People sometimes comment about how busy my paintings are. I was scrolling through fb today and I saw a photo by my Japanese friend, Naoki. It's a recent shot of a street scene from Shinjuku.

This afternoon I went for a swim at Crowdy Head beach, a stop-off on my drive home to Mullumbimby from Sydney. There were five people on the beach. The rest was all sea and sky. There were no straight lines, no graphics, no complex dynamics, no visual assault on the senses. It was serenity. Nature.

Tokyo on the other hand - the place I grew up - is the opposite. It is a never ending series of visual explosions. I loved being there - riding my motorbike through the labyrinth of controlled madness, shuffling through the side streets on my way from one game centre to another... it was a wild ride. One that lasted 14 years. 

One of the legacies of my childhood is what comes out in my paintings. I don't try to complicate them. In fact, they are in a way a simplification, a toning down of what is going on in my mind's eye. When I saw Naoki's photo, especially after having spent time at a deserted beach a few hours earlier, it really hit home as to the origins of my painting style. Zany characters, boisterous colours, rich black calligraphic lines; I'm a true blue Aussie in spirit, but my landscape inspiration is clearly all urban Japan.

NB. If you want to see more of Naoki's incredible shots go to Categories in the side bar and click on Shibuya. There's a link there. 

It's night time. 
Close to midnight.
It's raining outside.
I'm in Mullumbimby.
Outside my bedroom window is thick and wild vegetation.
It smells good in the rain.
And the sound is pleasant, too.
Comforting, evocative, rhythmical.

I sit down to tap out a message about 
I don't know what.
It feels like the right thing to do.
Knock on the door of my psyche - rap, rap, rap - and see if I get a response.

Maybe while I am waiting I will hum a song in my head.
Nothing recognisable. A generic tune. 
Maybe in the back of my mind I will be thinking about the day I had. 
Maybe I'll be thinking of my next meal.
Maybe I'll be thinking about an ex girlfriend or an encounter overseas from years ago.

I don't know. 
How much attention should I pay to what I may be thinking while I am waiting for fresh thoughts to appear.
Maybe I shouldn't be watching.
Maybe I should let go.

When I go on my beach walks, sometimes I just count quietly in my head. One, two, three.... up to three or four hundred then start again.
I look at the sky, the clouds, the waves, the light, the sand, the scenery...
I mildly attempt to be present as much as I can.
Sometimes I am aware that I am thinking about things that are of concern at the time. Worries, consternations.
I try to sort them, placate them, step aside from them like a deft martial artist and let them fall behind me.
I breathe in the clean, bolstering air.
I feel the vast openness.
I tell myself I am lucky.
I am lucky to be walking on this magnificent, scarcely habituated shore. 
I walk on and on, further and further until there is no one else. 
Even any other walkers have turned back.
Now I know I am lucky.
I am alone with nature.
Nature is big.
Nature is powerful.
Nature can mend.

It feels healthy to propel myself forward, mind emptying.
I sometimes get ideas.
I sometimes see things more clearly.
I am bolstered.
I am spending this part of my life - this hour or so each day -doing this simple thing that nourishes so much.
It is simple.
It is free.
It is an investment, a parlay with life itself, a small adventure, an interaction between mind, body, soul and the universe.
It is being.
Basic.

It does take effort but the payoff is great.
I cherish it.
I am lucky! I know it.
I am friends with the earth.
I am living on this planet.

A quiet man with a busy mind, that has been lulled into a state of blissful surrender, nurtured by nature, uplifted by a majestic, timeless magic, sandwiched between a limitless sky and a sandy crust, moistened and energised by a dynamic, relentless shush of timeless waves.

There is nary a better feeling.

I am grateful. 

Grateful, grateful.

Living in the county is so much better than the city for so many reasons. But even with all the benefits and joys of things like no traffic lights, no parking tickets, fresh air, big skies, friendly people, laid back pace... etc... there are still plenty of times when you can take the wholesome goodness for granted and still become stressed over daily minutiae and concerns. 

One of the things that never fails to remind me of how lucky and grateful I am, almost on a daily basis, is seeing the cows out in the paddocks. Whichever direction I head in, I drive past lots of them, and I look at them and I feel serenity and acceptance. They are humble creatures. They hang out together, in nature, under the sun. They move slowly, big cruisers, they munch at will, they stay still, look around casually. No wonder the Indians think of them as divine beasts. I have to agree. They are.

