I Do

I am no ‘Young Man’. My bones have walked too many miles, my blood coursed over them too many times to be be afforded the luxury and impatience of youth.

Through the joy and laughter. I do.

I am no ‘Old Boy’. A boy is a wonderful thing to be, so full of potential and vitality, but boys are young. With the coming of age comes also responsibility; to self, to tribe and to land. The age of Discretion. The age of Discernment. The boy must die for the Man to live.

Through the anger and fear. I do.


I am no ‘Old Man’, the grey isn’t yet dominant in this weathering face, but its influence is growing, spreading from my chin. The sun kisses my scalp in an ever widening zone, reminding me of the the passing of the seasons, and of hats thoughtlessly forgotten.

Through the pain and the ache. I do.

I am Flow. I am transition and transmutation. From this, to that. Here, to there, and with every footfall on the path, attention must be paid. It is the price of entry to the future that blooms. If it goes un-settled, the debts uncleared, that future withers under the weight of unobserved ritual. Shrivels, desiccated by the lack of life-giving love and reverence. 

‘Wise Elder’, I aspire to be. But wisdom does not come from idleness. Or comfort.

So, walk, I do.

And pay the price of attention, I do. 



Will you?