We move through much of life by filling in what we do not know. A pause in conversation. A tone we didn’t expect. A silence that feels pointed. Without much effort, the mind supplies meaning—often before we realize it has done so. Sunday’s reflection on the third of The Four
Beginning the Four Agreements “Language is not a subject. It is the medium in which we live.” — Wendell Berry The Words That Stay Language is not something most of us ever imagined we would have to
December feels different for each of us. The lights may bring a bit of warmth, while old memories rise to the surface — some good and some hard. Joy and sadness often sit close together this time of year, though not always in equal measure. This
There’s a moment before any gathering when the air itself seems to lean forward—when a table is set, a light is turned on, and the silence feels expectant. That’s the spirit of invitation in later life: the gentle motion of opening space for someone else. We
What Our Solitude Is Trying to Teach Us The house stays the same now. The books on the table, the jacket on the chair, the glass by the sink—they wait. When the house was full, nothing stayed still for long. Now even the air feels stagnant.
The Still Point Rest in later life is not idleness—it’s presence. It is the gentle permission to stop pushing, to loosen the jaw and the schedule, and to remember that being is enough. In rest, we return to ourselves. In earlier years, rest can feel like a
Caring Side-by-Side Companionship in care can work as a quiet medicine. In later life, it often matters as much as any plan, protocol or prescription: a steady presence, a soft word, someone willing to sit and not hurry the moment. When we offer companionship in care,
“I retired just about a year ago and now find myself volunteering on a level that’s pretty much like the job I left. No wonder I’m miserable. I didn’t really retire—I just changed jobs. Retirement is supposed to be about nurturing your authentic self. Letting
What we leave is not always what we planned—it is who we have become. Legacy in spiritual aging is not the accumulation of possessions or even the achievements we once prized. It is the quieter trace we leave in the lives of others—wisdom shared, kindness given,
History and tradition teach that the clamor of conquest does not last forever. In time it yields to another sound, a quieter music—the rhythm of reflection and release. Empires have risen and fallen on the strength of ambition. Generations pursued the promise of more: more