Each new day 
brings
it's own sensations, smells, flutterings

It springs
forth from the night

After respite
We are called to action
Could be challenge
Sometimes satisfaction

Each new day
promises
Hope, joy, fulfillment, adventure

We expect
Reward for our efforts

We anticipate
Arrivals and departures
With equal parts
Of soothing and sting

We feel things
Strings of things

We react and adapt
To

Each new day
surly
surrounds us
astounds us
whirly
confounds us
compounds us

Luckily
The sky is blue
And the sun gives warmth
And animals
Do their thing
Each new day

Choices, a lot of them
Perception, assessments
Intuition, responses

It's called being alive
and

Each new day
reminds us
relentlessly

Without judgement 
Or imposition
That each of us 
Is a mixture

Of confidence and surrender
Wonder
Acceptance
Suffering
Trust

and Hope
that

Each new day
Will be a little better
Than the one left behind
Washed away
Like our dreams

Did it ever really happen?
All of this, all of that

Each new day
Reminds us
Relentlessly

That we will never, ever know

One of the joys of keeping an artist's journal like this is that there are no plans or pressures. I just start writing, whenever, whatever and let the flow take me where it will. It is oft times as revealing to me as it would be to anyone else. Of course, I have a more intimate knowledge of myself than anyone else, and yet, due to the complex nature of consciousness, psyche and psychology, revelations can and do still appear out of nowhere.

By now, although an amount of ego still remains (mostly dormant, reading a book in the shade), I act predominantly from other areas of self. These writings for example, although about self are not recorded in an attempt to elevate my self opinion or baste my ego. They are done as means of introspection and revelation. I use my self as a case study of sorts in an attempt to dissect and understand the nature of being human. I happen to be this person, so I observe him and make reports. I am glad to be him, er, me, because, if nothing else, as a specimen, I am unique and can be amusing at times. I mean; he is.

The other morning when I awoke, I got up and went online. I noticed how quiet it is, to sit at your computer and sample the internet. I realised that this is one of the things that I like about using my computer. It is quiet. Almost silent. Peaceful. 

A list of some other things in life I really appreciate:

solitude
serenity
as few demands or expectations as possible
freedom
self devised schedule
few time constraints
staying up late
sleeping in
commune with nature
library visit
reading time
thinking time
creative time

I have directed/constructed my days so that there is an ample amount of these things in each day.

My phone rings maybe once a week. This suits me fine. Even less would be better. I used my phone - a large screen Samsung Note 1, with a stylus to create artworks in a program called SMemo. An average of three hours per day which yields four or five new works. I create these works mostly in a cafe or at the library. Sometimes sitting in my car.

My car is from the 90's. It's small, rusty, rattly and lots of things don't work. But it gets me there. A nice car is something I would really like and I do spend a fair amount of time imagining the joy and luxury of owning a Range Rover Evoque, a Lexus or a new model Merc. These are fantasies akin to those that a hungry man on a desert island would have of unlimited access to a bountiful and succulent buffet. They get me through the rocky ride home. And still, I am grateful to have a vehicle that takes me to destinations of my choice.

I live from week to week. My income is at the poverty level. I have enough to rent the smallest room in a share house of four, buy fruit and veges for the week and put petrol in my car most of the time. A few times a week I will have a meal out, the average budget is $11. My favourites are the Sunday curry, which I eat sitting in my car by the river at sunset, the bean nachos from the tiny, rowdy small town pub which I eat while reading my book, surrounded by unruly, loud and friendly old school ockers and the mid week small pesto and pumpkin pizza at the RSL club, which I supplement with a generous amount of apple sauce from the condiments table. These simple treats give great satisfaction.

Although I would, of course, like to have more money to do things like travel, buy big canvases and lots of paints and update my technology (and the car), I am not willing to trade in all my freedom and time for it. I have lived for decades now with very little and have come to appreciate the glorious things that are free. Like the beach, friendships and family, exercise, creating, writing and reading. A characteristic of my personality is that I require a pervading low pressure zone.

In some ways I am a social outsider, living on the fringes, but truth is, it's better here. Society, mainstream society at least, although filled with mostly good hearted and well intentioned people, has some priorities, expectations and demands that are excessive, misdirected, unjust and antiquated. I don't feel like I fit in, so I stay out. Luckily, I am an artist, so I can do this. Compared to a more conventional modern existence, it may appear lacking, but it isn't. Like many fine characters I know, I can't do normal. And, hey, that's OK.

