if I don’t die sooner of some hideous disease, like melanoma. Hopefully, my boomer generation will offer death-with-dignity options, e.g., easy exit, when the time comes.

Paradoxically, my higher mind and inner knowing look upon this judgment of my skin, of this calcifying body and this momentary fear of my eminent demise with great love and understanding. It’s OK, they whisper, it doesn’t matter. “It doesn’t matter” has become one of my most powerful mantras these days that I chant and recommend to others. After all, we emerged from the Light into dense matter and one day will return out of matter into that spacious Lightfield. Too bad we have to wait until we’re dead!

So, what matters is that I am still here, finding and expressing joy and am an essential reflection of Love and Light. What doesn’t matter is matter, and that I’m pissed off at this insulting aging into death process and whether or not I should hide my arms and get my third eye botoxed.