The gentle smiling magician

The elders in our community are magicians. When we lose one, the community feels the loss, massively.

We recently lost one of our beloved community elders, Keshubhai, and I have deep remorse that I didn’t spend enough time with him.

Consistently, in every single interaction I’ve had with him in the past decade that I recall knowing him, he would gently look towards me, hold my gaze and smile with such heart and joviality that all my stresses would melt away in that moment. He might share a few brief words, but with each word uttered, his eyes would glisten with mischief.

And it’s not just Keshubhai. So many of our elders have worked incredibly hard, over the decades, to cultivate inner stillness so that their light may shine bright. It’s a light that embraces, that disarms, that illuminates and can fill you, all parts of you, with love.

As each of our elders continue to leave, one by one, I realise just how much of the magic we are letting slip through our fingers. As I get older, year by year, day by day, moment to moment, I endeavour to absorb this magic embodied by our elders. I seek, with all my heart, to be worthy of becoming such a gentle, loving, joyful elder in the community when I reach later life.

Keshubhai’s departure has hit me harder than I would have cared to admit. While he might no longer be around for me to interact with, this gentle smiling magician lives on in my heart.

40 years on, or now?

As I sit in the local park on a bright autumn afternoon, I flash forward 40 years when I’m in my late 70s.

How might life be like for me at that point? The world might become brighter while illumination takes place within. I might be surrounded by people I adore, or immersed in the joy of solitude, or both. I might be running around with ease, or trapped in a stationary body, but free regardless.

How will my character have improved? I might be more accepting of the circumstances that life presents. Or perhaps I will challenge each situation with greater vigour and no risk of anything to lose.

Decades of loss as family and friends drop to the ground around me, as will be inevitable for me too. Like a phoenix rises from the ashes, I too can arise now, before much more time must come to pass.

Would I want to be a bachelor again?

So my wife’s been away on a retreat in India these 5 weeks and I was curious how I would feel about this temporary loss over time.

Friends have commented how I must be enjoying bachelor life while the wife’s away.

In the past, I have felt excited initially (at the prospect of doing what I want without distractions), followed by weeks of loneliness (even when surrounded by family, friends and colleagues) and sadness at the prospect of returning to an empty home. Outer distractions would quickly turn into inner distractions, such as procrastination. Distractions, mostly, from facing up to my inner blockers and vices.

This time, however, it was different. Yes I got immersed in work but also intentionally carved out quality time with close family and friends, and yes some time to binge watch Netflix (!) Most importantly, I actively confronted my inner challenges – calmly, confidently, joyfully.

Doing this has shone a light on what’s truly important, has helped me to clearly define and work on my priorities, and has created more space in my life to do that which is fulfilling and joyful.

This is work in progress, of course, but what an encouraging start.

This year we’ll be married 10 years – and it’s now I see how much I value Heena’s presence in my life. Her creative spirit, her compassionate heart.

Time apart has been as enriching as time together.

Do I worry about losing her? Not so much. Do I love her presence in my life? Absolutely. Would I want to be a bachelor again? No need.