Hear you, LB, I hear you. As I get older and accumulate wisdom and knowledge and a wider perspective world view, I can see with increased clarity just how much suffering is involved in living.

When you are younger, it is easy (and natural) for youthful vitality to carry you through the years of exploration and adventures. It's like riding a wave. The velocity doesn't often allow for you to take time and really inspect life as it rushes by.

But hit fifty and, wow, things change. No more free rides, no more yelling and screaming sans souci. Contemplation descends upon your existence. You cannot ignore things as easily. You cannot ignore the throbbing truth of reality. This too is a natural occurrence. You are more or less ready for it. 

Usually a bit less than more. 

So you have to dig deep. Truth is harsh. Things don't turn out as you imagined. Romance fades. Notions of beauty and magic wither. And yet, you can not let yourself become jaded. You have to find what goodness you can amidst the wreckage. You have to not only continue to survive but you have to use whatever skills and energy you have to somehow rebuild a version of yourself that is less idealistic, less consumed and consuming, less charged. You have to accept your mortality. You are reminded of it more often now. 

You need to see the bigger picture. Divest from ego. Jettison a large trunk of self serving activities and realise that the time for taking is gone and the time for giving back is nigh. This will be a large part of your salvation. This will make the sting of the realisation of lost youth hurt less. 

There is still time to grow. Still plenty to enjoy. Sink not into the morose. Be not a victim. But do not ignore stark truths either. You are heading towards the exit now. But on your way out you can still slap a high five, scratch a pithy caption on the wall of the corridor. You can even blow a fucking hole in the wall and make a window for those to come!

So lament not. Feel the sorrow. Express it. Release it. And accept the kiss of each morning's sun with a steady, kind and open heart. It's a new day. A new day for everyone.

Yesterday morning when I got up, I went to the bathroom to evacuate my distensible membranous sac and as I stood there looking out the window at the late morning light hitting the trees and leaves, I was profoundly aware of the omniscience of life and the exquisite grandeur of this planet. Simultaneously I felt suddenly aware of my own relative tiny-ness and insignificance. 

Certainly, within my own mind, and body, within my personal reality-construct, I am key, larger than life, the central player. As we all are in our own consciousness. But in that moment I realised with quite a powerful peeling back of the layers, that one humble human life is such a minute part of the gargantuan and infinite mechanisms of the world and the universe. And not just as a concept - I actually felt it vibrationally.

I greeted my revelation with a mix of fear, surrender, wonder and awe. It was truly the first time so far that I have completely without any pondering or meditation, focus of thought, experienced such a wave of pure obvious truth. 

I have had out of body experiences since I was nine years old. The first one came about while sitting in the back seat of an old Beetle VW on the way to hospital after I had been bitten by a deadly funnel web spider. I remember looking out and up at the tops of the trees and the sky and thinking, well, this could be the end of the line, I may be skyward bound myself in a few hours. 

A few years later, in a Tokyo hospital, I was given a near overdose of pain killers and tripped out so heavily that I remember hanging on by the thinest of threads, slipping in and out of consciousness. I realised then, that life itself is tenuous at best, unpredictable and well beyond our mortal control. 

At 17 with a good mate and some fresh hashish, during a deep and meaningful, relaxed dialogue I felt a wave of deepening connections to the omnipotent forces and a depth of understanding beyond my tender years. I cried and cried, at the beauty of it all. Sobs of joy - and then the munchies.

In my twenties, I experienced some magnificent, delightful and astounding revelations on my first ever LSD trip. Subsequent ones never equalled the first, so I curtailed my intake.

In my twenties and early thirties, I sometimes felt my awareness/consciousness was like a wild, wild horse. I did my best to remain on it's back, but a few times, I felt fearful. Never one to shy away from looking over the edge, occasional violent gusts of wind, would make my mouth dry and my head spin. Close calls were rare, but disconcerting. 

Around 33, things spiralled beyond my control and I began to experience fully fledged anxiety attacks. I endeavoured to ride them out, work my way through this stormy period, but my doctor at the time said she would refuse to see me if I didn't get immediate professional treatment. She was convinced it was necessary, so I acquiesced and enrolled in a weekly group therapy to curb the escalation of panic attacks. It was most entertaining and eye opening, and more importantly, it equipped me with the techniques to stop the escalation. I have not had one since. (If anyone reading this has them, I strongly recommend these anxiety management classes.)

