die leben, die wir ernten

Ein halb blinder, stinkender Alter wankt in den Bus, seine Habseligkeiten baumeln ihm im BILLA-Sack vom Arm. Eine Gruppe Jugendlicher steigt hinter ihm ein, die Türen schließen sich, der Bus fährt los. Der Alte beginnt zu torkeln und zu stammeln, tastet nach Halt. Die Jungen sehen kichernd zu, wie er in ihrer Mitte zu Boden geht.

Ein Bild des Alterns, in das ich mich verliebt habe.

Mirdad über das Altern:

The very young and the very old are equally helpless. But the helplessness of the young conscripts the loving, sacrificial help of all. While the helplessness of the old is able to command but the grudging help of few. Verily, the old are more deserving of sympathy than the young.

When the word must knock long and loud to gain admittance to an ear once sensitive and alert to the faintest whisper,

When the once limpid eye becomes a dancing floor for the weirdest blotches and shadows,

When the once winged foot becomes a lump of lead, and the hand that moulded life becomes a broken mould,

When the knee is out of joint, and the head is a puppet on the neck,

When the mill-stones are ground out, and the mill itself is a dreary cave,

When to rise is to sweat with the fear of falling down, and to sit is to sit with the painful doubt of never rising again,

When to eat and drink is to dread the aftermath of eating and drinking, an not to eat and drink is to be stalked by hateful Death,

Aye, when Old Age is upon a man, then is the time, my companions, to lend him ears and eyes, and give him hands and feet, and brace his failing strength with love so as to make him feel that he is no whit less dear to Life in his waning years than he was in his waxing babyhood and youth.

Four-score years may not be more than a wink in eternity. But a man who has sown himself for four-score years is much more than a wink. He is the foodstuff for all who harvest his life. And which life is not harvested by all?

Are you not harvesting even this very moment the life of every man and woman that ever walked this Earth? What is your speech but the harvest of their speech? What are your thoughts but the gleanings of their thoughts? Your very clothes and dwellings, your food, your implements, your laws, your traditions and conventions, are they not the clothes, the dwellings, the food, the implements, the laws, the traditions and conventions of those who had been and gone before?


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