Above: Underground Mouse, watercolor, by Roberta Hoffman

Notes From the Underground: Musings from the SICA Board

“Old Age Aint No Place for Sissies”

Assembled by Fayra Teeters

Bette Davis, the source of the quote in our title, was known for her life-long career in defiance of the power structure controlling the movie industry. Some of her best work occurred in her senior years: as Queen Elizabeth I in The Virgin Queen (1955), as Maxine in Night of the Iguana on Broadway (1961), in Death on the Nile (1979), and of course, the infamous Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962).

The following are some “musings” from the SICA-USA Board on the culture of aging:

Alexandra Boyer, National Helper SICA-USA Liaison

Bette Davis famously said “Old age is not for sissies.” I would say that LIFE is not for sissies. If you want to always be safe and never feel hurt, the thing to do is never be born. Every age carries its dangers and challenges, its beauty and rewards, and Old Age is in the mix with the rest of them.

I’m living through old age on two planes. On the physical plane, I try to look upon the changes as an adventure. I’m in a new territory that requires courage, resourcefulness, and a sense of humor. When I go down the stairs it’s a surprise that my knees and feet don’t quite obey my command to skip smoothly, but fall a little short. Resourcefully, I use my eyes to attend to the steps all the way to that last perilous one, as my hand hovers over the railing.

On a spiritual plane, I’m like a child discovering what it means to be alive. My inner eyes look at the incredible Northwest trees with wonder to witness the life force flowing through the branches, zinging around the needles and leaves, engaged in vital dance with the sunlight – and look at the wind! The sky is alive! My God – is this what Van Gogh saw? Then more wonder as I sense a new understanding blooming in my consciousness like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. Ah! Of course. Thank you.

Altogether, I see my life as a pilgrimage in a landscape of transitions. I’m in the section where with each step my physical abilities diminish towards a finality, while my inner expands and expands with no finish line.

Jim O’Halloran, SICA-USA Board Treasurer

Initially I didn’t think I had anything to contribute to this, but then I realized that a large part of my life is spent making sure my functionality is minimally impaired for as long as possible!

For me, this story starts back around 1967 or 1968, when my father read some material from the Cooper Clinic. One of the key indicators for initial assessment was how long could you hold your breath. Dad lasted about 30 seconds, then he asked me to try. I went 90 seconds and he was so alarmed that he embarked on a running program immediately! Not only did this serve him well, it also provided as inspiration for me and my brother and sisters which has lasted until the present.

Later in my parallel career as an RN, many of the people I cared for inspired me to exercise on a consistent basis, as did my co-workers, almost all had and have some consistent exercise regimen.
More recently I have considered what I can do to address genetic propensities (stroke, heart disease, dementia, cancer, arthritis), and what I can address in my environment? For me personally that means a regular aerobic and weight training program, a healthy diet, intellectual stimulation, positive social interactions, a consistent sleep schedule, low stress, and the pursuit of happiness.

All of these intersect with the Latihan: I find myself growing calmer year by year. When I eat a diet suited for me, it’s much easier to exercise. When I exercise, I sleep better. When I sleep well and on a consistent schedule, I think more clearly and play music more accurately and meaningfully. Likewise, social interactions broaden my horizons and increase my interest in my friends, city, region, and the world, just as playing music is personally stimulating both intellectually and physically. It is quite clear that the components of my routine are mutually supportive. My retrospective wish is that I would have figured this out decades ago!

Lawrence Pevec, SICA-USA International Liaison

Throw it all away!

When you have more years behind than ahead of you, then you’ve reached middle age. When you see and feel the totality of your life’s activities, its accomplishments and failures, you’ve likely reached old age because only the aged can do that. Then, when you throw all that away, a new life may begin.

I found the following in a talk by Bapak where he compares his aging process with a member of his approximate age. It’s interesting because we can compare our own experience with Bapak’s and evaluate, to a degree, the result of doing the latihan for most of a lifetime. I invite our SICA-USA members (of a certain age) to read the complete talk at: https://subudlibrary.net/English%20Library/Bapak_English/BAPAK497.HTML

“Actually, what Bapak is experiencing is the growth of his jiwa as his nafsu shrinks and becomes less and less significant and less and less powerful – and that is the fruit of the latihan kejiwaan. So now if you ask yourself why is it that your experience, Luthfi, is not the same as Bapak’s, why is it that you are not experiencing that as you get older – it is only because you still rely on your heart and mind, you still rely on your thinking, you still remember many things that you used to do before. How you used to sing, and when you were able to do this and when you were able to do that – you still carry that around with you. Your life is still more centered in the heart and mind and the nafsu, so that what you are experiencing gets narrower and smaller and – ya – shrivels up. But if you can throw all that away, if you can throw it away completely, all of that, you will experience something completely new. You will experience a widening out of your life which will be reflected in a state of joy, a state of happiness, a state of wideness, which everyone will notice as something that is completely extraordinary and unusual.”

Copyright © 2007 the World Subud Association. All rights reserved.
Published in Subud World News – June 1981
Code Number : 81 FOS 1
Provisional Translation by Sjarif Horthy
For Subud Members Only

Fayra Teeters, SICA-USA Board Chair

Now that I’m officially an old lady, I wear purple, magenta, green, and the entire blue-spectrum. I dress for comfort, not for speed (quote from Steel Magnolias). And I fully own my crone-hood. In days of yore The Crone was a respected member of her tribe, sought after for her wisdom, predictions of the weather and when to plant crops. She was not a figure of derision with a long wart-ridden nose, as the current image of the title evokes. Alas, I have none of those attributes: I can’t predict the weather, know nothing about agriculture, and although I sport a rather long Jewish nose, no warts grow there.