In my forties, I moved to Byron Bay and lived in a Buddhist temple. I was a temporary guest of the head monk, initially, but was invited to stay on, even though I elected not to astutely follow the path to ordainment, due to an aversion - from an early age -  to imposed structure, expectation and assesment. Instead, through a impromptu, self-evolved hybrid technique of meditation, solitude, quietness and self investigation, I lived in harmonious tandem with the monks with a strong mutual respect for three years.

The through line here reveals a predilection for exploration of the mind and consciousness; the spiritual journey. It is something that comes in waves, spirals, peaks and troughs.

So, when I felt that stuff, yesterday morning, it was with a mixture of surprise, near overwhelmingness, amazement and, eventually acceptance. You are exposed to what you need when you are ready for it. Also, I realise, now that I am in my early fifties, I am well past the half way point of my journey. I am heading towards a period where one can ruminate over life experiences lived - celebrated and endured - and use the colourful maker pegs of the highs and lows to assist in the speculation of what is to come - or more aptly - what 'is'.

I feel lucky to be an artist, somewhat of an outsider in society, because it avails me time and freedom to pursue nefarious things and ponder questions regarding the true nature of existence. We are an evolving species, now faster than ever, so to be able to step away, step back, view from a distance, the immense madness and divine chaos in it's infinite variations is a blessing and an honour. 

That sounds a bit like the ending of a speech. But to who? And what for? Everyone is much too busy with their own whirling, constantly demanding realities. And, each is so important in it's own way. Otherwise, it would not be. So, acceptance.

I realise my own need not to get to spaced out or esoteric. I do things to keep it simple and true. Eating, walks on the beach, swims, laughing with friends. It's such an incredible ride - sometimes you just have to hold on and hope for the best. Other times, you can sit back and watch in wonder. Wherever you are, whoever you may be, I, as a fellow human am communicating with you my own truth, as best I can, in an effort to connect and commune. I am telling the tales of my adventures. Whilst many of them are in my head, they are no less real, and no less worthy of sharing. 

I am encouraging you to have no fear. And to get to know yourself, to find and forge your unique place in the world, then to share your truth in whatever way suits you best. 

Yesterday on my way back along the shoreline from the Pass to Byron main beach, I stopped and lay flat on my back for a while. After a minute or two I pulled my tank top upwards so that it was covering my face. This served to partially blocked the sun but also create some wonderful rainbow-snowflake like patterns for me to enjoy as I gazed through the semi-see through material to the sky above.

I lay there, thinking, for maybe twenty minutes and as you do when you allow thoughts to come and go at leisure, began to consider the nature of reality and the purpose and complexity of being human. In a way, it was a rather breakthrough session. As the shadowy figures walked past I thought about how each of them has their own mind full of their own thoughts. 

Each one has a vast, complex story and template for reality that they carry around and add to. Each one has the obligatory animal impulses that drive all humans - to be safe, to eat, to have sex, to belong, to shit, to find pleasure...

And the world is full to the brim of these beings. All doing something. All, like sharks, forever moving forwards, doing something, living, re-acting, going somewhere - but never stopping. And everywhere, people are trying to create some sort of control, some feeling of ownership, power. Forming dynamic entities, joining forces, naming things, creating structures and rules, maps, writing treatises, declarations, giving and getting awards and commendations, loving each other, hurting each other... all in the pursuit of some kind of justification for existence. Making up stories called lives that will satisfy the deep, deep inner urge to be heard, seen, understood.

But in truth, it's all just make believe. None of it will last. None of it truly means anything at all. It's just a construct. A necessary - and mostly completely convincing one. The truth is though, its just one massive life form, growing, changing, pulsating every moment. There is no way to even remotely come to terms with the scope of it. To fully conceive of the true nature, the true reality is so far beyond our mortal entities that it is laughable. 

So, what to do? Does it matter? How to respond? 

What is my mission? I asked myself, my face covered by my tshirt, writhing around on the gorgeous beach, unconstrained, unencumbered. Why do I think so much? Why have I always? what am I striving to comprehend? 

I want to know! I want to find the answers to my questions about the nature of existence. I want to break through the restraints of everyday living, confines, and become illuminated. Not in a grand sense, nor with any ego, nor in a religious way. I seek this as an adventurer. It's a quest. It is my mission. I have spent much of my life on it. In many ways, everything I do is motivated by it. I want to go to the edge of what is possible - in this time and place - in this particular body - in comprehending the vast, infinite everything. 

There will be no payoff, no acknowledgement, no final answer, of course. It's a very personal voyage. My spirit, my body, my brain - teamed together on their mission. Others have sports and family and travel and jobs and pleasurable habits and creative pursuits. I have my tshirt pulled over my head and a hungry, hungry mind.

It was a breakthrough yesterday. I did, when I came out of my shell and looked around at the wonder of the sea and passing people and the sky and, and, everyhing... I did feel and very basic and strong sense of awe and wonder and appreciation. I had purged myself of personal attachment and mundane thoughts and elevated to a new clarity. 

A mantra came to me - and I will share it:

'Let it go. Let it happen.'

Always on the lookout...

I realise that some of my inner dialogue is with my younger self. From a young age I asked myself countless questions about humanity and the nature of being. From about the age of fourteen onwards my journals are full of musings and wonderings about what it means to be a person and the implications of existence. Much was unanswered, of course. You have to live through life to get a better idea of what it is really about. 

The irony is that by the time you can come to understand some of the depths and complexities, you are most of the way through it. Much of the boundless and dynamic energy of youth has rescinded and the horizon of unlimited options is much closer and it is obvious that some terrains are inaccessible, some destinations - one's that looked idyllic from a distance perhaps and undesirable.  


As you look back on paths chosen and where they have lead, you can't help but wonder that if you had known then what you know now... (that old chestnut!) ...and how deceptive free will and easy decisions are. What it actually looks like is an ambling through a more or less pre-destined course. One that leads you to... here. More speculation. More questioning. More soul searching. But now with a soul that has some noticeable wear and tear, interesting texture, an aroma, imprints...


One begins, slowly at first, then with greater ease, to accept. To hold briefly then let go. Of everything. Because one has come to realise that all is transient. It's not about what you thought it was at all - it's not about acquiring anything or becoming anything or getting anywhere - it's about moving on. And on. And on....


A brief dream. A brilliant, complex, bittersweet illusion of epic proportions. How could one ever, EVER, conceive of comprehending the infinite, the unknowable. Not. Gonna. Happen.


So, you accept the limits of your own tiny place and begin to acknowledge, explore and celebrate the beauty of the vulnerable, impermanent, imperfect, tentative, changeable, ironically humorous entity that you embody. 


Some of the questions that you asked earlier have by now been answered. But in their place have come a hundred fold more. And each a thousand times bigger. So what to do?


Give up? Settle? Stop asking? No.

While at once accepting and embracing the glorious absurdity of at all, marvel in the illusion. That complex, challenging reality that appears in front of you each new day is your dream, your construct. You've spent a long time making it to this point. Why not see what comes next? It's never going to be boring, at least. Find the things you need to have and do for your basic well being, surround yourself with warm buffers of emotional resonance (aka human beings), immerse yourself in nature (the more pure the better) and face each day - ready to take it as it comes. Always ready for more pudding. Cause there will be some coming. Eventually. And won't that next bite, that new first one, be sweet?

'Where are you heading?"

As in - where is your head taking you? Are you a passenger or the driver? Do you like the road being taken? Is there a destination in mind? Have you got a map?

Ultimately, the place we all end up is the same. So it's not about the final destination. It's about where you go along the way. Some like to plan, others to stumble onto things. You got your harez and your tortii.

But the questions above, I think, are worth asking. Cause if you want to, you can take some control. And it is worth looking up ahead and at least making sure you are heading (in your head) to a place that is worth visiting. If it's a downhill journey - muddy, treacherous, uncomfortable - well, better make a change. If you are happy enough, and enjoying the trip; carry on. There's no hurry. 

For me, at the moment, I enjoy make pictures everyday. Along with regular exercise and an ocean immersion, I feel satisfaction. Creating pictures that were not there before. It's a bit like dabbling in magic. And I read today about the brain - how vision is the most powerful of the senses - and stimulates the brain, works it. As a predominately solo traveller, I like to not only look out the window - but to create scenery of my own devising.

Writing can do a similar thing. But it is different. Just as much of a high - deeper, longer waves, though. And it takes a while to come on. And effort. It's more like long distance running. Where as making images is like a exploratory walk through interesting new terrains. What's ahead is uncertain, but through intuition, experience and trust, you usually end up somewhere satisfying, sometimes breathtaking.

Components. Segments. Fractions. Sequences. Events. 

Our lives are divided. We function by making multi-layered compartments and dealing with them in tandem. Running strings of incidents and perceptions, emotions and outcomes together. Like music. When the event/day is proceeding as planned, on key; it's harmonious. When not: discordant. 