But as for wisdom? I have the Latihan and I’ve learned to turn to it in times of trouble, in times of need, and in times of joyous exploration. These days I’m exploring different leadership styles. In my younger days when I had the energy to do so, I was very much a “Once more into the breach!” follow-my-lead type of leader, producing one theatre project after another, sometimes overlapping several projects at once. Now that I can no longer sustain any form of charge, I’m into a “fall back and punt” mode: stepping back in order to fully receive, observe, perceive the 360-degree reality of what is going on around me. And constantly reminding myself that perception is its own reward!

I am currently engaged in a joyous exploration of the Tree of Life. In mid-October we had a testing-fest at the Portland Subud center led by Liza Wolfgang and Halimah Brugger. Halimah asked that we each receive the true nature of the Lower Forces, both in their positive purity and in their negative influence. The Tree of Life emerged as my image for the Vegetable Forces. In its positive aspect, it lovingly extends its branches and leaves upwards towards the Light and God’s Love, while simultaneously extending its roots deep into the soil to anchor into its domain in the ground, receive nutrients, and communicate with fellow trees and neighboring plant life. The act of extending branches and roots outwards in all directions is the very Dance of Life, lending this ancient and venerated symbol a touch of immortality.

Roberta Hoffman, SICA-USA Secretary

Courage and Dependence

When we are little, we are dependent upon someone to take care of us. We can’t always communicate what we want, but sometimes that someone has a sense of what we need. While we may not always have the words to express our needs, our caregivers seem to have an almost magical ability to sense what we require. It’s as if, over time, they develop a sort of antenna—an intuitive connection—that helps them understand us. As we grow older, sometimes it is difficult to yield to our need for help, even when someone we are connected to is trying to check in.

I remember being around three or four years old in San Francisco, standing in my crib and holding on the rail. My mother and father were far away in a desert, probably Palm Springs, visiting with Bapak (for a Congress). I was wishing, desperately wishing, for a piece of candy—a candy that slowly dissolved in your mouth, a rolling chunk with slowly melting sugar. I wished so hard that I could almost taste it. When my mother returned from the trip, she brought me a surprise: a pile of pebbles! That didn’t make me happy. She gave me one to eat: it turned out to be very tasty hard candy!

As we grow, our need for dependence becomes more complicated. We push against it, often struggling to maintain a sense of independence as we learn to navigate life on our own terms. I can think of several instances when as an adult I resisted the advice and help of my parents, even when my future best interest was in question. Maybe it was the natural inclination to prove that I was capable of managing my own life. Looking back, some of those decisions didn’t work out so well, and I’ve had to live with the consequences. But, despite the regrets, I feel a certain validation in knowing I made those choices on my own.

Several years ago, I went to stay with my mother to help her recover from hip surgery. She had prepared meticulously-reading everything she could about post-op care, organizing her home to accommodate her recovery, stocking the fridge with easy-to-make meals, and freezing ice packs for the inevitable swelling. I knew that she would pretty much be okay, but would probably need assistance getting up and some monitoring for a few days.

The post-op was no joke—however she was independent, as usual, and rarely asked for anything. I’d check in every hour, offering help with little things—water, ice packs, some reassurance—but she was adamant about doing as much as she could herself. Then, on the second or third day, I walked into her room to find her pale, her energy visibly drained. Trusting my gut, I asked what medications she had taken. She mentioned she’d mixed her pain medication with an antihistamine, which, as I quickly discovered, could be dangerous. I spent the next few hours monitoring her, making sure she stayed hydrated, and carefully explaining the importance of not combining certain medications. Fortunately, she recovered without issue, and became a little more willing to accept a bit more help. But I couldn’t help but wonder: how often my mother keeps quiet about her needs, and if it is a desire to maintain independence? Why is it hard to ask for help?

Fast forward to now, I have to remind myself to have the courage to let go of the need to counsel my adult children, letting them make their own decisions, even if those decisions may not work out so well. I do recall when I was a young adult the harder my parents pushed, the more I resisted—so I try not to push them in a direction I think would benefit them in the hopes that they will find their way. It is very difficult, because I don’t want to see them suffer in the same way I did.

Now, I live far away from my mother, and while I offer to stay with her if she needs help, I know she’ll never ask unless it’s absolutely necessary. She is very independent, working hard to stay strong and healthy through exercise and diet. My sister, who lives closer, graciously is in constant support, checking in regularly and stepping in when needed. I’ve discussed a plan for the future with my mother, should the day come when she needs more help a sibling or I may need to come stay with her.

And yet, I wonder, when that time comes for me, will I have the courage to put down my own pride and allow myself to be helped? Will I be willing to reach out for support, or will I resist?

Aging requires strength, resilience, and very importantly the willingness to accept help when we need it. We may resist at first, but ultimately it’s the support of others that helps us live with dignity. No matter how independent we want to be, when we have the support of family or people who genuinely want to help us, we don’t have to be so hard on ourselves.