We put everything in it's mental file folder. Or leave a shambles on the desktop of our psyches. All a part of the process. 

What is amazing is that we have so many options/choices in every moment and yet somehow manage to carve a unique and (somewhat) comfortably personal single path out of the zillion possible directions. Over and over. We do it consciously and subconsciously with both awareness and complete ignorance. Even as full adults, we are relative babies. One lifetime, ten generations; nothing! A droplet. And yet, there are moments/days/sequences that for each of us are so engaging and or demanding that it feels as though every iota of being is being called upon to attend.

It's the good old fashioned, timeless paradox of existence!

So, how to cope? What to take from this brief speculation? 'Go with the flow' is about the best I can come up with. It too, as a course of action has been around forever and has withstood the test, the infinite tests of universal incarnations. It means, to me at least; allow yourself to be guided by a combination of intuition, judgement and behavioural modification based on surrounding situations and occurrences. It means: don't freak out, stay a little detached, but get into it, as well. Sage advice from unknown origin with unquantifiable results. And yet, it's as good as there is.

Earlier this week I did a reasonably long drive, about 900kms, from Sydney to Mullumbimby. I have a pretty basic car; no luxury, no stereo, auto windows or the like. So it was a bare bones driving experience. Just the wheels on the road and my mind and eyes. 

A couple of things I observed on the trip are worth noting. 

1.) My job was to safely make it from point A to point B. To do this I had to pay proper attention to the coniditions and situations around me. It was very beautiful in some spots and visually a great pleasure to be taking in the wonderful, morphing Australian landscape. I thought about some of the people in global hotspots like Egypt and Syria and thought about how removed I was from those kind of situations - and any other drama unfolding anywhere. My job was simple and confined to limited parameters. I did not have to worry about other dramas - global or personal - because my attention was in demand. It was a reminder of the liberating sensation of travel. The time between your departure place and your destination is reserved for that activity. It's like you have a pass from the everyday issues. It's at once, somehow magically, cathartic and nourishing.

2.) Even though I was giving 100% attention to my driving, a few times I would get on a pleasant or rewarding stream of thought - about a new creative idea/project or a mental recount of a recent series of interesting poker hands - and at the end of the sequence I would realise that ten or twenty or thirty minutes - and 40 or 50kms had gone by. Fully functioning on a couple of levels at once. It reminded me of a few times in my 20's when I used to smoke hashish and drive. Similar. But these days I don't need the drugs.

3.) I don't mind travelling alone. I get on with myself well. I take care of myself and enjoy my own company. This is obviously a good thing. It has always been true to a degree, but now after having done it for many decades, it is even more true and more apparent. There is plenty of world out there to interact with. Having said that, on arrival, I was delighted to see my dearest friends and spend precious and rewarding time together. It's about a healthy balance. I do acknowledge, though, that as an artist, quiet time/alone time is an essential and important aspect to the creative living process.

4.) This trip is not just a visit for me. I am moving from the city to the country. It's a reasonably big change. Before I have resettled, I will have stayed in and moved out of three or four different abodes, some familiar, some new. There has been plenty of box packing, lifting and loading already and more to come. It is a time of change and transition. It is packed with highs and lows. Because you are destabilised and dealing with new surroundings, boundaries and situations, experiences and emotions are heightened. Amongst the turmoil it becomes a little easier to notice one's essence. The un-changing. It is interesting to observe. Life never gets easier. You just get a bit more used to being around the process, challenges and demands of change.

I realised yesterday that as you get older, because of accumulated experience, thought and understanding of life, your perception shifts. Things that used to seem worthy of your interest/attention are no longer and new things - bigger picture things - yet often more subtle - come into focus. This is something that makes the experience of the sixth decade and beyond quite exciting. Your being, your entity has endured much, seen plenty, done significant things. You have ridden the emotional  roller coaster of relationship that many times that you can now freely elect not to even get on it. You are slowing down physically to a degree but mentally and spiritually it's just starting to get interesting. It truly is remarkable and not something I ever anticipated or expected. You don't just get old. You cook in your own juices. You become a tasty morsel, indeed. A hearty meal. You're a valuable asset to yourself and others - if administered/accessed properly. You might even be called wise. But you will scoff at that. You know too well, we are all just fools. Beautiful, glorious, messy, crazy fools. You can smile more often now. You've endured.